Autumn Street, Portland, Maine
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... there was another thing, too, that maybe my psychiatrist spouse would say I am obsessed by. And that’s dreams. I’ve written several books dealing with dreams, and I think the reason those two concepts, memory and dreams, haunt me is that they are so individual. There’s nobody else in the world who has your memories, and nobody else in the world who has the same dreams as you. I wrote an autobiographical novel called “Autumn Street,” which deals with me and my sister during the war. It’s not a book for young children, but the children are young in the book, and it’s written in the first person, and there is a moment where the two girls are, as we were, living in their grandparents’ home, in twin beds, talking to each other. And the little one—the “I” in the book— notices that her sister has fallen asleep. And she says, “I realized then, for the first time, that her dreams would always be different from mine.” It’s a moment that I suppose everybody has, when they become aware of themselves as individuals.
— What Lois Lowry Remembers
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At the first hint of autumn, Wendell jumps into his fuzziest sweater.
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Helsinki, Finland (by Tapio)
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