This article focuses on the intersection of two memories. Mother dressed as a cowgirl, and riding my horse, who is named Sunny. It is a warm, sunny, Sunday afternoon in 1951, and I am ten years old. Two years later I am watching Shane with my father. In four years he will disappear from my life. I waited, night after night for him to come back, as in “come back Shane.” Far away, on the edge of the dream, a faint image: Mother is riding into an orange and purple sunset, her red bandana whipping in the wind.
