It’s graduation week for Röbsdöttïr, which means Memory Lane has been a road far more traveled by.
Who is this kid? I’ll let a slightly altered quote from My Dinner with Andre suffice:
I mean, you know, people hold on to these images: father, mother, husband, wife, again for the same reason: ’cause they seem to provide some firm ground. But there’s no wife there. What does that mean, a wife? A husband? A daughter? A baby holds your hands, and then suddenly, there’s this beautiful young woman waving goodbye, and then she’s gone. Where’s that daughter?