Life is a continuum of moments, the ones that you remember with a wistful fondness or some other emotion that springs with their resurfacing, few and far between. Perhaps I should make a list of such moments, banal as some of them may be, and on rainy days like this one, flip through the pages, choose an imitation of a memory and let fact or fiction take flight. I guess if or when I am old and infirm, basking in the glow of nostalgia a new past-time shall become.