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Remembering the old bus driver

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While placing planters on some graves for Memorial Day, I get a chance to walk around and see some of the markers and remember the people buried there. 

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Today, I saw the grave of my old bus driver, August Lindberg, and his wife Nora. 

I remember August from the first day of kindergarten. 

Scared and not knowing what to expect, that first big bottom step felt a lot like a step taken two years earlier on the moon. 

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