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    Occasionally, I collide with my past in the form of laminated ID cards. Some I keep in my wallet as reminders. Others I have hidden from myself out of forgetfulness. I saw my University of Northern Iowa photograph in the folds of an old computer backpack one night this past week. Each card s…

      Scattered around our old farm in southern Iowa were bricks and mortar from a house that stood there long before I was born, before our home was built. This was across the fence, past the chicken coop and the outbuildings with old newspapers and a plow. Most of this ancestral debris lay benea…