|The lane that runs beside my home,leading to the house I grew up in.|
The lane I walked down every morningto help take care of my Mother as
she did battle with colon cancer. She ultimately lost.
As I lay there, I squinted into the darkness towards the snoring form of my hubby and again wondered if he now sees me as broken, something that used to be pretty or useful that has become so much crooked debris. A sad reminder of what used to be.
That’s when I knew it was time to start moving, before those thoughts could take hold in a wide awake brain. Pre-dawn can be a dangerous time to contemplate fears. Doubts hide in the deeper shadows.
|The "seat" from the outhouse that my Grand Parents used while|
they built the house I now own. My Grandma, being the woman
she was, used it as a planter. Nothing ever went to waste with her.
|My Grandpa broke two ribs and cracked his neck raising this pole. |
The day we closed on the house, hubby moved the chair over
to help him climb the pole and ring the bell in celebration.
He broke the chair, but rang the bell.
|A grindstone my Grandpa used to sharpen his axes.|
The day we decided to move in, my Mother and I found it
hidden in tall weeds. It's leaned against this tree ever since.
|It may be a little bent and in need of repairs,|
but it still posses a simple beauty, a
complex history, and serves an important role in our lives
...just like me.