The Tale Of Two Treasures

Crossing the threshold, mother and daughter paused as their eyes adjusted to the darkened interior.  Lit by shaded lamps and candlelight, their awareness of the contents of the room began to register.  “I remember this,” Mother exclaimed as she approached the old boiler and free standing clothes wringer.  Therein was a story Mother began to tell.  As her story unfolded, the daughter attentive to her every word, asked questions as they shared the remembrance.  A pattern of discourse that continued on as they made their way throughout the shop.

An hour later, two elderly ladies peered into the shop, then crossed the threshold. Looking about they conversed between themselves.  One noted how none of her children wanted any of her keepsakes. And how lucky her companion was to have children who did.

Two pair of visitors, each with a family.  The first, occupied by a daughter who had the compassion and wisdom to know keepsakes embodied her family history. The second, a mother whose memorial will not include keepsakes that she had held dear, for her family did not find the time to listen until she could no longer tell.


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Down in my basement, lined neatly on a shelf are handwritten notebooks chronicling my life. After years of writing, the experience became more of a burden then an important part of my day so I quit writing. Five years later I took up writing again. This time it was in the form of a blog which gave me a place to hang out after I lost my job. From there my blog content morphed into writing about my general contractor experience building our house. As my life experiences grew so did my blog.

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