Today as I sat in the play room in my daughrer Karen’s basement I began going through boxes of belongings that had been transferred from the  home I had in Georgia to her garage also in Georgia for storage until I could go through them.   As my hands worked through the contents of each box I found that I was, now and then, dipping my hands into pools of memories – photos, journals, memoribelia, greeting cards, home decore items, dishes and paper records of sales, taxes, and transactioons.  Among the treasures was a knited cap my fist husband used to wear.  I could hold it and put it on my head without tearing up or feeling deep grief but memories flashed through my mind like a fast-forward movie and I foound myself smiiing and thanking him for being who he was and for loving me.

During the self-impossed treasure hunt I found a few things to give away, some to trash, some to go to FLoirda with me.  I probably have enough paper work to shred that would be enough to stuff a huge couch.  Still this would not equal all the memoies that settle down in each container like ghosts from the past.  Reading a few greeting cards from my second hunsband, I was touched by the beautiful  and loving words the card imparted.       There was one with a note from him thanking me and telling me he love me for taking a chance on him when I had known from the start that he had a cancer diagnosis that could possibly take his life within seven years.  It was a gamble for sure.    My future with him was probably not going to last for much more than seven years if that. I believed I was in love again and missed a partner in my life   So, I took the chance and built new memories with him.  As I closed the card, I viewed the memory with no regrets.  It was meant happen the way it did from our metting to our marriage and his death

When you disturb the ground of memories, old roots appear but with those roots come more healing and another step of two in the new life unfolding.  Wiser eyes peer back through the years and see things with clearer understanding causing more love and thanksgiving to bubble to the surface.  The chore of going through boxes of stared items is indeed a treasure hung of huge proportions.




Time on my hands oh what shall I do

Write in my blog or sing a song or two

Shall I play a memory inside my heart or head

Shall I try to block those out or let go of the dread


Shall I watch the Sago bloom much to my delight

And watch as the babies grow with water, love and light

Shall I play go fetch with the fur baby of my heart

Or watch the palm sway with the wind until it is dark


Shall I type the words spilling out of me onto the page

Or shall I throw kisses of love into the valleys of hate and rage

Shall I gentle pet the world with thoughts of the divine

Or watch the dancing sun with dazzling rays of shine


Shall I sit among the dead and speak my words of life

And mourn for those who cannot hear and struggle with their strife

Shall I dance gracefully through every blessed day

And shall I find the words I know when there’s nothing more to say.