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.




I love to watch my dog pounce on a toy in victory. I love the way he jumps up on the sofa right by me looks straight into my eyes and then as though he is puzzled, looks away for a second then back at me until he figures out what’s next.

I love the way cats purr and mix dough when they are content.  Sometimes their eyes close and they seem to have smiles on their faces like they are sleeping in a poppy field.  I love that they are not like dogs because they teach me about getting needs met without attachment.

I love the way hummingbirds can go up or down or sideways or fly in one place for a while. I love that they are so tiny and yet strong. And like me, they have a sweet tooth. I’m a lot like them.

I love to listen to the ocean or a stream bumping along over river stones or the sound of a flute floating on the air as I feel these rocking me gently to the quite rhythm of breathing in and out, of life.

I love the acidic taste of lemon upon fish and the crunch of a crispy pizza and a cup of steaming anything when the weather is damp or chilly. I like how coffee runs through my veins and gets my brains in gear or how sweet tea just makes a meal complete somehow. My taste buds like to show off.

I love the ticking of a clock that reminds me of my grandmother’s hall clock when I was young. It reminds me of home and days gone by. A fire crackling in a fireplace has it’s own delights mesmerizing, enchanting, glowing and warming it invites me to remember a time when my piano teacher had a party for us students and we roasted marshmallows in the fireplace.

I love the sound of an airplane flying overhead placing visions of bygone trips and trips to come where for a while I leave my normal life behind and see, hear, touch, smell, and take in all the nuances of different cultures that I can. Climbing up falls, looking at ruins, seeing great cathedrals and monuments, visiting museums, hobnobbing with the country and city folks, eyes wide with wonder and gratitude.

I love the smell of bacon and wonder why it is that is not so good for my body. I love the feel and touch of books and the excitement, the mystery, the love, the truths, and the ideas they embody. I love to go barefooted and feel the floor, the ground, the grass, the carpet the sand beneath my feet. It ground me. I love the freshness and newness of Spring after a gray and chilly winter. I am born again when the flowers bloom.

I love the gift of life that has been given to me in all its forms. I am so grateful for all that I have and have experienced. Life is good. All is well.