Good Bye

There is a house closing going on this morning.  Right now as a matter of fact. A home is being sold.  An old family home.  It is a home that saw the birth of children, the scraped knees, the bountiful meals, the leaving home to fight in wars or marry or join a convent.  It is ordinary in every respect except for one thing.  It carries the memories of a particular family.

There are a few remaining old pine trees in the back yard.  Approximately 80 years ago one was planted for each child.  The walls  heard tell of the youngest child running away from school one day.  He had to make it to the train depot no matter what his teacher or his parents said.  Ignoring Dad's order to stay at school, he arrived in time to say goodbye to his favorite brother.  The brother was leaving for WWII and never came home.

The house probably heard the sobs of that young boy the day he was delivering  newspapers and found out his brother had died.  No one told him.  He read it in the daily paper.  The house witnessed grandkids coming to stay a few days in the 50s and 60s.  It witnessed the failing health of the parents, their passing, and the youngest child's inheritance of the house.


Now it is empty.  Every last item removed, every photograph, every dish, even the electric beer sign over the kitchen sink.  


It was not a perfect family.  What family is?  In fact, it holds dark secrets.  Yet, it also holds laughter and joy and love.  


Everyone has passed away.  Everyone who would want to live there is gone.  The wood and the walls, the basement and stairs will belong to another family.   And our family's time there has come to an end.  


Good bye old house.  Thanks for the memories.

There was a piece of board under the stuffed chair.  It was part of the chair's skeleton and that is where I hid it.  When does darkness enter the heart of a child?  Darkness it was when I hid my sister's treasure.  I don't even remember what her "treasure" was;  I just remember I hid it and then lied about knowing it's whereabouts.  It could have been candy, or money, or a toy.  It's not important what it was; what is important is that I stole it; hid it; and lied.  And at a young age.  

Patsy called on Dad to help her find it so he asked me if I knew where it was.  What choice did I have? I had hidden it, already setting the stage for deception.  One lie was an easy next step.

At some point my guilt got the better of me and I revealed everything.  For that guilt, I am thankful.  Having a dark place in the soul where deception is easy to commit necessitates one's need to feel guilt.
Think about it.  If I felt no guilt for anything, I could be a psychopath - killing others without remorse or sense of wrong.

So, yes Patsy, I stole your treasure.  Here it is.  Spank!  Ouch!  Ah Dad! Yep, I deserved it.

Hello Blog!  Hello any friends out there who remember me at this place!

I have been gone so long I forgot how to get here.  Tis true.  The only reason I am here right now is because I found an old friend's blog via facebook and she follows my blog (or used to).  I wonder if I'll be able to get back here after this posting.  Yes, this is challenging for me.

I have something exciting to share though.  And it might affect my blog.  Here it is:  I have joined a writer's group.  That last sentence should be in CAPS because it is very exciting for me.  Unlike many who like to write, I never had an inner "pull" to attempt being a wordsmith as a child.  In fact, I never had any encouragement to try it until I was an adult.  Could it be that it was something God had hidden in my innermost being that couldn't come out until later in life?

So in this writer's group, I am finding I LOVE to write - about anything.  Well, mostly about memories at this point, but it will evolve to more, surely.  The group is so affirming and encouraging - seeming to love anything I write!  They are being kind, I know, but they feed my soul and so I keep writing.

I have learned I don't have to know what I'm going to write about when I sit down.  The story comes as I apply the words and sentences.  Sometimes I'm surprised by the ending - as if I'm not the author at all. Strange huh?

This is what I've discovered about myself through this experience:  I write short little diddies.  No novels for me, no research.  Just simple story-telling based on real life experiences.  My daughter, who is gifted in writing, will some day write a novel.  If she sits down to do a writing exercise with me, say we both will write about chipmunks, her 10 minutes will be given to setting the stage for a long story.  Mine?  You get the whole package in just a few paragraphs. Beginning, middle and end.  Isn't it cool how different personalities offer variety in things like this?

So, now that I've introduced you to my new passion, check back once in awhile for a short story or thought.  Comments are welcome.