Four Generations in a Box


Yesterday I saw two golden finches cavorting in a field of yellow wildflowers under a cloudless May sky.

Just yards from them was a bank of wild daisies that went on and on along the path that Peter and I were walking.  I could write this entire blog entry about how happy spring made me yesterday.  But I won’t.

I could also write about the smart pair of Ellen Tracy black linen pants that I had snagged for just a song a few hours earlier.  But I won’t do that either.

What was really emotional about yesterday happened in the afternoon.  That’s when I started cleaning out the eaves under our roof, digging out things that by now should be in Jeremy’s home in Maryland (or in the trash). What a trip down memory lane!  Some “stories” he wrote in grammar school, the soccer and lacrosse trophies from high school, really tacky plates from his first apartment deposited here when he went to live in Chile. Photos and photos and photos—they weren’t stored digitally back then.  Year after year of camp yearbooks and cartons of books from college. 

Next weekend we will meet Jeremy and his family at his college reunion and transfer a trunk full of his stuff to their van.  He will keep it, or he won’t. Not a big deal for him either way.

But it is for me



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