Relatives and Memories

These are my grandparents, Bobbie and Pa. Those were my names for them and I miss them terribly. I think of them every day and now I think of them every time I walk into my mother's office where she keeps this photo on her desk. This photo was taken at my first wedding in 1984. They have both been gone for many years but they do live on in our hearts.

Today would've been Bobbie's birthday. I'm not big on visiting people's gravesites. I'd rather visit the memories in my mind. I can still picture her overly-stuffed house with a feast on the table for every holiday or family meal. I still don't understand how she managed it on her meager budget. I treasure every bowl or platter she gave me. For the rest of my life, any entertaining I do will include some of Bobbie's dishes. When dividing our household items, I have no interest (or moral right) to the silver we inherited from the Captain and the Belle. I will fight to the finish for my dimestore and garage sale glass items that my grandmother gave me with love.

On another note, we just concluded a visit with my aunt and her boyfriend. We only had a couple of days and they went way too fast. But, more memories were visited and more memories were made.

Neighborhood Covenants

I have never lived in a neighborhood with a covenant. Many of them are quite restrictive, i.e. you can't have a mini barn or an above-ground pool. (I own neither.) Others have to approve your paint color, your type of fence, etc. I would be okay because my house is white brick and my fence is hedges.

But, our neighborhood has an unwritten covenant. Everyone is expected to have their lawn tended on a Thursday or Friday in case anyone is entertaining over the weekend. No one has a clothesline, although I still hang unmentionables in my back yard trees. I'm pretty sure my neighbors would frown on a garage sale.

We drive through lots of little towns when we go to our friends' lake cottage and they seem to have a covenant of their own. Lots of overcrowded porches and lawn ornaments are an unwritten rule somewhere.

Taking Inventory

I used to work in retail. I'm used to taking inventory.

We're still digging out. We've yet to tackle the basement but the dungeon has been restored to a lovely guest room. It's bright and airy. It's private.

I am picking up my niece at the airport in a few hours. (Technically, she's a second cousin of the husband's but since her mother is an honorary sister, I like to think of her as my niece.) I want her to be comfortable so I'm doing the usual, last minute prep stuff. I hope she doesn't mind the handicap bars all over the bathroom. At least in the shower, they give you something to hang onto while shaving your legs. There's still a handicap toilet in the water closet. (They're taller than the norm.)

The back yard is lush and green. I was going to clean off the patio until it started raining. As I looked around, I realized how many things the husband has purchased for the comfort of the oldies. The gigantic heater, cushions, etc.

Some purchases were good. The bed we purchased is great. And, the guest room is much cozier with the fireplace.

Others were ridiculous. I ventured downstairs to find a file and I was faced with wheelchairs and every conceivable walker invented. Some are easily portable. Others are more convoluted but they have a seat. We have two temporary closets completely filled. We have more luggage than any world traveler could ever use. We have lots of canes.

I've thought about having a garage sale, although my neighborhood frowns on that. Instead of calling it a garage sale, I might call it an oldies sale.