it's my life

Dealing with everyday reality is not the funfest it's cracked up to be, ya' know? My parents are elderly and gettin' by, thanks to Big E. Neither of 'em smile much anymore unless you tickle them mericlessly like I did to Mom this afternoon. Once again, she let me cry on her shoulder about the beginning of the end of our family life here on the farm. Daddy notices every little patch of purple and pink, naming each vine and flower after a few false starts.

The family that owns this particular piece of paradise consists of a group of four siblings who must all agree on the future of the farm. A couple of them own a bank up North and I'm not sure what the others do, but that's not the point at all. The point is that it's a landmark positioned in a rural America where family farms are passed from one generation to another via probate court without a thought to the history of the place. This old gal crawled around on hands and knees back in the spring lookin' for colored glass and bits of old pottery. There are pieces of fabric folded on every surface waiting to be cut and added to the quilt pile. 53 years and countin'. It took me ten years to get the freakin' basement cleaned out but by golly I did it.

Pardon me..there's a horse in my yard and the dogs are going nuts.

^j^