My brother is in charge of all things financial with what my parents had. There were a few wills and personal notations about who should get what but for the most part he's the go to guy for liquidation of their life together and our history. I trust him completely and resent when he bitches at me about what I take from the log cabin. Today's snide comment was about putting some things right over there in the corner where the TV used to be.
It's kind of sad there now and I don't go unless I have to. Some lucky folks will scoop up ancient appliances and various collectibles and be happy with what they spent. All of this is under the direction of a staging lady who is about my parents' age. Somebody remind me to pick up my grandmother's rocking chair before the day of. That, was in the will along with the gold piece. The rest of it can go for whatever folks are willing to pay. It ain't my circus anymore.
White and Associates were promised an antique bench from the hospital that was in their building and we will honor that pledge. Ditto for the clock and silo painting because...history. More china will be moved back into the shack aka museum. The seriously cute chair matches my bedroom so it stays even with one arm chewed off by some dog or another. My legacy is long and doesn't involve one bit of ownership. I choose to see that as a blessing right now.
Daddy came to be farm manager in 1956 via his father in law Harold Reaves and landowner Harry Calcutt Sr. He was a recent graduate of UTM ag college and did double duty with farm management and USDA service chasing japanese beetles. I hate to break it to him, but they lost the bug thing. They are every freakin' where including inside the brand new windows. Harry and Nan would come around now and then to visit their Dyersburg friends which included the Ashleys. They would all sit under the magnolia tree over by the shack and ride horses on occasion. Daddy was the horse man and I watched him many a day get them out of the barn and saddled up for an adventure with corporate.
He spent his retirement days patching up ancient fences with a hammer to try and keep the cattle in. It didn't work, by the way. There was a rub between two trees across the lane made by PW's company but it's gone now. So are the cattle which now live on Sorrell's Chapel at the farm. Gazing out the window I see backwater toward the riverbed which won't be gone until May or after if then. This is why beans don't get planted until June.
I know that I have been blessed beyond measure but sometimes I just need validation that my life matters. Anybody know what that feels like? There's a huge honking irrigation system about to run up and down Samaria Bend Road and the corn. And then there's Trump and Monsanto. Don't even get me started because I might just kill myself. No wait, I don't have a gun.