the art of piddling

It's always been my nature to work in spurts as the spirit moves.  I have pictures here from multiple families that are slowly being sorted through for those that care.  The fuzzy "can't tell who you are" ones are going in the trash.  It's a hot mess right now but I will conquer this.  My mother would flip in the grave if she knew how many books are yet to be opened.  She photographed EVERY little thing and I'm glad she did.  There is a rich history there.

Not only are there pictures but a lot of really old stuff like pins and whatnot.  Daddy's life in volunteer and career service pins.  Mama's charm bracelets.  And on and on.  Going through this stuff now is good closure for me.  BG and I were trying to remember when life with the grands changed course and figured it was around 2006 or so.  He was diagnosed with fronto temporal dementia which ain't a pretty thing for somebody with a temper or anybody who lives with them.  

The ghosts of Mr and Mrs Council visit often via bumps in the night or creaks on the stairs.  Daddy appears daily in the form of a bright red cardinal by the bathroom window.  Hey Daddy..I say.  And yesterday it was Hey Spike.  The history of this farm alone is enough to boggle the mind.  That story has been told in bits and pieces along the way.  

Go hug somebody like you mean it ^j^