Dear Diary, As soon as I left the room a hubbub of talk echoed around those walls. Niece's tones, strident today, protested that she had not intended to stop me from having a puppy, which Dear Diary I knew to be a bit of political expediency. She had no desire to be cast in the role of a bossy witch! Karen loves animals and would happily have a menagerie living within these hallowed walls! I sincerely trust that Hester does not encourage that particular fancy!
As I sat quietly in my room, with I have to admit, my ear close to the living room wall, several thoughts raced through my mind.
It appears to me that if Karen and Jake continue to stay here, and from their noticeable lack of house hunting that does seem a logical conclusion, then someone has to go. I feel that someone must be me.
As I looked around what had been my haven for more years than I cared to remember, it struck me that I had little to show for my many decades. I suppose that living in another's home, even though it has been made your home, does counter any tendencies to hoard. Hester is a hoarder ... she must take that from the other side of the family! Several cupboards throughout this amply endowed cupboard house are full of what an unkind person could classify as junk. Of course the old adage 'another's junk is someone else's treasure' sprung to mind, but just the same, junk is junk!
I was a child of the depression and as such possessions were few and far between. Presents were invariably useful; books were treasured, and often borrowed from the library. Today possessions are valued in a way that I fail to understand.
I do have several bookshelves full to over brimming with treasured tomes, some which have moved with me throughout my life, some accepted with pleasure on a birthday or at Christmas. Looking around I realised that my treasures were few, but treasured never-the-less. Should I shift it would not be difficult to pack all my belongings into a few tea chests.
A lone tear rolled down my cheeks. I love living here, and have no desire to move. Where would I go? Why should I move?
Slowly my sense of survival kicked in as I thrust all sad thoughts about shifting out of my mind.
Dear Diary, surely this situation will resolve itself ... won't it?
As I sat quietly in my room, with I have to admit, my ear close to the living room wall, several thoughts raced through my mind.
It appears to me that if Karen and Jake continue to stay here, and from their noticeable lack of house hunting that does seem a logical conclusion, then someone has to go. I feel that someone must be me.
As I looked around what had been my haven for more years than I cared to remember, it struck me that I had little to show for my many decades. I suppose that living in another's home, even though it has been made your home, does counter any tendencies to hoard. Hester is a hoarder ... she must take that from the other side of the family! Several cupboards throughout this amply endowed cupboard house are full of what an unkind person could classify as junk. Of course the old adage 'another's junk is someone else's treasure' sprung to mind, but just the same, junk is junk!
I was a child of the depression and as such possessions were few and far between. Presents were invariably useful; books were treasured, and often borrowed from the library. Today possessions are valued in a way that I fail to understand.
I do have several bookshelves full to over brimming with treasured tomes, some which have moved with me throughout my life, some accepted with pleasure on a birthday or at Christmas. Looking around I realised that my treasures were few, but treasured never-the-less. Should I shift it would not be difficult to pack all my belongings into a few tea chests.
A lone tear rolled down my cheeks. I love living here, and have no desire to move. Where would I go? Why should I move?
Slowly my sense of survival kicked in as I thrust all sad thoughts about shifting out of my mind.
Dear Diary, surely this situation will resolve itself ... won't it?
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