How to organize that mountain of kid art and memorabilia

 

“I went by my mom’s yesterday.” Brian popped the top, took a swig. 

“Hauled off, to her surprised joy, not one but two boxes of junk she’s saved for me. What am I supposed to do with a crayon drawing of a house, a big yellow sun and stick people?” 

“I don’t know, but you can’t throw it out. According to my mother, dumping any childhood memorabilia they saved dares the gods.”  Ford got his own Coke. “I have three boxes.”

“I won’t forget it’s your fault I took possession of that stuff.” 

Tribute

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Øyvind Holmstad, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Determining which cards, photos, certificates, uniforms, pieces of art, trophies and schoolwork to keep — and making those choices without the foggiest idea of what your child will deem special and cherish as an adult — is mentally exhausting. If you’re not keeping up with those decisions all along, though, your house will be overrun.

 

But who should decide what’s remarkable and worth remembering?

Washington Post

Hold Me While You Wait

He said nothing. Tears were clogging his throat. Understanding, she

turned to him. Holding each other, they sat in silence as the sun rose

higher and dried the dew on the tall grass.

"I should never have left you," he murmured.

"We left each other."

"Why?" He tightened his grip. "Why?"

"I've thought about it so many times. I think we couldn't bear to be

happy. That we felt, or I did, that if we could be happy after he was

gone, it would be like dishonoring him. It was wrong."

"Bev." He turned his face into her hair. "Don't go. Please don't go."

Public Secrets

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Rekindled romances are so intense

He wasn't the young man who had once loved her. Nor was she the same

woman. They were more patient now. They didn't tumble onto the bed,

but lowered slowly, knowing each moment was precious when so many had

been lost.

And yet, though they had changed, their bodies moved easily together.

When she reached for him the years seemed to vanish.

Public Secrets 

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By Виктория Злых - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=76837594

The psychology of why rekindled romances are so intense

Last month, the New York Times’ Modern Love column told the tale of two romantic relationships that ended and were then rekindled many years later. The author’s romance first ended when her boyfriend lost the piece of paper with her address and had no other way of contacting her. When they saw each other again after 20 years, she writes, “Our long-lost love was still there.”

QUARTZ

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It was a very subdued Rogan who left his grandmother's parlor and

swung by the gallery just past closing. He didn't want to believe he'd

seen what he knew he'd seen. Just as Maggie had once said, when a

couple is intimate, they throw off signals.

His grandmother, for God's sake, was flirting with Maggie's

moon-faced uncle from Galway.

Born in Fire

“Being a warrior is learning how to cry.”

 "Heels down. Knees, Joey. That's the way. You're a team, remember. Looking good. Much better."
 She moved closer, tapped the heels of one of her two boys.
 He grinned and turned them down. 
Oh, yes, much better, she thought. 
A month before Willy had jerked like a puppet 
every time she'd touched him.
 It was all about trust.


Irish Rebel

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By Lori Hurley - Flickr: Cousins puppy--Tyson, CC BY 2.0, 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31382395

It’s this cycle of compassion  — from human to animal and earth and back again — that Cacciatore hopes will be the heartbeat here.

YAHOO!

________________

 "Did you notice the little guy, dark hair and eyes? He rides Teddy."
 "Aye. He has good form, and he's cheerful about it."
 "He is now. He was a scared little rabbit when Keeley took him on." Sarah swung into the stables, headed directly for the tack room.
 "Afraid of horses?"
 "Of everything. I don't know how people can do that to a child. I'll never understand it."
 "Do what?"
 She chose her tack, murmuring a thanks when Brian took the saddle from her. "Hurt them." 


Irish Rebel

"I See Fire"

Cal held his arm out. Fox, then Gage pressed their scored wrists down to his. “

Brothers in spirit, in mind. Brothers in blood for all time.”

As they stood, clouds shivered over the fat moon, misted over the bright stars. Their mixed blood
dripped and fell onto the burnt ground.

The wind exploded with a voice like a raging scream. The little campfire spewed up flame in a
spearing tower. The three of them were lifted off their feet as if a hand gripped them, tossed them. 
Light burst as if the stars had shattered.


Blood Brothers

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Whenever I listen to this music I crave the Amazing Sign of Seven Trilogy...

Oh, misty eye of the mountain below

Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls

And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke

Keep watching over Durin's sons

If this is to end in fire

Then we should all burn together

Watch the flames climb high into the night

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At the farm, Brian held his wife’s hand as hundreds of people stood in his fields staring at the sky. “Jesus, Jo, Jesus. The woods are on fire. Hawkins Woods.”
“It’s not fire. Not just fire,” she said as her throat throbbed. “It’s . . . something else.”

At the Pagan Stone, the rain turned to fire, and the fire turned to light. Those sparks of light struck the black to sizzle, to smoke. Its eyes began to wheel now, not in hunger or pleasure, but in shock, in pain, and in fury.

“He’s doing it,” Cybil murmured. “He’s killing it.” Even through her grief, she felt stunning pride. “Hold on to him. We have to hold on to him. We can bring him back.”


The Pagan Stone