Fireplace Dancing

There is a side of my family I have mentioned now and again here, and I keep saying that I will write about them, but I don’t. You probably know without me telling you that this blog is cathartic for me, when I allow it to be. Sometimes when I write here, it leaves me so emotionally raw that it’s difficult to breathe. I can’t write like that every day. I can’t even write like that often. I can’t even think of it very often.

But I can flit around the edges of it. I can tell you that I saw an ad for ventless gas fireplaces and it reminded me of Papa, who has had a fireplace in every home that I have ever known him to live in. And then you might get the hint that he has lived in homes that I have never seen, and that I’m not talking about the time before I was born. I could then mention that although I remember that he has a brick fireplace surround, I can’t remember what’s on the mantel, and you could surmise that it must have been a very long time since I have been to his house.

And then by me saying a little and you reading a little between the lines, we’re actually dancing together, ever closer to the place where I can talk about this. But it will not be today. I can not do this today.