that cardboard boxes, paper bags and even trash bags dry rot and fall apart when you touch them. I learned this up in Grandmother’s attic as I was going through her things. There’s just something so sad about a trash bag, lovingly and carefully wrapped around an item to preserve it, that disintegrates at a touch.
that the things in our lives take their meaning from the hands that use them and that the tools a person leaves behind tell a tale of their own. There’s not a whole lot I want from her house, just a few things really to remind me of her, to continue the connection we’ve had all my life.
that the sight of a funeral wreath can make your heart skip a beat. And possibly make you stop in the middle of the street and burst into tears. Regardless of the traffic.