The way to love someone
is to lightly run your finger over that person's soul
until you find a crack,
and then gently pour your love into that crack.
~Keith Miller

Monday, July 28, 2014

second from left, my older brother
little me
This very old pic was with my mother's things.  She probably took this picture, she enjoyed photography and frequently had her kodak brownie swinging from her shoulder.
The look on my face cracks me up ... and to me the somewhat quizzical expression, the sweet simplicity of the outfit, the wide open eyes and the stillness, the composure, precisely captures little me.  It's funny to see the way I held my hand ... my lines are the same as I sit here tapping out thoughts.  I remember some of those kids.  I wouldn't have like it there, bunched up together with "not my brother".  That looks like a how much longer... look .

We are back in Texas for a couple of weeks.
Hanging around with my mother-in-law today.  She is the sole occupant of an excruciatingly nice memory care facility.  We walked in this morning and made ourselves at home in two different salon areas ... husband has the tv on ... V and I are around a corner near an outlet for her charger.  No one is in the building to greet/screen visitors.  The yardman is the only person we have seen.  I guess she is in therapy somewhere.  We had dinner with her here yesterday and stayed past nine.  She remembers her son and is gracious towards us, she knows we are her guests, but not the connection.  I'm burning hotspot time because no one here (so far we've seen only the chef, a care giver, and a guy who seems to be an investor who just "happened by" last night) knows the password for the WiFi.  We plan to take G'mere out for a little shopping trip.  She says she needs something to keep her hair from blowing around when she is outside.  It's interesting to see what tiny comforts she holds to.  I may have to get on eBay to find one of those fifties chiffon hair scarves ... that's what she wants, though she calls it a hair net.
I don't like it here ... the place is "styled" for sales, but I am uncertain about what is actually being bought.  It "looks" good (and for now it is the best we can do).

My life, I realize suddenly, is July. Childhood is June, and old age is August, but here it is, July, and my life, this year, is July inside of July. ~ Rick Bass

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