...and about as far from the previous post as is imaginable. The furnace I said I'd replace twenty years ago, when I moved in here, the gas-guzzling, low efficency, patched and rusted piece of junk is out. I don't usually fear household appliances, but this monster-in-the-cellar gave me pause. Was I really counting on this shambles of tin and iron to keep me safe and warm in the Minnesota winter? (shudder)
When I did move it, I had to tip it on its side to get out of the way, thus dislodging all the little childrens' toys that had 'fallen' down the cold air returns. Legos, a plastic cowboy, marbles and a piece of wood with the eldest son's name scrawled in it. It seems that the basement is on a roll for memory associations this week. It is as if all the little bits of my life that are too inconsquental to be properly archived float down and settle there, waiting for someone, anyone, to validate their existence. Last week the Weaver found a plastic rabbit from a barnyard animal set while weeding the front hosta bed. The toys of our children's childhood, back to remind us of those earlier days.
All is full of love.