“Out of the mouths of babes.” My younger grandson had a play date the other day. His little friend lives close by, and her dad walked her over for a couple hours of play. The first thing my grandson did was introduce her to the family pets. “This is Georgia,” he said, demonstrating how friendly the dog is when she is smothered by a five-year-old. “And this is Lizzy (the cat), she licks her butt sometimes.” We tried very hard not to fall out of our chairs.
My daughter returned, and after she walked through the doors, her boys turned into wild, crazy creatures with far more energy than any of the adults around them. They eventually spun it out, but it was touch and go for a while there. The next day, we had a relaxing visit before I headed to Grand Junction, and then home.
The last time I was at my mother’s house, I said, that was it, I wasn’t going again. Well, I remember why. It is too difficult for me to be there. Too many memories. It hurts and I cry. I got the couple of things I wanted and got out. I won’t go back. I’ve made arrangements for it to be cleaned when the Estate Sales are done, before the new owner takes over. The yard is being taken care of, and that’s that for me. I want the memories I have of my childhood home to be what I remember.
The IRS sent a letter to my mother, deceased written right on the letter, behind her name, asking her to identify herself as the person who filed her tax return. ??? They listed off several things for her to do in order to accomplish this, but short of coming back from the dead, I’m a little skeptical. I’m pretty sure whoever wrote this form did not think this one through to the end.
Source: Barbara Tyner WordPress Blog