Well, I’ve gone and done it again: volunteered myself for something that I may bot be (emotionally) capable of doing. I’ve been charged with writing the “In memorium” for my mother to put in the paper. Thinking about it (her) is keeping me up at night.
Thanksgiving is also coming, and I think I might like to have a little get-together over here… Our place is small, and the kitchen is so tiny, but I think I can pull it off. I’ve got chopped celery, onion and some dried bread in the freezer already. I guess we’ll see what happens.
I’ve been thinking about what is going to happen to my grandmothers’ house when she passes away. Her three children own houses of their own. I would so love for my children to grow up in that house. It’s the only house that was a constant in my childhood that my family still owns. It would certainly have plenty of space for us, Evan and I could finally have our own garden, and Brian and I could see the place we got married every day. I hate to think about this already, but I sure hope we inherit that house when she passes. I don’t think anything in the whole world could make me happier than that. I want our own house so bad. I want our kids to have a place that’s steady and permanent. I look at pictures of me growing up in that house and it makes me sad that Evan doesn’t have a place like that that he will remember and enjoy looking at in pictures when he’s grown. I want a house to take care of, and grow my children in.