Beneath the Wraps

          Almost every household in America has at least one ghost living with them.   Since being married to Roland, I have encountered three.   Their names are “It Wasn’t Me”, “I Don’t Know” and “I Didn’t Do It”.   The ghost who gets blamed the most in this house is “It Wasn’t Me”.   “I Don’t Know” received most of the blame in our last house – though “It Wasn’t Me” seemed to share a lot of blame as well.           I find it interesting that about 20 minutes before Jenna returned home from school yesterday, I retrieved a hand mirror from the coffee table and put it in the bathroom.   She couldn’t have been home more than five minutes before I found the mirror on the coffee table again – in almost the exact same position it has been only 25 minutes earlier.           “Why is that mirror on the coffee table?” I asked...

          Shortly after my mom had Corey, she went to a Relief Society activity where the sisters were making ceramic picture frames.   They were decorative white oval frames with gold spray touch up.   They would then house all of the 8X10 school (and pre - school) portraits which came home with us. In order to make them fit into the frame, mom would cut the corners of our school photos and tape them to the back of the frame.   By the time Kayla came along, another frame had to be added.     It wasn’t quite the same.   The mold itself seemed to match but rather than white with gold spray, it came out more like white and gold mixed producing an antique white or an ugly urinated looking almond/cream type color. The frames were arranged in a circle.   I think I was at the top.   My brothers at either side and Kayla’s yellow frame at the bottom. Over the years mom would update the ph...

          My apologies folks for my last two downer posts.   They felt like downers anyway.   I started one about easing my way back into a normal routine.   Started.   I had to record the words that made my last post just to get them out of my head. They were haunting me.   Now I don’t feel so haunted.   Writing is good therapy! (well for the most part anyway)

          A week ago yesterday mom was discharged from the hospital A week ago yesterday I drove her home – her actual house.   She wanted me to take her to the one in her mind. A week ago yesterday I drove her to my house where we waited for Nate (my nephew) to come get her and take her to her real home.   A week ago she was still distorted and not satisfied with where she was. A week ago today my brother Patrick and his son-in-law Nate moved some of mom’s furniture.   A week ago today my sister-in-law Sunny and our friend Becky helped pack clothes. A week ago today unbeknownst to my mom, she spent her last day in the house where she started a new life with dad and raised all four of her children. A week ago today my sister Kayla took my mom to the doctor.   A week ago today, Patrick and Sunny and their daughter Ellen rearranged mom’s furnitu...