I’m certain that my insurance policy
must be in the shed as I can’t find it in the house. Too many things have been pushed aside. I haven’t had the room to go through them
until now but don’t wish to tote everything back into the house only to take it
out again. I can be more effective when
it warms up – but not to scorching.
I can’t sort through papers while I’m
wearing gloves and so my fingers are cold after having gone through two boxes –
neither had any hints of what I thought should be present. My fingers are so cold I couldn’t do
anymore. But I was having fun looking as
I came across memories of handwriting, saving various assignments from Jaime’s school,
an old photograph of a cousin and his wife.
The photograph isn’t labeled. If
I should die right away, no one in Oregon is going to know who it is. Why am I saving it anyway?
My fingers are numb as I attempt to type
these words. Smiling about things my mom
had saved. I should work on tossing it
all. For if we ever move again I won’t
be toting it across the country. My
fingers aren’t frozen, but they haven’t warmed up still.
