Cold Fingers and Memories
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 ...