"Cousins"

I have six cousins, three on my mother's side and three on my father's side. Five are still living.  The cousins on my dad's side are closer to my age.  The oldest would have been 65 this year, if he had lived.  I'm the oldest on my mom's side, at 62.
Last night, I got together with one of the cousins from my mama's family.  She's 10 yrs my junior, so we were on different life pages growing up.  Also, she lived away for a long time and then I moved away.  Our grandmother, the one who drew us together for family meals and holidays passed away 28 years ago.  All in all, we've spent very little time together. 
Now, I'm moving back to my hometown.  And, she's moved home from Jerusalem.  We are both single and we've found some things in common.  We have plans to do things together when I get settled.  We both like cooking and watching cooking shows. So, we talked about getting together to cook.  She wants to learn how to sew. I already know how to sew.  I've offered to try to teach her. 
I'm considering the chance to get to know her as a positive step in my new life in my old hometown.

Be thankful for family,
Sherry

"First Love"

Monday, I went to the cemetary to "visit" my grandparents.  It's a small family cemetary going back a few generations.  There are other people besides my family buried there. It's not closed to non-family members.  Some we don't have a clue who they are and some have ties to our family, one way or another.  One of those is the first boy I ever loved.  You see, when I was 6 years old, Cupid sent an arrow straight to my heart and I fell in love with a blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy. 

His headstone has his picture on it.  I wonder if it was the only portrait he ever had made.   It was his high school senior picture.  I have one just like it somewhere in a box of old pictures. He was 48 yrs old when he died.  Murdered, actually, by his best friend.  They were drunk.

He was not always a drunk.  I remember a sweet boy who walked 4 or 5 miles in the blistering summer sun just to spend a little time with me.  Back then, every boy didn't have a driver's license and a car. They walked. He was the boy who asked me on my very first date.  My daddy wouldn't let me go.  I had literally pined for him and he'd owned my heart for 8 long years. And, my daddy said no.  I was 14 and he was 17.  He moved on soon after to a girl who was allowed to date. 

He got married when he was 19.  I was 16 and I went to his wedding and cried my eyes out.  I got married at 18, and still, every time I saw him around town my heart did a happy dance.  I loved my young husband and I had loved other boys, but, my heart just couldn't help itself.  He was my very first love and he held such a special place.  Then one day, I grew up and I didn't love him anymore.

Garth Brooks has a song about thanking God for unanswered prayers.   He turned out to be one of those prayers.  He became an alcoholic and I heard rumors of spousal abuse. I felt sad because I knew he didn't grow up in those conditions.  He had been a cop and I heard rumors about why he wasn't a cop anymore. Not good either. What changed him?  I remember a sweet boy who wanted to grow up and be a writer of detective stories, one who was a member of his high school football team.  The one who asked me out for my first date. 

He's been gone so long now, 17 years.  I remember picking up the newspaper and seeing the headline...Former City Policeman Killed.  I didn't even have to look at the name, in my heart of hearts, I knew it was him.  And, though I'd stopped loving him long before, I cried. 

He will always be that sweet young man to me and he will always hold a special place in my heart.  May he always rest in peace.

Take care,
Sherry

"What's Next"

Last year I started this blog.  Then I got caught up in a couple of surgeries, living with my mother for a year and unexpected retirement at the beginning of 2013.  And, I forgot to blog.  Now that I'm retired, I've had to search for suitable and affordable housing on a retiree's fixed income.  I got lucky and found an apartment in a brand new complex for the 55 and over crowd.  Woo hoo!  I feel like I'm moving to the "home".   It's also in my hometown.  And, I have to pack up and move everything I own 80 miles down the road.  I don't own a lot of furniture, but I own "stuff" and lots of it.  I am a semi-hoarder, the keeper of things.  I've lived in the same apartment for 9 years, before that I lived 2 doors down.  So, I've been there almost 12 yrs.  Twelve years to collect "stuff" to go with the "stuff" I already had.  The sad thing is, I'm not ready to part with any of it.  I want to open each box and go through it and see what I want to keep, what I want to give to Goodwill, what I want to put in a yard sale and what I want to put on Ebay.  So, in the meantime, most of it will go to a storage building.  I will probably die before I look in all those boxes, the rent will not get paid on the storage building and someday someone will be bidding on my "stuff" on Storage Wars. 

Have a nice day!
Sherry