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Writing Pieces


By November 10, 2021November 23rd, 2021No Comments

The sailboat that I gave to my husband for a wedding gift.   He is passing it on now to our granddaughters who sail.

It makes sense.  They will use it.  He no longer does.

The passage of time.

The kayaks we took to our friends’ house who live on a lake.  They’ve been there for eight years now.  Just sitting at the dock.

I no longer squat so getting into a kayak is challenging.

The passage of time.

The jazzy sportscar I bought myself when I went through my divorce.  Old now.  No modern bells and whistles to save me from a fireball crash.  It sits in the garage.

The backgammon set we used after dinner in a  winter of blizzards six years ago.  The orange and pink pants I bought after completing two months of the grapefruit diet.  The book you gave me and I promised to read.  The drawing pad I take on vacations but don’t draw.

Things of the past.  Of a past time.  That are still with me.

I haven’t given them away because I can’t admit that those times have gone.

Skis that would transport me to a fluid, athletic version of myself, hang in my garage.

Paintings lean on the basement wall that were of a different wall and house.

Antique furniture that quietly whispers an old story.  Sits.  No one listens now.

What will the articles of the future be?  The things I will use without thought now.  And then, unforeseen, I will stop.

Repeating the ongoing need to move on.  Discard.

A harbinger of a change I don’t want to face.

Admitting another cycle of my life has gone by.
A sort of measuring my life in coffee spoons.
Mary Mott's Podcasts
Mary Mott's Podcasts

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