Stuff We Leave Behind

November 22, 2008

A few days ago.

I have to clean out the closet so the Mr. FL could turn off the hose bibs or whatever those things are called that can burst the pipes in winter.

Have to move shoes and boots and freezer totes and coats and jackets.

Jackets.

I come across an old leather jacket.  Sized for a tallish, slender man.  Dark brown. Cut in that 70s style, with a quilted lining.  Dark brown ribbing at the hem pilling from lots of wear.  I smell it.  A bit of moth ball aroma hits my nose, but underneath, the scent of aftershave.

Mr. FL sees me hugging it and asks, “What’s that?”

“My uncle’s jacket,”  I reply.  “Funny how people can be dead, gone for years, and their stuff is still around.”

I wonder what stuff of mine my family will keep around after I’m gone.

Who Loves Ya, Baby?

November 1, 2008

No one could say my baby girl has a self esteem problem.  Every day I ask her, “Who loves the baby?”

She jabs her finger at her chest.

“You love the baby?”

Nodding.

Well, self love is good.  She then goes on to acknowledge that mommy, daddy, her sister and brothers, grandparents, etc. All love her.  But it’s so funny that she always points to herself first.