Hallows Eve. Here are some talking points:
- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry on the genes. It’s just not in my blood (sic). Not in my nature (nurture?). The child would have been amazing and awesome and loving and kind and would have been able to destroy nations with it’s [CRUSH](es). But, twas not meant to be. Whoever has my child……..treat them well and make sure they understand love.
- You taught me all of the things and I grew up to love working with my hands and not the cooking/cleaning/shopping/hum drum of an existence. I don’t know how you did that or if you even love it. Imma girl. On the outside. Human on the inside. So, she loves Tonka trucks and gardening and wearing jeans and boots (f’ them heals)!!! And cuddles and getting dinner made for her and flowers. And getting dirty and hurting herself with tools and being…..her.
- Your yarn is being auctioned off in the trees as homes for the squirrels and crows…I can’t knit. You know(knew) this the minute you tore out 10 rows that I had meticulously knitted, because I had dropped a stitch. So it’s………in the trees. And they love you for it. As do I. Happy Hallows Eve. I miss you.
Our lineage dies with me. And there’s no one to take my shit when I go, so that’s my (their) punishment. All of this amazingness dies with me. I would say (pictures to follow)—of the stuff, creepos, not my death!!!! But…ain’t no one got time for that!
I love you Margaret and Rene
Blessed Be.
ps. This should have been WAY longer, but you get the gist…
