Tuesday, March 11, 2014

living with the ghost of Putter

There are several kernels of popcorn laying on my den's floor, the room in which we watch movies and eat popcorn. That popcorn would have been snatched up and never for even a minute had a chance if Mr. Putter was  around.


I never expected to miss him so much. Sometimes I hear him in my mind coming down the stairs, his nails tapping on the hardwood floor. It's sad. Some things I will never miss about Mr. Putter, but those things that I do miss hurt deeply at times. But most of all I hurt for my daughter, who had a magnanimous love for him.




His memory lives on.

roasted chicken

... for supper  Most of my Wednesday mornings are spent rushing from here to there with Charlotte for violin and piano lessons; I hav...