Ten years ago, when my grandpa died, I promised myself that I would write a letter a week to my grandma. With a few exceptions, I did. And she saved all of them. After she died last year, my mom and her sisters sorted through all her correspondence and returned letters and cards to her kids and grandkids. I got a flat box about the size of our piano bench, stuffed full of cards, letters, and notes, dating back to my college days. Back to high school, actually. I found one letter I wrote to both my grandparents right before my high school graduation, thanking them for everything they'd done for me to that point.
I've moved the box up to my office, which may have ben a mistake. As I try to spend time organizing my space, I find myself drawn to the box and spending too much time reading letters and getting lost in my past. Happened again tonight. And I still found a little time to knit and to recycle the bead off an old tank top to use in an upcoming project.
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