Misplaced Sanctuary

Click to view larger version.

 

I have searched for a little bag of magnetic poetry ever since we left Colorado. It contained a poem that I wrote while in our last house there. Better Half meticulously wrote it down, indents and all, before I pried it off the fridge and stuffed it in a plastic bag. I went one step further and used a lighter to melt the know, twisting it so it wouldn't come undone.

And then I lost it. 

Technically, I misplaced it. 

We gutted all the crap in our bedroom closet. The room served as my dad's office before we moved in to help my parents. There was hoard underneath the "everything we need to function" items, all crammed into a 3x4' space. (Until recently, we had only one area of the house - our bedroom.)

Don't believe me?

It's worth pointing out that our blankets are part of this hoard, stacked on top of all the "office supplies" shit. Those plastic bags now hold all the clothes we're donating; dad's shirts and shorts are in excellent condition, and the Urban Mission gives clothing and odd bits to those in need sans any fee. Better Half and I dragged all those boxes downstairs, except for a few that can eventually get stored in the old office's closet.

Slowly but surely, we are making the house into a home suitable for us as well as my mom. We'll need to rent a dumpster later in the summer. The basement is crammed with dad's old equipment and our boxes that still need to be unpacked.

I turn 50 this year, and Better Half is a few years away from 60. We must get this done before our health limits us.