It Is Done

Up a seemingly long flight of stairs, that had a large wooden banister, to a windowed landing, turn right, the stairs now narrow and become steeper. At the end of this ascent a hallway to the left, which lead to a nursery enveloped by a home that was built before the civil war.
The home hadn’t moved, but time had changed its surroundings from farm fields, well houses, and a small water tower to asphalt streets, cement sidewalks with boulevards and a neighborhood of newly built homes. Now bordered on the north by 58th street, this home was numbered 329. To its west was Grand Ave. To its east was Pleasant Ave. And yes, life was both grand and pleasant in this magical, wonderful, beautiful home.
In the nursery was a two or three year old redheaded curly haired boy, a crib, a rocking chair, some toys, a teddy bear, and music. My first memory, of my mom, and of my life is of this nursery, and of the soothing, comforting, lulling sounds that came from a beautiful dark haired woman.

This was the beginning of my tribute to my mom this morning, before we buried her.




I did get out and ride this afternoon. 33/17.1