My husband and I are preparing to sell our first home. The one
we bought together as man & wife and the one in which 2 of our 3 babies
took their first steps and celebrated Christmases and birthdays. It's a good
house. I love it, but that's because I know it. The trick is getting someone
else to see the same value in it.
And so we re-painted the rooms, pruned the bushes out front,
threw in a couple new appliances to make it look even more spectacular. Then we
took another look around, with everything all cleaned up. With fresh eyes we
tried to see what the others would see when they looked at the thing that meant
so much to us.
This week has been rough. I feel like there's a better word for
it, a more eloquent person could probably call it to mind. But, I don't know,
for me it was just rough. Two black men died at the hands of police officers and
a lot of people had a lot to say. They had their words together, probably half-prepared
because it seems to be happening more regularly now. Those smart, well-spoken
people had the right words to say to express the pain and frustration that's
bubbling just beneath the surface around us. Not me though. Mostly I just
cried.
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Playground rules apply: Speak the way you'd like to be spoken to and if you don't play nice, I'm kicking you off my monkey bars.