Christmas boxes needed to be separated from the year round boxes. The year round boxes needed to be re-stacked. The garage needed to be put in a semblence of efficient stacked boxes order.
The year round boxes, for the most part, are filled with much loved and read books. My grandchildren wont let me donate the books. They have visions of becoming adults, setting up their own households with large accommodating bookcases and fighting one another for the boxes of books. Their grandmother's legacy ........ a love of books!
My Southern Gentleman friend, Scott, offered his strong arms and back. My Eastern Psychopath, John, offered to lend us his vast knowledge of dusty box stacking, and hot coffee whenever we wanted it. So..............a crew was formed. We worked most of the day. We did a beautiful job of Christmas boxes on the left, year round boxes on the right, and John's coffee cups on the floor in the middle. When we were through and I turned my wheelchair around to get a larger view of our wonderous accomplishment I saw a white envelope. It was lying on the concrete floor almost exactly in the middle of the garage. "What's this?" I asked. Both men looked at me with their guilty little boy faces. Have you ever noticed how guilty men can look even when it's obvious they haven't done anything wrong? "I didn't put it there." "Me either." 'The dog must have done it!"
I rolled over to the envelope and gently picked it up. I opened it and pulled out the small piece of white paper. Written on the paper in my mother's handwritting was
"Penny ........ Just a note to tell you how much we love you. Take care of our girl. Love, Mom"
My mother has been gone for three years. I have no idea where the note came from and no idea how it got on the garage floor. Sometimes, heaven just knows that you need a note.
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