I'm trying to remember/understand why exactly that old grandparental cottage meant so much to me. Why I was so bereft to lose it. Like a lover who really understood me. Then was gone, just like that.
I could not accept that loss.
So, I waited it out.
It was mostly the people, not the place, of course. But it was also the place, the smell of it. And the space, theirs but also all of ours, the ace in the hole, a thing owned outright (safe), rare for us who bought mostly on "lay away".
When I die, I'll give the cottage to them *in trust*, no selling the one thing we/you actually own in full, never again for as long as memory of who I was remains. No matter how hard pressed, or maybe rich and no longer interested, I don't care anywhichway, if you're a descendent of mine by blood or by accumulation, you will get one piece of me guaranteed, and/but that one piece will only be of any value to you if you remember why it was.
s.m.i.b.
