I grew up on a Saskatchewan farm in the early ‘70’s. As a result, many of the things that we owned had been repaired a time or two over the course of the years. Often, they started out as something else entirely, like using an old ceramic crock as a Christmas Tree stand. Replacing a missing pin on a pulley with a bent nail or wrapping a piece of heavy wire around a joint to keep it tight didn’t seem out of the ordinary to me. It was what you had to do to get the job done, and we improvised with what we had.  

Its about time don’t you think? I really ought to grow up. 34 years old and I am still shocked and surprised when life gets hard, good grief.  C’est la vie, underneath all the adult, I still feel like a little girl. Always expecting apple tree blossoms, soft breezes, and my own personal little wooden swing to float up and down on as the air blows through my pretty flower girl dress and my hair gently brushes back and forth across my freckles. I still feel like I should have a father somewhere out there that will catch me if I fall, make sure I always have enough, and hold me close when life is too much to bear. I still become indignant when life dumps a truck load of **** on my lap.  And when I want to whine about how unfair it all is, I still want a mother to fix me a cup of tea, wrap me up in a blanket, listen to all have to say and assure me that all will be well, I just need to take a nap.