I remember playing on the beach when I was young. I remember taking the plastic baking spatula from the kitchen and it being scratched from digging in the sand. I don't remember my aunts or my mom chiding me for it, though they still remember it. What memories do you have and hold?
What is home, truly? What does it mean to work, to slave, to give your hard-earned money to loved ones, needy ones or...?
Back-of-my-mind worries. Of growing old, growing old just like that, with nothing to show for it? For that matter, my grams have nary the valuable assets under their name--scratch that, they had twelve wonderful children of whom one spawned yours truly.
The day ends, another begins. Duties, obligations, responsibilities...the naught.
Here's to the new day. No really, a new day, bringing new energies and a very needed new perspective. Amen.