An obsession...

it's my parents' fault.

No, really it is...

see it all started when I was only a grade schooler....

They (the parents) started to take vacations,

really just weekend trips to 

Charleston SC.

I was,

and probably am..

a spoiled brat, and they had to get away 

every once in awhile, or they might 

strangle me.

So,

a babysitter or grandmother was retrieved and

paid, I suspect, and off they went on a Friday afternoon.

Not a long way mind you,

but far enough that not returning when I cried, was 

only reasonable....

There they had a wonderful time,

and because they are indeed wonderful themselves,

they would bring me "goodies"

gifts,

presents,

bribes....

That's when it started...

this obsession for 

baskets...

I cannot help myself.

I don't even try any more.

I am hopeless.

So,

here is a glimpse at my stash...

enjoy....

Some are old...

having been acquired from antique shops, or junque stores...

Some came from family members to me when
we cleaned out their homes, I cherish those the most-est...

Some are relatively new....

younger than me...

Some are really new...

brought to me last year after their trip...

Yes,

they still take those trips....

I am still a brat, so there is no reason to upset 

the status quo.....

smiles.

Amethyst.......

Amethyst.....

This piece came from my grandmother's house, along with several other reminders of her personality. In a couple of weeks, my mother and I are driving north to her sister's house to pick up a few other things that came out of grandma's house. A chair she saved for me, some boxes of photos, a recliner that may be ugly, old and smelly, but it reminds my mom of her mom, so it is worth the trip....

It is hard for me to see my mother emotional and sad...

This is the time of life where we start to take over the responsibility roles for our parents and allow them to simply live the best they can...

Did I say I hate to see my mom cry?

I have a good bit of emotion surrounding my grandmother's death also, but she lived a very long time, and had a marvelous life. And....she wasn't my mother. So, while it is sad...it isn't too much of a lonely feeling.

I love this piece of her life. The amethyst....

I know that it was meant for me,

don't ask my why, it isn't important,

but it was my grandmother's hand reaching out across the

space that separates us now to touch me....

It is beautiful, like she...