Our Christmas tree is in the kitchen this year, definitely an odd place for a 6-foot tree. It’s a tight fit. But the kitchen is where we hang out now, the kitchen and the family room right next to it, not the fancier living room where we and past Christmas trees lived.
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My cousin Darlene sent the photo in a text message. Our cousin Jan had e-mailed it to her. I had never seen it before. It’s a black and white shot of two girls on a beach, young women you’d call them today, but girl is who each was back then, in the early 1950s. Beautiful girls, both of them. One salt, one pepper, the blonde in a black bathing suit, the raven-haired one in white…
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Every day it gets a little harder to keep the faith. I’m trying. But I’m failing more than succeeding. I live in two separate worlds. The world around me. The world in which I exist every day. My house. My street. All the places I visit. The people I know. The people I see. The people I text and e-mail and talk to. Old friends. New friends. I don’t see hate or division in my very small world.
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