Chapter 16
February brought a slow and dreary grayness to the sky,
making the days feel incredibly short and deeply melancholic,
and testing the limits of our collective indoor winter patience.
To combat the lingering heavy seasonal blues in the house,
we decided to undertake a massive thorough attic cleaning project,
and spent our entire weekends sorting through decades of accumulated dust.
The space was absolutely filled with forgotten forgotten historical treasures,
from old moth-eaten woolen army blankets from the forgotten war,
to heavily tarnished brass lamps that had not worked in years.
The children thought it was the greatest magical adventure ever,
digging through the fragile cardboard boxes like brave little pirates,
and pulling out funny vintage clothing to try on playfully.
Sam found my old dusty acoustic guitar in the corner,
strumming the rusty strings with surprising rhythmic natural enthusiasm,
and begging his highly amused father to teach him a song.
Trevor spent an entire afternoon tuning the warped wooden instrument,
showing the eager boy how to place his small clumsy fingers,
and passing down a musical skill he had completely neglected lately.
I found a thick leather-bound photo album hidden under a blanket,
filled with faded black and white pictures of my own childhood,
and spent hours carefully showing the incredibly curious kids their ancestors.
They pointed out the striking facial resemblances with wide eyes,
laughing at the incredibly funny old-fashioned hairstyles and strange clothes,
and connecting deeply with a personal history they never fully knew.
It was incredibly important for them to know these ancient stories,
to fully understand the long unbroken chain of their family bloodline,
and to realize they belonged to something much bigger than themselves.
Whitney had always hated these old sentimental family heirlooms,
calling them worthless junk that took up too much valuable space,
and constantly pushing Trevor to throw them all out completely.
But sitting here in the dusty quiet light of the attic,
surrounded by the tangible physical evidence of our shared past,
I knew absolutely that preserving these items was my greatest duty.
The cleaning project took almost the entire cold dreary month,
but it successfully lifted the heavy winter gloom from our shoulders,
and replaced it with a bright renewed sense of joyful purpose.
By the time March finally began to peek around the corner,
May you like
the attic was perfectly organized and deeply respected once again,
and our family felt more solidly connected than ever before.
