Only Time

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Old Houses

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I love old houses. I feel really sad to see them like this. To me this house is still beautiful, still majestic. I imagine all the rooms. All the detailed woodwork and moulding inside, the stairway, the high ceilings and old fixtures that are still intact. Like doorknobs, locks and hinges. Probably some of the original glass is still in the windows. At one point someone must have really loved this house.  This is a storybook house. It reminds me of the "The Secret Garden." It's tucked away and hidden. I can imagine myself wandering through the woods and stumbling upon it. Then bringing paint and other things to fix it up. I read a book once when I was a kid about a girl who found a house and did that, but I can't remember the name. When I see a house like this, it makes me think of the little farm family that once lived here. If I try hard enough I can still see kids running through the yard laughing and mama hanging clothes on the line. Simpler times, simpl
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Connections

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Recently, I reconnected with a man I haven't seen in years through Facebook, of course! I saw these bright blue eyes staring out at me from his profile picture, a face that looked so familiar, but I couldn't place this person. I noticed my aunt was a mutual friend, and so I accepted his request after examining his wall. Then I quickly hopped onto chat to ask my aunt how I knew this guy. She guessed from school or a concert--but I knew that wasn't the case. After accepting his request, and bombarding my aunt with questions, he came on and started chatting with me. I was a bit embarrassed that I couldn't remember just how I knew him, but he so graciously filled me in on the details and it all flooded back. We were not Christians when we'd stop and chat on the main street sidewalk, in front of the comic book shop where he worked. We didn't know each other well, but I remember him being a pleasant person. We were living our own lives the best we knew how, longing
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