Really? Who Cares? by Julianna Rowe

 The song to the right is written by me!  It goes with this Post.  And Copyrighted.

Who Cares?   No one knows I gently placed a photo of them high atop my antique wardrobe within view of my slumber area to view at each days end.  Or at an interval during the day when I am passing and look up at the photo while tossing a sweater into the hamper, then moving on.

No one knows about the wine glass Sarah painted for me seven years ago with broches laying among the beautifully painted flowers holding the glass. How I walked to get the bamboo stool from next to the high bed, walked to the kitchen to reach the grass on the top shelf. To then walk it back to the old antique wardrobe and fill it with grandma's old broches. 

Then set it next to my mirrored jewel box and old doll from Germany not to be seen by anyone, probably ever, as she is hidden back in the dark corner of the tall box.  

Who would know the one broch among the many was worn in 1957 at Grandma Tillie's fiftieth wedding anniversary dance.  Or that the other broch was worn by me a hundred times while I was a successful insurance agent who walked with a spring in her step and a deep kindness in her heart.

No one knows the fur scarf that drapes over the pearl pillow I made came from an $800 coat gifted me by a lover I met while traveling the South.

That lover and I secretly driving to a rendezvous area, making love under a large tree that covered us with a secure blanket of safety. After a lingering time never to see him again. Decades later. No one knows my mind in the dark hours before dawn.  No one knows the lack of breath I feel or the fear of how to walk in it and with it.  The lack of life force energy doesn't offer sustenance. It  maintains my temporary life force but....there is no security at the primal base.  None, unless I create it and earn paper money for what I create.  The broches don't pay. The photo memories don't pay. The rendezvous by the tree is a blip in time for what?  A miniscule dot on my brain, an intangible noting no one in any of the vast Universes knows of but me.  What was it for? Maybe for this moment only.  At 3:11 am four decades later so an old woman could relive that lovemaking rendezvous out in the West Texas countryside with a handsome viral rich businessman just like herself.  Then driving away, free, long blonde hair, loosely wrapped scarf blowing in the wind.  Smile lingering, and secure.  Unlike today. Where nothing matters, no one calls as often, or cares as much.  The body weakening, the mind failing.   The broch lay in its wine glass tomb and I in my tombstone mind. How do I roll it away so I can get paid and live on.  Living isnt free.  Only memories are. 

Snap out of it.  There are more broches under the bed and in the box in the closet.  

Move on Julianna. You got this. It was just a bad dream honey. Although getting older does change our lives.  

P.S. I  had surgery today on a skin cancer and could not bend down to get Grandma's broches out from the bottom of my closet for a photo.  So I borrowed one online from Zaza of Canada.  Those are her broches.... Later's on my Gma Tillie's.