Saturday, September 18, 2010

The past is never dead. It's not even past.

I'm not even all that familiar with Faulkner but our new location in Central Florida is a lot more southern then metro Atlanta, so maybe in between my post cancer treatment plan and trying to reclaim my life I'll have time to fix that.

But that particular quote came to my mind as I weeded our garden with my kiddos this morning. Back breaking work but done for my personal satisfaction. For beautification, a hobby done at our leisure. Nothing like the field and housework done by my enslaved ancestors in the Carolinas. But I think of them none the less. As we beat back the ever present kudzu that surrounds a house that over looks a golf course, we take breaks to jump in the pool and play Marco Polo.

They are a light toffee color after 5 weeks in the sunshine state. I google a color chart to describe the rich brown I've become, but can't decide on one. But it is a familiar shade I've supported every summer since childhood, much to the chagrin of my darkest but most color struck grandparent.Chopping all of my hair off at the start of my cancer treatments in June further separates me from the fine strands of gold atop my children's heads.

But they belong to me and me to them. We will never have to deny that fact for their survival or advancement.If I die tomorrow they won't have to speak of me in vague terms if they marry white spouses and hold their breaths when their own babies come. Much to my surprise this thought of living on through them is of great comfort to me.

But don't worry I plan on being around to buy the afore mentioned babies smocked clothing and helicopter bows. On that front at least I'm well situated in the South!