It rained all night long (a lot) and is still raining a bit this morning. I casually walked to the front door, opened it – and there was no water leaking inside. Nor was there any leaking down the siding next to the door. No more stuffing towels inside the screen door to catch any moisture (yes, I routinely did that.)

What a relief.

A package arrived in the mail the other day from my sister. She’s been sorting through things and is sending me some of my grandmother’s sheet music, which hasn’t arrived yet. But this package was unexpected. It contained three books:

This book belonged to my Grandfather – my dad’s father. I never knew either of my dad’s parents as they passed away before I was born. My dad adored his father. This book is full of songs, folk and traditional, as well as scales and practice exercises. My grandfather’s name is carefully written on the inside, in the form of a circle. I can’t tell you how moving it is to hold something of his in my hands.

I never knew he lived on Butternut Street when he was a kid. Isn’t that the perfect name for a street? Sadly, I googled the address and it no longer exists. It looks like many of the homes in that Corktown neighborhood were torn down.

Also in the package:

Two more of my mom’s childhood Anne of Green Gables  series. If you remember, Meredith sent me mom’s Anne of Green Gables  a few years back. It has a cover much like the cover of Anne of Avonlea. I also remember Anne’s House of Dreams. All of these books sat on the bookshelves that were built into the wall of our upstairs bedroom – a room that all three of us girls shared growing up. There were copies of all of the Little Women  books, Daddy Long Legs, and a lot of others. Many of them disappeared and I suspect my other sister has them. I seem to remember seeing them in her house. I do have Daddy Long Legs. Having all three of the Anne books on my shelf means a great deal to me. Anne’s House of Dreams  has an inscription written by my great-grandmother to my mom.

Just inside Anne of Avonlea:

This beautiful illustration by George Gibbs.

You know my mom’s name was Shirley, right?

Thanks, dear sister.

Of course, I’m also thinking about ridding myself of things – I have a lot of stuff. Not my collections, not my cherished books, but there’s plenty more that can be donated to a charity or my local library or sold on Etsy. I tend not to add to my collections at this point, because they’re mostly ‘finished.’ Occasionally, I buy an egg cup like the one I highlighted the other day. No more McCoy. No more Roseville. I’m happy with what I have and don’t need anymore. Who knows? Someday I might sell them, but I don’t see that happening any time soon as I love having them around and I love looking at them every day. Putz sheep? Yes, I might add some more, especially if I can find the rarer black sheep and goats.

We want to clear out our storage space, as well, and downgrade to a smaller and less expensive one. Time to be ruthless.

Okay, I’ve rattled on.

The display of racism and misogyny by white GOP members which occured during the hearings for Ketanji Brown Jackson was despicable. Vile. Beneath contempt.

We will remember.

Stay safe.

Happy Thursday.