Author: Rosaceae

He was playing an instrument softly in the background, in the dancing strings of guitar or the play of keys in piano, singing in a gentle voice to help her fall asleep in her crib. Some nights he cradled her in his arms singing to her, and eventually all he needed was one song to put her to sleep. The baby monitor sat laying there, but usually she was a good sleeper, often not crying in the middle of the night. But whenever she did, he would wake up no matter how tired he was to pick her up, and soothe her.


Being a parent is difficult, because there is no guideline on what is right and what is wrong. But rather what you would prefer, to be passed along, to continue living. So to be conscious of how you want to be treated even if you may have not received it yourself is to display it yourself, as uncomfortable as it may be to begin that change. This was the parent he chose to be, to lead by example, to love with compassion, disciplined in practice, and respectful in behavior. Sometimes having a little fun and being young.


“I don’t know how I feel… You’re the first girl I’ve ever been with. A part of me wants to know what it would be like without you.”
…


Left simply with a dash.

It was December. Time was coming to a close. As the snow fell, the tree dangling lights filling the streets. Brimming branches of pine and stacks of long wooden trunks. Finding a home.


“you said feelings become stories when we forget them. maybe some of them become songs too…”

“that would be nice” (doctor who, hell bent)



Every snowflake is different. No two are ever the same. Due to an infinite number of variations, in temperature and humidity. The conditions that create each snowflake are so unique that an individual shape can never be repeated, in any that has ever fallen, or will ever fall. Water crystallizations in their descent to the Earth. But what is even more fascinating is that a snowflake never stops changing, even after it has landed. Temperature continues to transform it, in the most beautiful of way.


Every snowflake is different. No two are ever the same. Due to an infinite number of variations, in temperature and humidity. The conditions that create each snowflake are so unique that an individual shape can never be repeated, in any that has ever fallen, or will ever fall. Water crystallizations in their descent to the Earth. But what is even more fascinating is that a snowflake never stops changing, even after it has landed. Temperature continues to transform it, in the most beautiful of way.


It was a non-linear timeline intermittently repeating, yet with that knowledge taken away. They were all the same, and still they were all different. Like the snowflakes that fell from the sky. A play of two in a life of one.

Farewell is the last bridge in fragmental pieces forgotten from timeline, a promise on the verge of breaking apart. Deepness in surrender as it is left adrift to perfect silhouettes, shivering bloom in a hauntingly beautiful reminiscence. Restriction of wild transience to a limitation in recollection, if the passage may remain.


We don’t always have to find a meaning, you know. She reminded him of that. For a time, to just live with her became enough, because they both shared the same dreams. And even if he didn’t meet her, no matter how many he met, it was the idea of her, that kept him going.

“hey hey, you’re okay. hi. we have to stop meeting like this.”

groans of pain as he was uncertain of where he was, who she was, or even who he was.

he wanted to be next to her. he didn’t want to leave, knowing they would separate one day, again. trust. trust is the most important part of anything. without trust, there is no lasting excitement, no relaxing enjoyment, no deep satisfaction. and trust, trust needs to be built. trust in oneself, and trust in another. but don’t be blind in trust. for the true value of trust lead to other morals. respect. loyalty. freedom. integrity… hope. even if there is no hope. a trust that everything will be exactly as it is, whatever it may be.


welcome back.

it was the last christmas.

in which he gave his heart.

The fireplace crackled, and the seasonal decorations lifted the air, smells of pine trees and baked holiday cookies was a gift unraveled. A red Santa hat that she wore, decorating the tree; ornaments, lights, the snowy specks. Oh and the star.

They liked being in each other’s company, and they were willing to work at it. Emotions to the highest extremes. Loving projects to reconnect. To see each other in a light that may have been forgotten. He kissed her under one of the few flowers that still blossom in the winter, a mistletoe.


“How do you think Santa eats all those cookies and milk in one night?”

“Well he’s got a big belly, sweetie. He knows too much is bad for him but it’s mostly once a year. And I bet he makes sure to eat lots of vegetables, fruits, and drink plenty of water on the other days of the year.”

“So how does he get around the world to every house in time?”

“His sleigh travels across time and space, which we cannot see. When we do see it, it’s just a glimpse of what was there, like a star. The reindeers, the jingling, the sack of toys he carries.”

“What do you think he got me?”, she asked excited.

“Well what did you write on the list you sent him?”

As she finished her list of gifts he paused and responded, “maybe he will stop by and drop one of it off. But remember, he’s very busy and sometimes he isn’t able to make enough toys for everyone or get everyone everything. So don’t be upset if he isn’t able to make it this year.”

“I won’t”

Her father smiled.



He was Santa’s little helper, that was what he told her when she thought Santa wasn’t real. Santa, he would tell her, lives in a part of each of us. He didn’t like to take credit for something that wasn’t him. Because the Grinch was there too, he wasn’t mean or nasty or greedy. But just someone who didn’t care because of the experiences in which that was grown. He taught her to understand. Because he said you have to understand one end of the world, to understand the other end. Too far can often lead to be the same. And having one without the other, was like a world in black and white. So she wrote a card and left him a gift one Christmas night. To the Grinch.


But Santa always made it, never in the price, sometimes late, sometimes early, always in the value of what it was meant for. Sometimes no gift, was the gift itself. For a gift is measured in the thought and the time. A thought in what it may represent and the significance it may show. Time in the taken piece of life that was lost in preparation. The best gift you can give someone is your time, because it is a part of your life you may never get back. It was the last Christmas. A pain his heart could no longer bear. It was coming to an end…

He was rushing to the hospital that day. Driving past red lights when no cars were there, honking through passersby, barely stopping at stop signs. Sliding left and right to get ahead of others, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding her hand, which she was squeezing intermittently, holding back her pain. Looking at her from time to time, to make sure she was okay. She hadn’t seen him like this in quite awhile, he was more reckless when she first met him- he changed through his experiences, changing to make her feel safer, because he was starting a family, but this was an exception, an emergency.


There was a crash. Taillights flickering on and off, debris scattered across the intersection, drips of blood landing on the concrete. It wasn’t his fault, but he blamed himself for it every single day. The other car drove under the influence, speeding through the snow covered streets and crashing into the passenger side of their vehicle. He couldn’t avoid them in time. The ambulance arrived within a few minutes, colors of red and blue in the sirens. He undid her seatbelt, blood and scrapes across his arms and some across his face, gently lifting her in his hands, carrying her to the stretcher. Kissing her and never leaving her side. They rushed her there as fast as possible- she was in labor. They were having a daughter.

Her father never blamed anyone for anything. He believed that the only way forward was to claim a form of responsibility. He looked for improvements in himself to anything that ever happened around him. Because he knew that the only way for things to get better, was to do better himself. Sometimes it was his fault, and other times it didn’t involve him. But he knew that even if there was something he could’ve done differently, perhaps whatever happened, might not have happened. That was how he taught the people who worked for him. To take accountability for themselves, while being compassionate and direct in issues and confrontations. That was the only way to grow. Leaders are responsible for what may go wrong no matter what. Setting the example for improved changes. Because it was the leader’s fault for not managing and guiding carefully, and sometimes simply in that mistakes happen. But they trust, trusting others to lead alongside, in their own individual and unique way.

When you lead or take responsibility. Any mistake. Is your mistake.


“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” (Matthew 7:12, John Wooden).



Which was why he always worked alongside those who worked beneath him. Because to truly understand what someone goes through and to be able to help them is to be by their side. He wasn’t always there, but he made sure to do so from time to time to return to the roots. And that was how he treated people, all equally, often those who were new, never knew he was in charge because he didn’t care to make that known, he didn’t care for those formalities. It was a greater reason for respect.
–

He didn’t care what had happened, he only cared that she didn’t tell him the truth. Sometimes it was about honesty, sometimes respect, sometimes her safety, it was to raise her to be mature with moral principles. Someone like the mother she never met. And as she grew older, she made more decisions on her own. Because even if he raised her with the values he held, he wanted her to be true to herself.


“I know it’s not my business, it is your personal space and I want to respect that- But I hope you know, that I’ll always be here to listen, if you ever want to share anything.”


In the end, her father was always there to guide her. What values do you share?

“Dad”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“What happens after you die?”

“…That depends on what you believe sweetie.”


“Everyone has a different way in how they see the world. At the very beginning, people believed in gods that ruled the skies, oceans, and many other things because they didn’t know why it happened. Over time it changed as science helped us understand the world. Nowadays some people don’t believe in god, while some people do. There are others that follow something completely different, or others who just don’t know.


They are searches for meaning- But it’s good to have something to believe in.”



“What do you believe daddy?”

“Everything has a truth, darling. They all teach you something, giving you a path to walk down. Even science doesn’t explain everything. But maybe if everything can be true, and maybe what you hold to be true, may become true. So if you get to that point, where do you want to go? How do you want to play?”


“Sounds fun”

“I hope to meet your mother again sweetie.”


Heaven is a love left waiting, across thousands of years in the safe passage of journey. Angels connecting the heavens and the earths, in a reunion/ ceremony to share the remainder of time; lifting the angelic white veil. Innocence and purity in the patience of virginity.


Her father was open to the idea of beliefs, and her mother was religious. They respected each other for how they saw the world, and didn’t try to change one another. But what her father saw was simply a connection beyond to everything, and it worked in hand with others. Some say there is a science to it… and perhaps there is. But maybe, just maybe, there is a fate behind the science. A fate in being blindfolded. Trusting the self in the arms of another, and letting go, left alone in hope.

After some time that her mother passed away, her father began to give more of his faith to what her mother believed, because after it all, he wanted a chance to see her again.

The main question lied, how did they both see each other as pieces broke apart. At that place and time, she was the only girl he wanted, and while they were together he couldn’t imagine doing anything other than seeing her happy. Well other emotions too, but she liked being happy. So when she was hurt, he was hurt seeing her hurt. And so he had to pick up the pieces, hoping she’ll bend down with a smile picking it up with him. Laughing together, turning something serious into something silly. Learning from the mistakes, the misunderstandings, the problems.


He wasn’t home. He had already left.

“Are you looking for the owner?”, the neighbor replied. Vapors of smoke blowing out into the air, as he moved the cigar on his fingertips away from his mouth. “He left this morning…”



Summer was shattered, her heart sank. He had left without saying goodbye. Words couldn’t describe the pain she was feeling. “Thank you”, Summer replied beginning to leave. She was devastated and her friends and family noticed a slight change in her behavior. She tried to be her usual self but it was hard, she was off from who she was.


When she got back home she noticed a note taped on her front door. She walked over and read it, “Back Patio” was all that was said, there was an arrow drawn underneath. She made her way around, petals by petals of white rose petals laying on the grass created a path for her to walk. Handful by fallen handful that lead to the patio up the wooden steps and towards the setting sun.

There was a small round table with soft white linen draping down. Votive candles burning gently beside, a glass vase of flowers. There was a letter with her name beautifully written held up by a stunning white sea shell, a heart shaped necklace looped with a familiar sea glass laying on a card.


‘i’m going to miss you’, she told him. he didn’t say anything, gazing to the waves. she turns away, beginning to leave. but he grabbed her, and held in her palms…


for what he left, there she knew.
to piece apart, of deep sea blue.



It wasn’t the same necklace that her father gave her, but it was as close as he could get it. As Summer stood there on her back porch, she took out her phone to call him, send him a text, but there was no response. She called him but the number was no longer active. It broke her heart even more. She wanted to talk to him just one more time. Hoping she could tell him she still loved him if only one last time. She barely talked or saw him for over 3 weeks since they were together. He missed her but he kept himself away. They had a fight and she stopped talking to him. He wanted to break up with her, and didn’t tell her why. She was upset with him, and they got into an argument, she didn’t give him a chance to explain. It took her knowing that she was going to lose him, to know she didn’t want to lose him. He had a promise to keep and now it was fitting to leave. Not getting to see how she felt, killed him on the inside. But it was better left that way. It was the only way to begin distancing.


You don’t have to forgive me, but I want you to know. That no matter what happens I’ll always be here for you. She was like family to him. A shoulder to lean on when times were tough. But now fragments of her are shattering, pieces like a dandelion that are slowly blown away. She stopped seeing other men by then, but that’s when he started seeing other women (Flipped Reference). By then they were too far apart, simply messages left from the heart.


He was never good at goodbyes. He often left without saying goodbye- sometimes because that’s just how he was- leaving things the way it was for the memory of the last moment. The last thing you remember before it is gone. Without farewell it hurt a little more, it made it harder to live without knowing. So long.

She opened the letter later that night.


Sincerely is the conclusion of a letter in the parting signature; in the sentimentality of the message given, and the farewell of momentary interaction. The calligraphy in signature creates a brush of cold sadness in an otherwise beautiful, intimate, and warm moment. Will you take my hand in marriage?

Being a player was in the nature, at the roots of the heart. But there was a surface desire for a love story; a stumble that came across accidentally, coincidentally. To make the play of many to be in the play of one. The road of no commitments is a road that is hard to turn back from. An enticing game of live and let go. Are you ready to go down that path? Not waiting for marriage, but waiting for the right one. To love and be loved. Taking the steps to get to that point. If the heart should break at that point, then that would be the turning point. A change of heart.

A heartbreaking love, he was heartbroken, and broke hearts through nature. It was familiarity, playing things off, testing the limits of the edge, avoiding chains that may bar down. Bars on a window that was withering in missing sun. Locked. No way of escaping. Wondering if there may be something else. That wasn’t locked. Doors that were closed and shut. But then he remembers, the gate was never locked, it was always open, he was always able to leave. It was simply a matter of perspective, and so it was no longer a prison. Free to come and go. As the paint drip in his leave. Unfinished. It was never finished, but that’s how it was.



That was the fate signed. To leave. A greater purpose. Was that story worth being the ending to it all? But a possibility that they may meet again. In the same or another life, in the same or another place.


Be comfortable with yourself, being direct with honest intentions. Going to places/ activities that was of interest. Dressing properly, uncomfortably yet comfortably. Tailored to a style of taste: subtle, mysterious, yet with a hint of attention- always distinctive to others. Subtle to not stand out. Mysterious to arouse the imagination and a hint of attention for a notice and approach. Every detail matters. When talking, talk to everyone, get to know everyone, knowing that if it gets to her, and she is interesting and reciprocated, then a possibility to perhaps pursue further. Sociable in the beginning, comfortable in the self to find a connection, and seduction in conclusion. A phone number or a night to remember?


Bringing her to his home, just the two of them. 


The first love. the first kiss. The first time. The leap of faith from the cliff to the waters below. The moments after the first are never the same. sometimes that’s just how it is, needing the time to climb back up the cliff. Looking for something or someone to feel that initial feeling again. A course of action to do it well, this time around. Two different lifestyles, each of individuals with contrasting lives, but little was it known that it was similar. Fools falling in love with different things. One a fairytale, of finding what feels right. The other a constant change in new experiences, to feel what is found to be right. each exciting on their own. But the combination, to be able to create that with trust, do you dare let that go? To betray that? They are both romantic in their own respects, one being patient for the one in waiting. The other in the experiences for the one to inspire change. Which should you choose?


Getting over her, was the hardest thing he ever had to do. But that was what he had to do. she had the choice to be with who she wants to be, even if it wasn’t with him, even if life separated them apart. Still, every girl reminded him of her, she was all he could see for awhile. As much as he may have wanted to be with her, as much as it would hurt, every now and then an ache in his heart. They changed each other in ways they never imagined. Reminders bringing memories back of what they once had. places that just didn’t feel the same without them around… after his first love broke him, he went down the other path. It was no longer about waiting for the right girl. Now it was about finding who she is by playing.


Regards is a formality in the conduction of business, an attire of neat professionalism with a statement that is clear, concise, and to the point. The proper etiquette that we seek in a formal date. Natural symmetry/ asymmetry in the coincidental placement. May you fancy a seat?


The tides crept closer to their feet. He laughed as she jerked back from getting wet.

“Why do you like being sad?”

“It’s not that I like being sad, I’ve been so used to it. I got to see that no matter how hard, or how dark things can get. When you look, the slivers of hope that shines across the night sky, can be truly beautiful. And when I realized this, then I knew that it can only get better from here.”


He didn’t like being sad, but it was how he sometimes felt. It hurt, aching from experiences, emotions, thoughts. So he had to tear down the fantasy of expectations, afraid of getting hurt- becoming emotionless in the presence of emotion. Coming to understand that in order to feel something so happy and beautiful, he would feel something so sad and beautiful. It was a circle. Needing time to heal, sometimes much longer than he wanted. Lost. Intertwining the heav


He didn’t like being sad, but it was how he sometimes felt. It hurt, aching from experiences, emotions, thoughts. So he had to tear down the fantasy of expectations, afraid of getting hurt- becoming emotionless in the presence of emotion. Coming to understand that in order to feel something so happy and beautiful, he would feel something so sad and beautiful. It was a circle. Needing time to heal, sometimes much longer than he wanted. Lost. Intertwining the heavens and hells, coming to Earth.ens and hells, coming to Earth.


She was hugging her knees as they sat in the sand next to each other. It was getting much later now…


“Check her out”

“…”, he took a subtle glance.


That was how the album began, lyrics shared that shattered the attachment, the sentiment, the meaning- by giving it away to others. Living life closer in the vicinity of vices, and less of the virtues. The past fading into background, never completed. Love songs left unfinished… flowers left. In the end, we are always left alone. to love being alone, sentinel in love, looking and searching for who she may be. Leaving flowers behind for those that were left behind. Those that could’ve been the possibility.

i see her in my dreams. it’s where we always meet. when i wake i lose memory of it and i forget what it means to dream.


Love is blind. It isn’t until after we fall out of it, do we begin to see clearly again. And so…

Do you ever break your own heart?


A hope that things may be different this time around, to be the one worth waiting for, the reason. Not to change the other but to accept, and grow, and when together, a trust that they were the only ones meant for each other. Because jealousy, jealousy is a lack of self-esteem and security. That of which is regained in working on the self, in spending time for the self, doing things for yourself. Do you value yourself? What are your priorities in life? Does health, love, and family rise above the rest? What is your value if the heart was in pieces? To strive for a prestige, reaching above, beyond, and not settling for anything less.

A hope that things may be different this time around, to be the one worth waiting for, the reason. Not to change the other but to accept, and grow, and when together, a trust that they were the only ones meant for each other. Because jealousy, jealousy is a lack of self-esteem and security. That of which is regained in working on the self, in spending time for the self, doing things for yourself. Do you value yourself? What are your priorities in life? Does health, love, and family rise above the rest? What is your value if the heart was in pieces? To strive for a prestige, reaching above, beyond, and not settling for anything less.



So when she passed away, he lost that feeling of hope for so long. If only memories left in song.

if anything ever happens to me, promise me. promise me, you’ll find someone who will make you happy.


It was a modern tradition, church bells tolling, oaths sworn of sealed path. He adorned the armour and drew his weapon; it was bold, as it was brave. A request of blessing, for the daughter’s hand in matrimony before disposition. In wait upon a welcoming invitation flickering on safe return.


Phones weren’t allowed at the dining table. It was a time to spend eating and in the company. Even outside of it, consumption should be supplemental- to read, to learn, to spend time outside- productivity, to develop a way to live and think, not spending so much time mindlessly. There was a time and place for everything, and to grow, to be bright, talented, and physically healthy/ fit- develop habits that reach your goals. Baby steps at first, to make it easier. And as you get stronger, and stronger. To reach the dreams. Straying away shortly, for a vacation, a reminder, a time away.

4 missed calls. 3 from Dad, 1 number she didn’t recognize, probably a telemarketer. She forgot her phone downstairs. He rarely calls me three times in a row she thought, it wasn’t a good feeling but she wasn’t worried, her father could take care of himself. She was about to call him back when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Summer? I have you listed as an emergency contact…”


As she heard the news she dropped her phone mid conversation and ran to the hospital forgetting everything behind. There was a fire. Her father ran into the building to save the family trapped inside. Firefighters hosing down the house with water. A candle had fallen and the house caught fire. Through the rubble, the burning smoke, the falling debris, he came out carrying protecting a girl in his arms and a boy in the other. A breathing mask that was on the girl’s face, the jacket covering the boy’s body. Their mother hugging them in sobs, not letting them go. He used to be a firefighter, retired and teaching university students in his free time. The medics just arriving on the scene. He was old now and his body was no longer able to take the smoke inhalation, the burns, the beating. December 14, 2003 (In loving memory of Audrey, Sander, and Rebecca Harden).

She sat by the hospital bed all night never leaving his side, drops of tear rolling down her cheeks, snow gently falling down the window behind her. She joked halfheartedly, knowing he was going to get hurt one day always trying to be a hero.

He succumbed to his wounds. He passed later that day… only hearing the words of his daughter through closed eyes. She lost her faith that day, it was all pointless. Meaningless. God surely did not exist. A life that must’ve been simply just that, a life to an eternal end. There was a voicemail he left for her moments right before he decided to do something crazy, the last words of the immediate family she had left in this town. She still listens to it whenever times were hard.


In the approaching presence of the moon intersections to the night, the moment was still. A glimmer frozen to the beautiful ever expanding horizon in rotation, as hues illuminate spectrums of gradients in passing.

…he thought back, to every time he said goodbye to her, always giving her a kiss, whether on the lips or on the cheeks, wishing if only just one more time…



He was playing in the streets, singing to the passersby. Set up sitting on a bench, an amplifier, a microphone on a stand. The winter time filled the air, snow blanketing the sidewalks in white, lamp posts that stood gleaming in spotlight. Traffic lights changing, letting cars and people pass through the intersection. A gentleman’s hat laid on the floor upside down, a crowd surrounds, soon a little girl runs up with a noted bill, dropping it in the hat. As the bill fell, there was a warm friendly but subtle smile given to her. His song was beautiful, but lonely, a love song. The lyric of the instrument, the voices of people chattering nearby, the spirit of his low voice left with an empty space for a duet pair. All coming to an end. The dénouement was soon to come.



“you know what the hardest thing about knowing you was?”

“my brilliant intelligence, my instinctive charisma, oh my daring taste.”

she pushed him in a brushed-off laughter.

roses arranged in a beautiful glass vase laid on the table the morning she woke up. he was already gone. and there he left once more… she waited a thousand nights, and waited a thousand more, in his safe passage of return.



Confident, yet shy. Arrogant cocky, but humble. Sometimes happy, laughing; sometimes sad, holding back. Fooling here, serious there. Found or lost. Looking for a place to call home. And so the appearance was based on the other person. Whether to play, or to sit. Whether, for whatever. Because there it was emptied, becoming formless and shapeless- like water. Flowing and crashing wherever the tides went. Wherever the tides flowed (Bruce Lee).

But it is tricky. A stigma about vulnerability, in the way to express. And so feigning, holding back what completely is, to maintain composure, etiquette. A mirror of glass walls encasing the world outside from the world within. Thinking perhaps a love through transparency, handprints in waiting.


To comfortably let go; shattering and breaking free. The start of something new.

Did you just nonchalantly make a High School Musical reference?

Maybe.



They danced in a ballroom grand and empty, rehearsal of choreography in practice. An enchantment of spotlight echo in performance of two, darkening backgrounds away. Ominous vibrance remain of haunting silhouette upon, as she exits. Street lights flickering of falling snow as curtains close the scene.

Fall is a season of exhilarating sadness, a moment in time when we marvel at the radiant colors and celebrate harvest, yet mourn the inevitable retreat of the world back into the ground. Leaves blowing away in the last few days of a good friend/ lover.


“At the end of the day, the countryside is where I feel the most at home. Away from all the people, all the noise, waking up to a cup of coffee and a sunrise”, she leaned back looking up to the sunny sky.

“Tending to my vegetable/ flower garden and raising my animals.”



It was a lot of hard work for her and her father, getting down and dirty, but it was worth it. Her relatives often lived with them from time to time and helped out around the vineyard/ farm. Her father was always welcoming their presence, but there was an expectation of how long they may stay for. He was always there to help them if they needed it, but that included them giving a hand with the responsibilities.

He always wished for the simpler life, a life at a farm, a vineyard, growing flowers, distilling wine. Having their own sources of food, water, property, income. Chickens, sheep, dogs, and horses. No cows, he wasn’t a fan of milk, preferring alternative milk choices. Starting a family with the woman he loves, watching the sunrises and sunsets together as the days begins and ends. He wanted the day to start and end with her by his side. It wasn’t that complicated. Simple. The smaller things in life. They didn’t have to make a lot of money, just enough to keep them happy and not worry too much. A house they built together, designing, planning, re-constructing. Really big, with balconies, and terraces, luxurious bathrooms, beautiful bedrooms, spacious kitchens, living rooms, and closets. Strong in the construction, enough to withstand weather and gorgeous large black gates to keep them safe from intruders. Flowers that line the paths and the exterior, a backyard that leads the lake. To watch the world go by. A hospitable and welcoming host. But a host that did not tolerate those who broke the trust. In driving distance to the city, but distant enough to watch the stars in the night sky. A small town of neighbors nearby. Modern technology in a simple world. Actually that sounds a bit complicated, but it was just to appreciate the simple things more.

Going out in the early morning to feed the animals and water the flower/ plants. Using an axe to chop wood on a stump in the middle of the afternoon. Working from home, and working on the field. His wife preparing a meal and refreshments as he teaches their daughter the responsibilities around the house. They were married for a few years before they decided to start a family, because they had to see if their futures lined up.