This little tree, currently in our dining room, has suffered through four moves across country. The first was in 1987, then 1989, and again in 2006 and 2008. Each time we prepared to leave, it's branches were bent, pushed in a box that is lined with a black hefty bag, and it is deprived of light and fresh air for almost two weeks. More than once its path took it through hot summer weather in an eighteen wheeler whose contents grew hot enough to melt the rubbermaid tubs I packed things in. As we unpacked, it emerged tired and weak, almost dead, and each time we feared it wouldn't come back. It always did.
This time we feared the worst. It was bone dry, not a green thing alive on its withered branches. We left it on the back deck for almost a month. Suddenly, just a week ago, tiny shoots appeared almost magically. As if from a life line somewhere deep within it, its new growth is more beautiful than before.
This small tree is a a symbolism of resilience in our family and the 23 year relationship Leslie and I share.
The brooms? Oh, I use them all the time. The one on the left is my commuter broom. I use it to go to work. The one on the right, the fancy one, is our weekend broom, and we use it only for family outings.
A girls' got to get around, doesn't she?