BUDDY COLAW, Chapter 2

To preface this continuing saga, the last time an indoor cat lived at my house was about 1990, 29 long years ago.  Tigger was a black cat we’d had for 13 years.  Since that time, we have had a few cats that preferred to be outdoor cats, as I also preferred.

Buddy Colaw was Donald’s companion.  Buddy came to live with Donald as an 8 pound piece of fluff who wormed his way into Donald’s heart by being indifferent, condescending, even-tempered and obsequious at night.  He was a great housemate for an old bachelor.  Both were pretty unconcerned with a reasonably strict home maintenance plan.  Both thought nothing of counter and table surfing, which I think on, obsessively!

Donald put the food out, it was Buddy’s obligation to eat…or not. Same applied to the litter box. If Donald’s coffee cup wasn’t washed every day, well Buddy needn’t think his food dish would be any different.

As Donald’s health declined, Buddy thinned down a bit.  I expected to remedy that and the surfing, and any other necessary changes when Buddy came to live in Georgia.

Buddy lulled me into an easy transition by riding for 14 hours as if traveling had been his life dream.  He furthered the integration process by trolling our house as if he had lived here always.  He acted oblivious to Mattie, our 16 year old Beagle/Basset who was NOT oblivious to the intrusion.  I was smitten too and gushing as only a 70 year old idiot on meth [actually methotrexate, which isn’t as fun to write as “meth”] can be.

Reality has set in. It has rolled boulder-sized into our midst. It is the pint-sized elephant in the room.  B  U  D  D  Y   C  O  L  A  W  is here and planning to call the shots!

Table surfing is a night time sport. Who knew?  I thought sleeping, other than laundry,  was a night time sport.  We are working on this one. My last resort will be decorating the table with tape, sticky side up, to discourage any attempts. I really have no idea what Buddy likes to do, when the house is empty. Maybe I don’t want to know.

Buddy is a male groomer of monstrous proportions.   I didn’t figure him for the fastidious character he portrays.  Cat grooming equals hairballs – ugh.  I mean if I didn’t mention nose hair and eyebrows to John,  he would have a faux mustache and not be able to see to drive – DOUBLE UGH – I thought ALL males were like that, regardless of the species.  I was WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. [My sincere apologies to the late Richard Cole.]

My priority was going to be getting Buddy to eat more and put a few pounds on his little frame, maybe 3-4.  Turns out, my first priority, after watching him closely for a few days, is just getting him to eat at all.  He is a gravy guy.  He just licks the gravy off his food.  He has a fussy tummy, so changing food is totally out of the question. It’s been tried and puking EVERYWHERE is NOT my idea of …..well, anything.   He had been to the vet in Bloomington, Illinois and been sold some special dry food for gastro problems. I think the “special” was actually the price!

Since he didn’t eat the vet food and I now know that gravy is his thing, I turn to the real experts – THE INTERNET.  Turns out he just belongs to a sub-species of cat;  Gravy Lickers Anonymous.  There’s a whole tribe of them. I’m not letting a cat out of the food chain that easily.  I pull out my trusty [truthfully, I went and bought it] Bullet blender and puree two little containers of his food with some water added – I mean I get gravy on the first try – here we go Buddy!  Overnight he is cleaning up some real food.  Promising, promising!

Speaking of cleaning up……..litter box liners are a Godsend, litter mat rugs are a Godsend and a spare towel at the bathroom doorway to catch the last remnants of litter, on the way out, is also a Godsend.  Turns out that moving, resettling, gravy, dog,  water,  air is all unnerving to that ‘gastro’  issue and I have ‘issue’ just about everywhere. He always uses the box, but seems to forge a trail.  Today was C L E A N I N G  D A Y.  More cleaning than I really wanted, but clean it is.  I’m talking far cleaner than Buddy and his old Bachelor ever thought of…..or in fact, would ever notice.  John will come home today and ask what I did today.  He won’t notice that the floors have been vac’ed n mopped, the rugs vac’ed and shampoo’ed or washered if they were small enough. I tried my Bissell for the first time today – it’s work, but successful.  Big rugs got cleaned and rotated. Under the beds, in the closets, behind the doors – it was a cleaning frenzy that was cat inspired.

I, personally, have that ‘cat smell’ phobia, where you enter someone’s home and smell the cat or cats before you even see the homeowners.  I bought two waxy air fresheners when I bought the Bullet. One is in the bathroom and one in the kitchen.  I will be surveying guests at the door for quite some time:  DO YOU SMELL  ANYTHING  SPECIFIC  AS  YOU  ENTER?   The answer better be honeysuckle, lilac or guava peach. Can’t wait to hear the “guava peach”! Bawhahahaha!!!!

I am praying that the Bullet and the liners will be the answer to a ‘fat cat’ one of these days – a really HAPPY FAT CAT!!



A story for Ana with Love, from Gma Deb

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, a married couple was living during a sabbatical for 22 months, in Kansas. They lived near an Army post and in fact, the man was “in the Army”, as the terminology goes.  Ok, it wasn’t really a sabbatical.  It was a forced enlistment that was called “being drafted”.

Being drafted was much like living at home, as a kid. You had people who told you EVERYTHING. They told you when to sleep and where. They told you when to eat and where and what to eat. They told you how to dress, who you could speak to and which people were just to look at.  The Army had people of all ages that were drafted or had actually craved childhood family life and welcomed the opportunity to be in the Army. Some grew up just enough to be sort of like parents, barking and ordering other Army people to do whatever they could think of.  So being in the Army is just like never growing up and having parents who are very hard to please.

So this couple lived in Kansas. He worked at the Army base and they lived close by in a small house. This small house had one extra little bedroom to fill and the couple had heard rumors that if you wanted a baby, they had them at the Army base hospital. Now the main rule of the Army and they have several thousand rules, is that babies cannot join the Army. So if they found a baby on or near the Army base, it was best to take it to the hospital. where they put it in a nursery.  They kept them till someone came to get a baby.  If some couple thought they wanted a baby, they could go to the hospital and check to see what was available….just like shopping.

They had babies that were bundled in pink or blue, hardly a big shopping choice, huh?  They had babies that were fat, skinny, red and wrinkly. They had babies that were crying and sleeping and loud and quiet. And the babies they had were cheap, only about $7.75 each.

You just looked and picked. If you picked one and didn’t like it, you could bring it back, but it was frowned upon. It was rare that you could have two instead of one, but sometimes, if they were really crowded, they would consent.

So the couple studied for a long time on which baby to pick. It was hard to choose.   A nice, quiet baby would suddenly start screaming and kicking.  A smiling baby would scrunch up like he was pooping and they didn’t want a smelly one.  They finally picked one and when the nurse brought that baby to them, they sat for a bit and said to each other “no, not the right one”, so they gave it back and looked some more.

They just couldn’t decide, so they went home empty handed, to think about choosing.  They did some talking and arguing and even went and bought a used baby bed. Now, of course, they were ready to pick again. When they got to the hospital, there were new babies and some they had seen before. In one crib was a small scrunched up baby boy, who the girl thought looked like her own Mother [could have been a sign] and so that is the one they chose. He didn’t scream or even cry when they took him home and he seemed just fine with the name they gave him – Travis.

His first night at home impressed his new Dad. He bragged the next morning that his boy slept all night long. Truthfully, the only person in the house who slept all night long, was the Dad. Travis and so, of course, the Mom, had been up several times during that night and lots more to come.

Travis was an entertaining baby boy and his folks, having never had a baby before of their own, were probably pretty entertaining for him too. One time he did a scary trick of throwing up all his milk, clear across the room. WOW, that was a WOW trick. We asked him not to do that one again.

The thing about babies, just like puppies, kittens and chicks is that they spend most of their time eating, then pooping and sleeping and then eating and pooping and sleeping and eating and pooping and sleeping. If babies and puppies and kittens and chicks weren’t cute, cute, cute, we would never clean them up or wipe them or even hand feed them, but they are and we do.

We made a big mistake with Travis. Lots of parents make the same mistake. I’m going to tell you the mistake,  but you will probably go ahead and make it too. Adults can be pretty dense ….often.  Just like puppies, kittens, and chicks, we decided maybe Travis would be happy with a baby just like him, to play with, to eat with, to poop with and to sleep near at night.

Here is the mistake. We should have gotten him his own baby when he was brand new. That way they would have grown, and eaten and pooped and slept all together from day one. We waited too long to try another baby. We got him a new baby when he was already three and he like all kids with a new toy, only liked this baby for about 3 minutes. After that he wanted to play Army with this baby, telling it when to sleep, when to eat and what and which toys it could have and for how long [just seconds, as it turned out].

This new baby had two things going against it from the first day.

1] It was a girl baby.

2] It didn’t much like Travis and hated Travis’ idea of Army life.

Did I mention that for Travis’ first birthday, he got an Army tank [ I swear, it is true]

So if you grow up and talk about babies, think about just getting one or go for the puppy, kitten or chick example, and have a litter all at once.




BUD, Our Farmer Neighbor

He was born April 29, 1927 in Carlock, Illinois when Normal Illinois was mostly farmland.  He had it in his heart to become a Catholic priest and attended Glenmary missionaries in Cincinnati for a time.  When he was 27, his Dad died and the breadwinning for eight younger siblings superseded his plans.  He became a farmer.  We know God has a special place for Farmers. Paul Harvey said so and I know that “Bud” surely has an honorary place at the Farmer’s table.

He was born Anthony J. “Tony” Feist, but he was always “Bud” to our family. He was a neighbor and the most date-detailed person we ever knew. Bud knew what the weather was on any given day in his life. He knew the dates he planted, harvested and tended to things. He knew the dates of his family, the date the cat had kittens, church dates, common and important dates. He was a walking and talking and quoting calendar.

He was a life-long bachelor. He was handsome, had dated; I think he was engaged once. He was a soldier too from 1955 – 1957.

When we met Bud, we had just moved our young family to the country and we were eager to try our hand at any homestead activity we could handle on an acre of ground with a big old house. I was from farm stock and hoped to instill some of that in our kids. Bud treated kids the same as he treated adults and they gravitated to him for that and his slow easy pace. He seemed to have all the time in the world for questions, teaching or a farm visit. He lived across the field which made him our neighbor right off the bat.

Bud was a tinkerer. It is part of the farmer DNA to be able to repair any machinery with baling wire [name brand –Red Brand] and pliers [name brand – CeeTee]. Bud converted all his farm engines to propane, the tractors, combine and his truck or van. He was an old school farmer with only used equipment – the make-do or do-without farmer. When all the neighbor farmers were harvesting with a newer John Deere or International combine, Bud plugged along getting his crop out of the field with an old Gleaner. Bud never turned down a request for help, seemed especially glad if you stopped to visit and was always busy with a never ending array of farm projects. Bud was a flyer too with his private pilot’s license. We never saw him fly, but he had a grass airstrip near his house that he kept in shape for any emergency landing that might occur.

He enjoyed my kids and often they went gallivanting on some farm expedition or parts run, spending a few hours with Bud. Bud was good at treating them as thinking and older-than-they-were kids. I hope they learned a few things from Bud.

He was from a whole family of devout Catholics.  Two of his sisters became Sisters of the Church. He had siblings who lived years in Minnesota and others in Bloomington, Illinois. They were all very devoted to family and he spoke often of the different members, so that they seemed people we knew, yet never met, except for “Tootie”, one of his sisters. She was much like Bud and they eventually both lived on Bud’s place as our neighbors. As Bud reluctantly retired from farming he continued his maintenance and custodial work for his Church. He was counted on and relished being so.

To Bud’s family, he was bigger than life. They counted on him always and when he died June 21, 2015, things would never be the same. To our family, we lost a dear and cherished friend we will never forget. To you, Bud is an average guy. I would ask you to remember that we are all average people and it’s nice to think we might be remembered, not for extraordinary events, but for living. Let’s hope we will be remembered for being a neighbor or a friend. Let’s hope we are remembered one day for the few minutes that someone takes to tell of us to another, to be mentioned and to be thought of. Life is grand and glorious …. occasionally. Life is ordinary and average most days. Life is a blessing every day.

Bud, and a few others near our place, were the quintessential “farm neighbors” and made the years my kids were “farmers” just the way I had envisioned they should be.  I think my youngsters learned to love the homesteading ways, the truth about where food comes from and the work involved to get it. I hope they learned about home and family and hard work and livestock and their earth and laughter and fun and friends and feasting and ….. some of famine, now and then.

I hope they try harder and work longer and love generously because they had the life lessons that only farming provides. Farming is full of chores, neighbors, commitment, baling wire and pliers.




For many years I wrote a parody of the “Holiday Newsletter”, mailed for fun to family and friends. After 2013/2014 years of grief and sadness, the humor didn’t seem appropriate and I stopped. In 2016, my sister-in-law included my 2007 letter in her card to us. John had been after me to write them again. So I took her cue as a sign. Here is a look back at 2007.

Dear family and friends,

We didn’t think the postage for a holiday letter was in our budget this year, but we save a bunch of money by switching to Geico.

John and I are becoming naturalized to our Georgia environment. We thought we could hold out, but Georgia is as invasive as kudzu. This is the most deceptive plant ever to grow. It creeps over, under, within and through everything in its path. There are fields of kudzu, forests of kudzu, lost car lots under kudzu and a living curtain in our back yard that will hide our chicken house by the end of summer.

All Georgians have one or more chicken houses. A typical chicken house is the length of two football fields and the width of a yardstick, more a chicken hall than house. They are in every state of repair and disrepair and it appears to be illegal to remove a chicken house from any property at any time. I believe statute 111, section 14, states: a chicken house, no longer able to house and properly shelter poultry, should be evaluated as facilities to house and protect Georgia’s red ant colonies, any piece of machinery larger than a carburetor or as perpetual garage sale facilities. Under penalty of law, said chicken house may NOT be demolished as long as the last single rafter does not touch the ground. In the event that a wall collapses, so as to prevent the last rafter from ever touching the ground, the building is to remain untouched in perpetuity. It may, however, be enshrined in kudzu as property value will not diminish, nor taxes either, for that matter.

Gainesville, Georgia [nearby] is the “Chicken capital of the world”. We know that because someone decorated their water tower, in the same vein as Atlanta, Illinois being the “Paul Bunyan holding a hotdog [no one thought of an ear of corn?] capital of the world”. The things we do for, or to, our communities!]

Back to chickens; we have never actually seen any living Georgia chickens in these houses. We kind of assume they may be snuck [Georgian term] into or out of the houses, under cover of darkness – a covert meat operation possibly. We do have poultry processing plants in the area, but again, we have only ever seen empty cages on the trucks. Our food, “poultry”, may be of suspicious origins; who can say. John and I are considering the possibility that the law drove the moonshiners from their still operations to chicken operations. He found remnants of four stills on the property at his new golf club. If he can locate the chicken house, we will know for sure.

Now we did NOT say we have never seen chickens in Georgia. We see WILD chickens all the time, crossing the road, sneaking through yards, scavenging gardens and flowerbeds. We think they are the freedom fighters of their species – escapees harboring plans for revenge. Who expects to see wild chickens? Wild possum, raccoons, coyotes, a bear maybe, but wild chickens? Only in Georgia!

Worst of all, we like seeing wild chickens in our backyard and kudzu covering our chicken house. If we put one single piece of upholstered furniture on our porch, they will tattoo “Georgian” across our foreheads and we will never be able to visit Illinois, as citizens, again.

We wish you a blessed and joyous Christmas season, good humor and love.


We didn’t have too many soldiers in my family, but Memorial Day was a huge day for the YOUNG family. There would be my grandparents, Elmer and Arnetta, my folks with four children, my Dad’s brother, Kent and his family, their sister, Aunt ‘Cile and her children, sometimes my grandmother’s sister, Aunt Rosa and often the youngest brother, Max and his family. It was a whole caravan of Youngs. Sometimes we met up with extended family at cemeteries where they had the closest ties.

We all put peonies, tulips, lilacs, anything blooming, into water-filled quart canning jars packed into cardboard boxes, in the trunk of each vehicle. Alongside came picnic foods, lawn chairs, card tables and horseshoes for the men.

We caravaned  to Atlanta, Stanford, McLean, and Congerville cemeteries in central Illinois, placing flowers on family graves.

Outside Congerville, we always stopped in the driveway of the local ‘sale barn’ [where livestock sales were held].  There we set up the card tables and spread the wonderful picnic foods everyone brought [my goodness, they all could cook….the best food in the world]. Following the “Young” blessing, we filled ourselves to the brim. While the women cleared and repacked, the men played horseshoes.  We dozen or more kids found some way into the sale barn and played among the pens and gates and auction desk.

After the horseshoes were over, we loaded up and headed to Mackinaw and Goodfield cemeteries before the ride back home to Atlanta.

It was always the same each year and never the same and I should do it again before it’s too late for ‘one more memory’.

God Bless our soldiers, I knew one pretty well, but my Memorial Day is also filled with how it used to be on this day each year.


An added note:  A few years ago, on a trip back to Illinois from our Georgia place, John and I took a day to visit all those cemeteries. I hoped to find as many graves as I could remember and write of their locations before I couldn’t. It was pretty much an all day trip, but we had a good time. We found over 50 sites of relatives and friends. I had to hunt a few, but I found them all.

I knew going home that I couldn’t possibly put flowers, real or artificial, on the graves, but my heart wouldn’t let me visit and leave nothing. Having some lovely flowered, heavy fabric on hand, I sewed small pendant-type flags and skewered them on 3/16 dowel rods. They were perfect and could be placed close to the stone and out of the way of those who mow.

My family will have to go a long way to find me in Kingston Cemetery, Pike County, Illinois someday. The stone is there and waiting for just the right time.




Today I was reading a commentary by Aaron Haviland titled “I Thought I Could be a Christian and Constitutionalist at Yale Law School. I Was Wrong”

He was commenting on the uproar instigated by inviting a lawyer from Alliance Defending Freedom [ADF] to speak on campus discussing Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission.

Let me preface my writing by qualifying that I AM NOT a college graduate. And I AM a conservative. I AM, also, almost 70 years old and feel entitled to my own opinion. I think of myself as fair, not entirely acquainted with every current event, but certainly “aware” of many unfortunate things that transpire in our current world of politics, education and division among the citizens of our country.

I see division and deceit as today’s norm and I do not think this was normal in the past. We have devolved to this point when we should be striving for evolution, the supposed growth and improvement direction.

Back to my thoughts. If a law school is having a guest lawyer appear to lecture or speak, it would be my opinion that all students would benefit from hearing him/her. Law should be Law and Yale is educating the future of our legal system. It works when both sides are heard and informed decisions are made.

However, the outcry, over this speaker, was tremendous and by these university acknowledged groups among others:

LGBTQ – Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Trans

APALSA – Asian Pacific American Law Students Assoc

BLSA – Black Law Students Assoc

SALSA – South Asian Law Students Assoc

LLSA – Latinx Law Students Assoc

MLSA – Muslim Law Students Assoc

MENALSA – Middle Eastern and North African Law Students Assoc

JLSA – Jewish Law Students Assoc

NALSA – Native American Law Students Assoc

Yale Law Women

Yale Law Student Alliance for Reproductive Justice

Women of Color Collective

American Constitution Society

Yale Law Democrats

First Generation Professionals

These 15 groups [how many more might there be at Yale?] were protesting a single guest speaker, [regarding a current legal case] at a prestigious expensive university. REALLY?

Given all these groups, how can we not be inciting division and confrontation among the students? I can’t begin to imagine why these groups have been allowed to grow and flourish. Of course, there isn’t one group labeled as ‘white’ anything, because we have all been conditioned to regard THAT delineation as racist. How are groups of African, Color, Indian, Asian, Jewish, etc, not racist? Simple –  someone has allowed this division to be authentic and inclusion to be problematic.

When we allow and encourage this division and sorting by color or tribe or ethnicity, we are promoting racism where we should be promoting diversity of thought by a common group. If you come to the USA for an education, you should be getting indoctrinated in the commonality of all human beings, promoting the laws and statutes of the USA.  The only divergence allowed should be the interpretation of  right and wrong. We should only be promoting the ability to think and reason and debate, without regard to color, ethnicity or personal attributes.

Our universities are creating the socialist agenda by inciting. Our universities are creating racism by allowing and encouraging endless groups of diversity. Our universities are no longer for educating and producing thinking individuals. Our universities are actually inciting a specific plan of attack on our national attributes long held in trust.

Why are we paying for this? Why are we putting our precious young minds into this cesspool of waste? Who will pay the ultimate price for our lack of concern? Who is guarding our gates to the future? It certainly is not the parents of these students. It is certainly not the university boards and decision makers. We seem to think our high school graduates are no longer educated enough to be out in the world without that college diploma, but we have even less regard for the education process in their last four years than we did in the previous 12 or 13 years. We have parents who attack school boards and administrations over any infringement they perceive to their student at age 6 or 10 or 14, but no interest what so ever at the indoctrination of their 19 year old?

Parents, if you send a smart, worthy, high school graduate off to Yale, just what are you expecting to get for your money? Were you expecting that student to only assimilate with his race/creed/color/sexuality/ethnicity and their priorities, or were you hoping for a student who can function in a world that identifies everyone as thinking, educated and fair in their treatment of others? My guess is you don’t really give a rat’s ass what you get for your money as long as the name on the diploma is spelled correctly.

And that is why I think the idea of a college education is no longer the attribute it once was. We just aren’t proving ourselves worthy of safeguarding our kid’s futures, when it takes a bit of work, worry and real concern on our parts. We seem to have too much on our plates to follow through. It’s much easier to pay the big bucks and expect someone else to see to our kids and let me tell you, there are plenty out there more than willing to incite, lie, promote and indoctrinate young minds into their ways.

You can call them professors, instructors, community organizers, campus posers, university administrators, etc.; just don’t call them to care about your student, past the influx of fees and dollars you spend.  THEY HAVE AN AGENDA which includes using your child.

We have to invest more time and attention to the universities that actually teach and build thinking and learned students. We have to spend far less time and money  in the universities that condone and encourage division and student unrest at the expense of a real education.

Our children’s future, our country’s future, rests on parenting with more integrity and regard. The education world, here, has changed, but it has not evolved. We can no longer be complacent.



My memory isn’t great at dates. Today I am sorting and purging AGAIN, and I ran across 28 cards I was keeping. I got them all for one single Mother’s Day, but which? Not sure. It may have been 2010, but it hardly matters. I got them all from the same person.

They are signed:  “Much, Much Love”,  “Hope you have a  great day”,  “WOW, are you surprised to be getting a Mother’s Day card?”,  “Sorry, all I got you was a card, LOL”,   “Hope you are loving your cards.”,  “J”,   “<3”,  “WOW, I’m nuts, LOL”,  “Much Love”,  “Oodles of love”,  “Awwww, pretty sappy huh ?!?”,  “Roses are red, violets are blue, I wonder how many cards, I actually got you…..??”,  “Who said it’s just one day”,  “LMAO”,  “Hope all these cards have helped offset the smattering of negative mail such as ….bills, invites from OH…[LOL]”,  “So, I just grabbed a card for ya….LOL”,  “We all love you”,  “Love, Travis. In case he doesn’t come thru on his own”,  “<3, Happy Mother’s Day”,  “Roses are red, violets are blue, excited about this new house, which sounds perfect for you!”,  “Love Ya”, “I love you”,  “Memories – Spider? Or cat hair – Holy Shit, SPIDER”,  “Much Amore, Madre”,  “Hope you are truly enjoying Mother’s day….which is every day!”  “Love”.

There are lines and lines of notes, quotes, poems, love and laughter spread throughout all the cards. They didn’t come all at once. It was a great time to get the mail, which is rarely that big a treat.

So one year, much love was shared, long distance. We had all those inside jokes that make up a family. A word or deed mentioned and we could both laugh “long distance”. The handwriting was family.  The cards lined our desk, decorated the night stand, and marched across the mantle. They were a rush and I loved each one and laughed in all the right places. I knew the fun that was enjoyed shopping and writing and sending. It almost matched the trip to the mailbox and the opening and reading. Sort of like a treasure box on each end.

Our family treasure boxes disappeared with the firing of a gun.  Even as grown-ups, we were unprepared and ignorant of how to walk or run or crawl beyond that single moment. The bullet ricocheted from boy to Mom to sister and brother and father and grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins and great relatives.  It is still bouncing from love to love, from caring person to caring person, plowing through each heart and moving on, target after target.  It  is coated with so much torn love and anger, the weight should have stopped its journey by now, but it seems destined to orbit our family planet far into the future.

My first instinct [remember, I’m sorting and purging] was to purge! How many keepsakes can I store? Who else would want these cards, but me? I can’t believe I still have them! The thing is ….. I read them and now I can’t throw them away. I knew what they were when I found them and that’s when I could have pitched them. After rereading them, I can’t.

I have put them back. Maybe I want them because they came “before”. Maybe I want them for the love that is on them. Maybe next time around, I will let them go.  Not today…….