On February 25, 1983, my mobile home burned to the ground. I lost everything except my two cars and a load of clothing that was in my mother's washing machine. I wasn't home. I'd gone to town with my parents that evening, and luckily, my dog was at my parent's house visiting with their dog. My two cats were not as fortunate.
When someone chastises me for allowing my cat to have outdoor access, I like to tell them how I had to pull those two little corpses out of the wreckage and bury them. yeah. Go ahead and judge me.
I've come a long way in forty years. I built a house in the same location so I wouldn't need a new septic system and well, not to mention put in a new driveway, and subsequently paid off that mortgage. I traded a faithless husband for a caring life partner. I've been a published author for over the last twenty years. I retired from a lucrative position that provided me with a good income and now a good pension.
The low point of the last forty years was burying my father in November 1983. He didn't live to see my new house. My mother is now in care with Alzheimer's Disease. My partner, a good man, is now in a wheelchair from a degenerative condition.
My life is a good one. Forty years ago I wasn't sure how I'd survive, but I made it through. I don't normally mark this day, but for whatever reason, when my calendar opened this morning, the fire is what immediately came to mind.
I guess forty years is a milestone. It certainly isn't a millstone. I don't own one of those.
The Lady of The Hideaway
Holly Tree Manor, The Hideaway, millstone, milestone, fire, retirement, country lifestyle, rural living, adversity, a writer's life
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