Cartimandua begs off; her relationship with the men in her life she maintains were less that desirable. Perhaps she will do it when I have finished. That is if I ever do. I realize I have taken much too long.
This has not been easy for me. Just five months ago P went out of my daily life. Sometimes it seems only yesterday; other times it seems a lifetime. Too many memories, too fresh wounds make concentrating my attention on exactly what I would say an overwhelming task.
Forced to deal with some house maintenance problems I have been struck by how much you took care. Without much fuss or complaint. A plumbing problem. You did it. Electrical hassle. You handled it. Painting the barn and repairing the roof. You completed it. Mowing the lawn. Your task.
Now all those tasks have become my responsibility. I handle them as best I can. It's not the same as when you were here.
As I watch the construction crew work on gutters and soffits I cannot control memories of a time twenty five years ago. If I may steal a line from Tanaquil-- she said her Tarquinius took a mud hut village and made a world power of it.
You my P did nothing so lofty as create a world power. But you took a shack and made it into a small villa. I remember so well the day we decided to buy our thirty-five acres with its breath taking view of rural scenery. It was wonderfully isolated from the ugly marks of modern building. Except for the shack. On the very heels of my agreeing I burst into tears. "I cannot leave my nice suburban house and move into this jagged shack."
After laughing at my description you said with such sincerity, "I can make it a house you'll be proud of."
You took that mud hut shack and made it into a villa, small to be sure but a real life villa. Thank-you. I cherish every moment I look on it and remember the love and care you gave to every nail, every two-by-four, every bucket of paint.
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