Monday, January 19, 2009
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Truth Cuts the Deepest


Have you ever wished you could find an old house with an attic full of treasures?

It was the spring of the year and the spring of a new life. I had just married the woman of my dreams and moved into the house of her dreams an old country style house now displaced in the middle of a slowly developing suburb but a house with promise and style. Yes, it needed some work, but she loved it and I loved her and together we could conquer anything.
We explored our Victorian stronghold arm-in-arm and sought to discover all its secrets. From top to bottom we explored and laughed and loved. The spring and summer flew by in blissful love and oh, the things we found in the attic and the half cellar that went under the back half of the house. Old lanterns and trunks filled with vintage costumes, a jewelry box that had been stuffed behind the brick chimney with wedding rings…too many wedding rings and bobbles for the ears. The one thing that intrigued me the most was a dagger, with a long tapered blade, a bone handle, brass guard and pommel, the kind you see in those old American Civil War photos. The blade was coated with a thin layer of rust, so I decided to restore it to a workable condition. My beautiful bride smiled shaking her head saying,” Boys will be boys,” and laughed in her melodic manner. I labored on that blade with a piece of steel wool all the rest of that day and for the next two days when I blundered and cut the palm of my hand. The pain from that incising ran through my body like electricity all the way to my chest. I dropped the blade and it stuck between my feet into the hardwood floor. There was blood. Oh my there was blood, but I reminded myself that any cut to the hand would produce blood beyond the seriousness of the cut, so I washed my hand in cold water to stop the bleeding and wrapped it in gauze then placed the dirk on the mantel above the fireplace in a display stand I had made for it. I had finished my labor of love and brought new life to the blade. My wife was concerned with my injury, but I assured her that the grievance was superficial and to her frustration I ignored her imploring to take me to hospital. Shortly after is when the dreams started...

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lizzie said...

An good choice to post here. I enjoyed the read.

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