And then I spent a decade caring for my elderly parents in their home, including the necessity of going out into crowds at times. I developed coping mechanisms to push-through what was necessary for them and their care. They are both gone, now, and it's just me, cleaning-out their house, paring down my own things, and trying to reclaim some semblance of my own life once again.
Nowadays, I go out into the world every couple of weeks, a luxury I am afforded only because I am in my sixties and retired from the rat-race, work-a-day world. I've worked hard all my life and paid my dues in that regard.
I take that one day every couple of weeks or so to run a gazillion errands that have piled up: Β taking my recylcing and small-quantity of household garbage to the collection center, buying required household items, buying groceries, getting gas for the car (known as "petrol" by some readers), and so forth. Several hours later, I can return homeΒ β exhausted, but with the comfort that I don't have to do it again for two or three weeks.

So, what does all of this have to do with the photos shown here? On my last outing, I decided to treat myself to a hamburger to-go rather than cooking when I returned home. The burger-joint I chose had a lovely little tree on the end of the self-service drink counter. All of the ornaments were red or white, which contrasted nicely with the green of the small tree. After fixing my drink, I snapped a couple of photos to help me remember this lovely little display.

My photos have always served as a bit of a visual diary of sorts, too. I can scroll back through my photos and tell exactly what date my father was admitted to the ICU, when my aunt & uncle last visited, and what date the heater was installed here in the house. I take photos of everything. And besides remembering this lovely tree with the white-and-red ornaments, I will also remember the white onions and the red bacon & BBQ sauce was on the yummy burger that day. π






26-Dec-2019
Return from Red and White to πππ₯π₯πͺ's Web3 Blog