I’m trying to get more organized. My husband says I’m the most disorganized organized person he’s met. Disorganized organized? I get it, but it probably doesn’t make sense.
I knew I had kept this Indian doll and a handmitten powderpuff—both came from your firstborn Suzanne. Sue, as I called her then (and still do) back from a trip to Arizona brought me the Indian doll as a souvenir. I treasured it so much, I wouldn’t play with it and kept it in the plastic bag. Through the years her neck got broke causing her head to dislodge but she stayed hidden inside the bag in a box. When I pulled her out the other day—some 40 years later—I managed to put her head back on but noticed her right ankle was a bit crushed. I wondered at my protection of this doll and why I found her so precious, wanting to keep her safe. I speculate I may have been Native American in another life. I’ve had neck issues, and recently my right ankle has given me trouble. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I think we carry things with us from one life to another working them out as we go along.
As far as getting organized, I keep finding stuff causing me to be more disorganized. Yep, disorganized organized.