Today I stumbled on a little reminder of what my mom was like when she lived at home. I was organizing some cabinets in my parents kitchen and found this serving dish:
My mom always loved it. Since the kitchen hasn't been used much in the past four years I decided to check inside it to see if it needed to be washed out before being stored back in the cabinet. This is what I found:
Cotton balls. I'm sure someone had bought a bag of them and she thought it would be nice to be helpful and put them somewhere pretty. But the worst part of the disease is that not only are the places you put things illogical, but you forget. I'm sure the mystery of the cotton balls went on for days. It's small reminders like this that break my heart.
-- Post From My iPhone