They are my context.

Today I painted a bedroom for my parents, blue, the last room of the house to make the switch to color. My back is sore from the work and the drive, but I couldn’t be happier. In high school, when things were really bad, Mom swore I’d like (or “stop hating” ) her when I grew up, and of course she was right. I’ve never had so much appreciation for them, both as parents and as people. Quirky and bickery? God yes. But also generous, hard-working, intelligent, and genuinely interested (and interesting). Everything and everyone means more in context, and I feel so lucky that they are mine.

Mom and Dad in (Russia?)

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2 thoughts on “They are my context.

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