Just read this and loved it!, so I am following, re-blogging and retwitting!! Hope you enjoy this read as much as I did.
His boots were just sitting there by the door, just where he had left them. For 40 years he had left them there every afternoon after work, he would come in and stretch dramatically calling, “Where is she? Where is my Nora?” and she would greet him with a smile while he enfolded her in his arms.
For thirty years every evening so it went. You see he worked every day but Sunday. So every night they would sit outside on the veranda and relate their day, by the light of the moon while he cleaned the mud off his shoes. There was always mud on a grave digger’s shoes.
As they years passed and the family grew to a robust 12, the children became part of the tradition. Sitting all around their daddy after chores and homework and dinner ,while cleaned his boots, him lecturing on the politics, or…
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