Something in the rustling of the leaves this time of year brings to mind my parents, usually my dad. It's as if they are here talking to me, usually commenting on something I'm doing, that maybe they would be doing differently.

This was their home, and it looks much the same as they left it. My mother died of ovarian cancer in 1986. My father remarried in 2001, and he and his new wife died together in a small airplane crash in 2002. They 'dated' for 3 years before they got married. He didn't let her change anything at this house, but they had a condo down in Phoenix where she had more leeway. So it's still my mother's house, and if she came back today, she'd be able to find everything where she left it.

Oh, don't worry, I'm not preserving it as a shrine, I simply don't have much imagination when it comes to home decorating, and I like the way it looks.