Post #45



My sister Cindy, once again at Christmas time, also with her future husband George.  Not sure what she's holding in her hand in that top picture.  You can also see Rick and Dorothy in the foreground of that picture.  Note the chocolate box of Toffifay, which mysteriously changed in modern times to "Toffifee", but is pronounced the same.  I don't get that!  Perhaps proof of Steve Kokic's beloved belief of the Mandela Effect?

Honestly, Cindy and George don't look a lot different today than they do from four decades ago.  Not to me, anyway.  They seemed to maintain their youthful look; I think true love can do that for people.

Cindy's macrame Santa is there again once more photobombing the picture.  Check out the smile on the 'stache-mugged George!  If that doesn't show happiness, what would?  Cindy simply looks beautiful in these pictures.  I'd say George is a lucky man, but Cindy's lucky too.  George has all the elements of what a man ought to be.

If I seem overly-effusive of the praise and love for all the subjects in this Picture This blog, it's because I feel like the world just needs a lot more of it right now.  More than ever.  I won't apologize for it either.  Not that anyone would be looking for that.

Also note the door that Santa is hanging on.  I clearly remember those unclear windows on it.  That's not how the windows were; those are stick-on things that went over them to give it a more decorative look.  At the bottom of that door is a broken frame to one of those windows from when Dad crashed into it once.  We never did get it fixed, but the window was intact.  Through that door was the front entrance to the house, which had a really nice wooden door and a storm door outside of it.  I still remember the scratch marks on that storm door for when The Mitzi would scratch at it to let us know she wanted to come in after relieving herself outside.

One time, after I'd had all my brain trauma incidents, in some kind of unexplained rage I punched the glass in the storm door and Rick saw me do it, and I took off running and Rick ran after me.  It must have looked hilarious to the neighbors to see these two kids running the roads at full speed!  I eventually just said 'fuck it!' to myself and ran back home to face the music.  Rick got back and I remember him saying to Mom, 'That bastard can run!!'  The window got fixed, and I don't even remember being punished for doing it, aside from a scolding of some sort.  Maybe Mom had an idea that I was kind of troubled?

Ah, those piecemeal memories.

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