I got one quadrant of the ceiling done, and realized that my tape measure hadn't always been perfectly square. I wasn't about to try to take them all down to start over, and what with one thing and another they never did get more than one quadrant's worth of stars on the ceiling. (Once furniture was in the room, standing on a stool to measure got hazardous.)
They moved out years ago, and the room became my wife's office, with a big desk, lots of bookcases, and a small spare bed for just in case. Then came the covid and I snarfed the office to work from home in. (It has a nice view of the garden--well, not an exciting view in the winter or early spring.) Sometimes I move the sewing stuff to rest on the bed, and look at the ceiling. The glow in the dark aspect grew too feeble to see decades ago, and the stars were pretty much the same color as the ceiling when not glowing. The only way to excite them these days is with a UV flashlight. But I know they're there, and know that I never finished them.
There are a lot of unfinished things in my life. Some, like the stars, are moot now. Still.
1 comment:
We think all stories come to endings, but we will leave a lot of "incompletes" when we go. Sometimes I get very uncomfortable with that.
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