I recall making mud pies, as a child.  What fun it was holding wet dirt and molding it into round shapes and covering them with colored sugar.  This feast for the dog was only made palatable because of the topping, and of course today a parent could be accused of child abuse for allowing their child to play in the mud.

I’m currently up to my ears in 24 years worth of dirt and suddenly my childhood fascination has lost its excitement. This week is our final purging of things hidden in the shadows of the crawl spaces in our current house.  It almost seems that these spaces were reserved for things we wanted to hang on to, for whatever reason, that have no value, but we thought we would use someday.  There were three boxes of fabric, several large rolls of fabric, a pair of velvet, suspendered shorts that my husband wore as a…