Rustic Hearts

“She means the weeping willow out back. She forgets what it’s called sometimes,” Aunt Ria answers from the pantry.

“Oh.”

That makes a strange kind of sense.

She comes out with a jar of strawberry preserves and keeps explaining, “You should’ve seen us last week, trying to find the vet’s office on Sweet Water Road in Cedar Ridge. That GPS thingy had us nearly in the next county until I called their number and realized they were on Sugar Creek Road.”

That makes me giggle.

“I was close,” Aunt Doreen mumbles.

“Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. In a car with a puking pup, it just gets you lost and aggravated,” she mumbles her gripe in my direction.

They’re such a fu

I grab a blanket, head out in the yard to clear my head, and draw for a while before di