What a wonderful and though-provoking story. And one that gives you pause when you think of someone so desperate as to steal a woodpile in times that are hard for them. Big hug for sharing!
I love this story! And I have (had) an Auntie Molly from merry ‘ol England as she used to say!
That was so beautiful. What a life! For my whole life, I have always thought that people were stealing from me, which is something I think I inherited from my mother. It's true, people are stealing from me, but not in the way that I thought (THAT discussion is way too big). Or, maybe it's true in both ways. Things disappear. But I, like you, have realized just how much I have. It's less than I had compared to the 'manor' to which I was born and lived--smaller manor than yours haha--, so that has been an adjustment. But, mostly what's missing is stuff. Just stuff. Anything really important is locked away or not physical. Once, when I was single and living in NYC in a lilliputian apartment, I had a cleaning lady (ridiculous). I had some silver flatware for some reason (maybe I was married, who can remember) and one of the soup spoons was missing-- I thought. I accused my cleaning lady of taking it. She was outraged and said "I don't even LIKE silver!" I thought that was a funny response and I fired her. Then, a few months later I found the spoon. This has always haunted me. Now I just figure if someone is stealing, I hope they are enjoying it, or at least improving their life. But...why do rich people steal? Now that's a question. Thanks for this, Christine. What an intimate picture of the goodness that can be hidden under tough exteriors, and the lessons our parents teach us that never leave us. You're a great writer!