9:55 and I’ve raked the gardens and planted the last 40 or so bulbs.  Worth noting because I am rarely that ambitious and productive this early.  Not totally self-motivated -- snow is forecast for parts of the state tonight and the leaf collection trucks were a block away.  I still have raking and garden cleanup but I’ve been stressing about getting the bulbs in before a hard frost.  And raking . . . well, my big tree is starting to release leaves but plenty of those golden gifts are still on branches and there is one more small tree that have not let go of a single gem.  

Talked to Cheshire last night and talk about raking almost surprised.  I remember the sentiment.  Those NYC years of hardly noticing changes of seasons by what was happening in gardens and on suburban streets.  Leaves were accessories and no one owned a rake.  

Feeling the lift of finishing my mother’s estate.  Taxes and a small reserve is all that is left.  Checks have been cashed and are no longer my concern.  I am ready to let go of all of it.  I hope it is ready to let go of me.  

With the lift of that burden, I’ve once again fallen head long into my picture files to scan and sort.  My new scanner does a fine job and most pictures are better scanned than in the original.  And I am writing about the relatives that I know about realizing at times that I know nothing but vague memories of event that have no time or place.  I write of a child’s perceptions and have no way of filling in empty holes.  For example, my uncle was married twice.  I don’t remember his first wife and his daughter although I may have met them but I remember his son from that marriage.  My last memory of him was either before or just after my sister was born.  I was 5 or 6, Paul was 8 or 9.  I remember his striped polo shirt and that he was so much taller than I was.  I, the chubby child mountain.  I was the oldest of most of the cousins and friends that my parents entertained and so big boys were a mystery to me.  I looked up at Paul and he was just lovely.  I would not say that I had a crush on him, even a 5 year old crush, but an acute admiration.

And then, that boy, that cousin Paul, vanished from my life.  My uncle had a second wife and was beginning a second family -- my sister and his oldest child from that marriage the same age -- and Paul was no longer.  My pictures, my grandmother’s pictures, attest to how he was adored by his grandparents and my parents, but he was gone.  I remember my grandmother mentioning him in hushed tones, but rarely.  He was not talked about, no birthday cards sent or received from him.  No pictures of his school years or graduations or wedding.  Of course, I do not know this absolutely, but he was out of my world and by the time that my uncle produced his second brood, Paul and his sister were never even thought of.

What surprises me is that I never asked.  Never had a curious bone in my body about this boy.  I google his name -- the one that I know -- and come up with nothing.  He is just lost.