The red dollhouse, with its pitched roof and French windows, had been there for 40 plus years with all its miniature features just for little girls, and big girls. It was slowly sinking into the ground and taking in wild grass through the wood floors—a true replica of what had been and what was slipping away. The swings that Dad made also included a tire swing dangling from a large braided rope, certainly the hit of the neighborhood. The small sandbox area was no longer flanked with two-by-fours like it used to be, the sand was dirty and the big spruce trees heaved to the ground. Small town Americana with its clocks stopped and a time warp that we do not want to let go of was getting away from us. We did not have the answer as to how to stop this disaster and certainly not the patience to let it happen.
Patricia donates a portion of the proceeds of this book to the Vital Care Hospice of the Straits serving Mackinac County, Michigan, in memory of her sister.