My aunt marry loo was the first and only adult I saw in my childhood that I knew I wanted to be like when I got older. She had a pile of books under her bed, the pile was almost bigger than her bed, spilling out from under the sides. She taught me how to make a pillow. She made pillows, she sewed things. She made her own jewelry and she lived by the beach. Wasaga beach. With a man who had a boat.
She was the first adult I saw that was still alive.
I always think about her and that pile of books.
Now I’m making my own pile.
I may not be by the beach
Or be making my own jewelry
But every book I have adds to that pile
And reminds me of her
And reminds me to stay alive.
Maybe it’s why I write.
jennanicoleco 