I need to tell you about that camera, because it matters.
On Monday, September 8th, somebody stole two packages off my porch. One was a set of new bath towels. The other was a refill of my blood pressure medicine. I was more annoyed than scared.
That Wednesday, September 10th, I had a man from the hardware store come out and put in a new doorbell camera. It had a microphone and motion alerts that went straight to my phone.
I hadn’t gotten around to telling anybody about it.
Three days later, on September 13th, I was on a ship.
The old camera, the one that had been there for years, really had died in July. Darcy wasn’t wrong about that. She just didn’t know it had been replaced.
So the clip came to me in perfect color. Three minutes and eleven seconds long.
I have watched it more times than I’d like to admit.
The ladybug keychain was the part that hurt first. My granddaughter Lainey picked it out at a hardware store in 2023, when she was four. She stood in the aisle holding it up to me with both hands.
“Grammy, a house key should be cheerful.”
So we bought it. And I gave that key to Grady, on that keychain, for emergencies.
This was not an emergency.
At 11:20, a second clip came in.
This time I watched my son and Keegan carry a green leather armchair out of my front door. They tipped it sideways to get it through. They carried it around the side of the house toward the garage.
I put my coffee down.
That was Leif’s chair.
My husband bought that chair in 1989 from a furniture store downtown that went out of business the following spring. He read the Chico paper in it every single morning for thirty-four years. Coffee on the left arm. Reading glasses on his nose. Feet up on the little footstool.
He died in February of 2024. He was seventy.
Nobody had sat in that chair since. I couldn’t. And I couldn’t move it either.
This cruise was supposed to be our fortieth anniversary trip. Leif planned it down to the cabin number. He printed out the itinerary and stuck it to the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a salmon.
Then he got sick.
I spent a year and a half deciding whether I could go alone.
I decided I could.
And on day four, my son carried my husband’s chair to the garage so his mother-in-law’s piano could stand where it used to be.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
Ethan holds a degree in Communications from Zurich University, where he developed his expertise in storytelling, media strategy, and audience engagement. Known for his ability to blend creativity with analytical precision, he excels at creating content that not only entertains but also connects deeply with readers.
At TheArchivists, Ethan specializes in uncovering compelling stories that reflect a wide range of human experiences. His work is celebrated for its authenticity, creativity, and ability to spark meaningful conversations, earning him recognition among peers and readers alike.
Passionate about the art of storytelling, Ethan enjoys exploring themes of culture, history, and personal growth, aiming to inspire and inform with every piece he creates. Dedicated to making a lasting impact, Ethan continues to push boundaries in the ever-evolving world of digital content.