the mud

 I always wanted to have a legacy. I thought if I wrote a book, even if it sat on the back of some old dusty library shelf, that I would not have lived in vain. That I would have left a legacy. That some far-off day someone might pick it off the shelf, blow the dust away, and say, "Ah, she thought well." Whatever those thoughts might be. I'm not so sure that is going to happen. While I write in my head, I haven't been able to find (or make) time to write things out. "Someday" echoes through my mind along with fantasies about a small simple house by the water where I can write the day away with cups of coffee, a dog, and a window. We shall see.  When my father died, I thought about his legacy. It's pretty impressive. He was born in Camden, New Jersey in 1938. He was the oldest of 5 children. He went to Camden Catholic high school back when it was still in Camden. He went in the seminary. He served in the Army. He traveled to Ethiopia and Eritrea. He atten...