Who are we, really?
An unresolved question whispered me awake this weekend. So with my Search Angel riding shotgun, I revved up my Nancy Drew roadster and hit the road.
And so it was that I met a new friend. We share the same grandfather, but her first memories of him reach back 25 years before I was even born, and don't include my grandmother. Family trees are like that–branches grow and twist together, separate and reunite, bear fruit and/or wither. And suddenly, a new branch comes into view. Sturdy limbs, just out of reach…long-held secrets, ripe for the picking.
I won't belabor the connection to the image I've posted. You see the mask…you know. But here's to Fat Tuesday–and secret identies, revealed. It's Mardi Gras, so laissez les bons temps rouler!