Let me tell you a story about an egg
You know that the egg is the source of life. An egg can be something to eat, or can be something to make new life from.
I say it looks very much like what i’m feeling. Ever since we moved to our dear house, about 4 years now, we tried to bring life from everything around us. We built a shop, we have 8 cats, we have a beautiful garden, my husband built an outside oven and we had plans to make a watchtower near it.
And we live in a yard with another neighbor. He is very old and we tried to help him building for him some stuff without asking for money, we paid for everything. But wasn’t enough, here with him comes very often a woman with 2 kids and an alcoholic husband. They are bad people.
So we tried our best that at least the kids would learn to be respectful, to be kind. It’s like trying to bring life from an wooden egg.
And I continuously try to remind myself that it’s not their fault, the children’s, I mean.
Well, the story is at the middle. I’m not yet sure about the ending but I have a rough idea.
We left for vacation for a week and we returned on Saturday. We were happy, relaxed, couldn’t wait to hug our cats. We parked the car, went in the garden, checked everything outside the house and the came in. My husband saw that a door was closed and we left it open. Then opened it and we started to shake because our TV wasn’t on the wall anymore. Then we saw everything thrown around, the drawers were out. We looked around without touching anything and called the police.
We think it was only a guy that received a suggestion about us leaving from this woman. We found the TV prepared to be taken Saturday night, but we were lucky that we came a day before our vacation ended. He took the violin from my father, the one thing I kept after he died , all the gold in the house, the karaoke set, a Canon D40.
So now I am wondering what is the point of growing things and trying to help.
Some people don’t deserve it. Some people need to be crushed. The funny thing is that I remained speechless for 2 days. The shock was almost like when my father died, and I’m so disappointed.
Some eggs are not meant for life, some are just rotten inside.
I will get over this too, but I don’t think I will help them anymore, or forgive stuff they do. If I will catch them doing something wrong I will call the police with no hesitation.
So this is the story of an egg. An rotten egg. Or 4, for that matter.