I pick up my old saw and cut two pieces from the golden and red heart, one each for the little one and me.
My father's father was a builder and creator of houses. Working with wood was in my father's blood, and in mine. Just the smell of sawdust as my saw bites into the kanuka gives me a thrill of long-forgotten things.
Today I attended the funeral of my oldest client, who died just after her 93rd birthday. Even though her peers have long ago passed on, the chapel was full, for Betty was much loved by many generations.
Rest in peace, dear Betty.
Anything you lose comes round again in a different form.