I decided to share this one which is about something that cheered me up as I felt sorrowful recently, it occurred yesterday.

I was visiting my grandmother and grandfather's grave under the sun as it is my annual pilgrimage, they share the same spot in the soil, I use an umbrella, sunscreens and mainly go under mostly clouded sky. They insisted on being buried together and knowing the romantics they

were, we provided them with a casket big enough for the two sunrays. Lovers even past their time. I had the pleasant surprise of meeting my grandfather's most precious friend as I reached their burial site, they both saved each other's lives a few times since they did some dangerous things in their shared interests and successes in D.I.Y; hand crafting and woodworking and they were a duet of artisans of decent renown in their time and region.

I had been feeling rather blue for the past few days as I stared at the sun filled world through my UV blocking windows, reminiscing about my grandmother who had sparked my love for daylight, flowers and gardens regardless of my relationship with the sun being like that of oil and water, simply by being bright, lovely and sweet to me and having me help around with tending to the greenery; and my grandfather who built my love for working with my hands to craft various things - my most memorable craft was the group of active tin soldiers I had made with his help, each had a different look and performed different actions, though being a tomboy I had to make them all actually shoot their rifles so he spent an entire week trying to make their rifles shoot tiny bullets of sand and pellets of other matter without blowing up or melting. I was upset and being emotional I was tearful that my attempts at making the guns shoot after working so hard to make them - out of wood, dumb I know, but they looked so nice...

When he came to me during my birthday which was celebrated right on sunday the following week - I turned my head as I felt ashamed to not have succeeded at making something with him who was dedicated to show me the ropes - he gave me a large present box containing twenty smaller boxes each containing one of the twenty men of tin we'd made and told me, as their commander, to order them to parade. I set them up on the floor with a curious face and started them then watched them perform their various moves, one even jumps by the way, then comes the time for them to shoot and, when they did, my tears flowed freely. Their gunfire was a ridiculous small "pop" similar to a pen hitting a hard surface but I loved it and jumped at my grandpa to hug him. They operate with an "initial ignition", as I personally call it, which simultaneously begins their sequence as they are linked to the starter pad from which they disconnect and become individual entities once spurred.

Back to my grandpop's friend, I walk to their hallowed grounds and meet this friendly figure by chance and we salute each other. He was just coming down from sharing stories of his own recent creations with his now deceased companion and his wife as he now worked in solo and decided to accompany me to their resting place so we chatted along the way and exchanged news of each other's newest makings and he shared stories of their atelier, from when the duo was still whole, many were actually hilarious though I bit my lips to hold it in - it's not quite polite to laugh about someone in front of said individual, after all. When I was done, he invited me to share a table at a café both our families enjoy greatly and often go to and, I said, why not.

We've spent the entire day chattering over our lives and he jokingly charmed me like clockwork every thirty minutes - because he is still a boy at heart, even though his age - which I'll admit made me smile and I did the same; and we shared some more erotic interests - because he is also a pervert and may still rise, even though his age - though I was witholding some of my dealings since, well, I feared his legs would give out as he'd get an heart attack as his eyes'd roll back and stare at the back of his aged jar. It's been an overall fun time and this encounter lifted my mood surprisingly better than sex and arts had for the past little while. When came the moment of my leaving and farewells, as the sky had cleared and was now clouding over again, he gave my butt a small but firm and loud slap - because, again, he's a pervert and even had his eye on me in the past, which he remembers even though his age - and I scolded him like my grandfather used to when he was alive, though I was half laughing.

He has actually laid his hands on me already thus I had already slept with him - willingly though only once and never again - and there was almost no sex, merely oral. My granddad had heard of it through hearsay and beat him to a pulp with one of his canes - which he broke on him - he would ever since remind him to "not lay his dirty old man hands on his precious granddaughter lest his wrath would be felt thunderous", whenever he entered the atelier and I was already in it; or any room I was in for that matter.

Anyway, I just wanted to share the memory of a good time reminiscent of good times since I'm feeling emotional.