I have previously shown you this little castle but did not make it clear that this was the first place with which I fell in love. When I was just entering my teen years, I lived down the street from this limestone studio, which was built by Elizabet Ney, a nineteenth-century, German-born sculptor. Though Elizabet died long before I discovered her and her studio, her place was lovingly kept as she had left it. Its keeper was a woman who recognized a young girl's feelings for this special place; a woman whom I chose to believe was really Elizabet, reincarnated so as to watch over things. As I was generously given full access to every nook and cranny of this magical place, along with all of Elizabet's wonderful stories, my girlhood still clings to its walls and that girl still climbs the spiral stairs to the tiny tower room. As the little castle is now a museum, the adult me can also visit.
But now comes a time in life that brings pressures to choose between two places, each of which holds my things, my history, my stories: The Bunny Bungalow and My Ranchburger. My heart is at the Bungalow, but my head and reason are at My Ranchburger. Life choices are never easy and one can remember having made wrong ones.
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