The Giving of Life

Early in Dec. I was sanding and re-staining our oak stair rail.  It had become worn and the finish needed refurbishing to fit in with the newer decor of the entryway.  It's a beautiful rail and had served us faithfully for 25 years.  I wouldn't even begin to think of replacing it.  It's part of the family.  I sat on the stairs sanding the finish and began to examine the beautiful wood.  I wondered what tree gave it's life for my rail and what forest it had grown in for years before it came to beautify my house.  Though the tree sacrificed it's earthly life years ago it's service and influence had lived on and will for who knows how many more years.  What a wonder!  Those living things that have existed on the earth even hundreds of years ago still have impact upon those living today.  They have filled the measure of their creation in a magnificent way.  I'd like to think we can say the same for our lives?  May they still bring loveliness to generations to come after we are gone.

I had similar thoughts as we perused Christmas tree lots looking for just the right tree to grace the corner of our living room.  All of those trees standing in a row as tree shoppers examine each one with a critical eye were just recently living upon a forested mountainside.  (OK - or on a multi-acred tree farm.  The mountainside is a much more impressive imagination!)   Later as I gazed at our beautifully (to us at least) decorated tree I realized that once again a life had been given so that a reminder of Christ's birth during this Christmas season could be a part of our celebration.  I don't want to take that tree's life for granted.  I wanted to honor it.  Perhaps that's why I have a twinge in my heart each year when we pull off the ornaments and put the tree out to pasture.  It somehow seems wasteful. 

Life is valuable, even the smallest life has a meaning and a purpose.  If I can only remember that on a daily basis my life will be more full.

Caitlin's Blog

K K Kachay - My Attempt At Learning to Comunicate

 Caitlin has a blog.  It's quite entertaining.  If you have secret wishes to access the inner sanctums of teenage girl thought it's the perfect vehicle.  Here's the link:

http://tenten-ten.blogspot.com/

Mish Mash

I'm in decorating discontent.  My two most put together rooms (living room and dining room) before the remodel are now my least settled rooms on the main floor.  It's disturbing.  I'm a little jolted every time I walk in.  In comparison to the new addition these two room are a bit orphaned.  The curtains are down awaiting me to replace the sills and trim out the windows.  I've repainted and recarpeted and don't really care for either change.  The furniture in the dining room has finally hit that stage where suddenly it is old, worn out, broken, scratched into oblivion etc.  I've moved it around to freshen things up to no avail.  My area rugs aren't heavy enough to stay put on the new carpet.  I shouldn't be complaining as I've really had a great house year, but the budget is making a comeback which means random spending on new furniture, rugs and the like is not really an option.  It's just a lovely little reminder that life just never really is perfect.

My Mother's Gloves, My Father's Watch

 

A few days ago I went walking/running at the Vineyard park for the first time in almost a year.   When we started construction early last spring I knew I needed to save my energy for the labor demands around the house and no kidding, I couldn't have done both.  It was warm enough to walk outdoors so I donned my coat and a pair of gloves that had belonged to my mother.  As I walked I thought to myself that this was the first time in about three and a half years I felt I was approaching normalcy in my life.  Before my mother's death over three years ago, I and my siblings had spent a tumultuous fall caring for my father who had developing health issues along with dementia.   After her death we brought my father to Utah to share his care between my sister and myself.  He passed away 14 months later.    Then there was a series of health issues and our remodel.   As I walked I realized that perhaps I just might regain my "normal" routine (whatever that is!)

I looked down at my mother's gloves and tried to picture my mother's hands in them.  They looked practically brand new and I realized that she probably had saved them for "special occasions" as she did with anything new or nice that she owned.  Brand new towels or dish clothes lay folded neatly in her hall closet drawers because they were saved for "company" and she made do with her worn towels and rags.  How odd even now that her hands were no longer there to put on these leather gloves or wipe with those towels - hands that had always been there to care for me over the years.  I still find it somewhat startling.

Last week I was going through my jewelry box and found my father's watch which he wore on his wrist every day.  His nightly ritual was to remove the watch just as he was laying down in his bed and put it on his nightstand.  He would place it meticulously in the same spot every night carefully facing it towards him.  The first thing he did the next morning was to reach out slowly for his watch with his trembling hands and slip it over his fingers onto his wrist.  The watch brought order and familiarity to his life especially as his mind drifted into the abyss of dementia.

My mother's untiring service to my siblings and myself remains in her gloves and is vividly alive as I look at my hands within them.  My father's daily dedication to his role as his family's provider is encapsulated in his watch.  It no longer is marking time but his mark upon us is timeless.  No one ever completely passes from  life.  My mother's gloves, my father's watch are reminders, touchstones, medallions, tokens, catalysts. Their lives continue.