memories
They were both standing outside the vehicle in which they were traveling that day as I turned into the parking area at my cousin’s business. There before me was another cousin and her daughter (from another side of my family) traveling through to a destination in central Virginia. They had called the evening before to see if I might be available to go with them as they visited a couple of locations that the elder of the two female cousins (a few years older than I) had known and played in as a child. They settled in my car and as we turned a corner onto the road named after the lake and retreat area once owned by her father, she gasped as she recognized the house in which my grandmother had lived with one of her sons. Memories came rushing back for me as well as she shared loving thoughts of the times she recalled visiting Grandma (her aunt) at that house. Just a short distance down the road she recognized another house where a cousin of hers (my aunt) had lived. A few winding curves as we traveled west led us to the turn onto the road to the small lake and retreat campsite for which the main road had been named. Her daughter, now herself a grandmother, gasped at the enormity of the structure that once housed all the campers (including me on several occasions) many years ago. The elder cousin told of her father’s act of putting it up for auction whereby the Kiwanis Club of the city nearby purchased the property and maintained it for many years. We left there and drove to the farm next to my family farm that her mother and father had owned and that her mother had spent hours of loving care planting and harvesting a garden. Hearing her recollection of the events and experiences at the places that I had experienced differently was pure joy to this now aging possessor of Parkinson’s. Gratitude filled my heart as we hugged goodbye with promises to stay in touch. Full of thankfulness for the special memories elicited from the visit to places and spaces of my youth reminded me that each day is an opportunity to build upon memories yet to be created. May the experiences of today be driven by the vehicle powered with gratitude for yesterday and the joy of possibilities right now!
Over a hundred acres surround the old farm house that my father and mother built about fifteen years after their purchase of the acreage at the time of what was termed the great depression. As a small child I roamed the fields, hills, and forest with bare feet and shorts, with no fear of predators. I remember my mother instructing me to stay in site of the house, but I interpreted to my own satisfaction any of the structures that may be occupied by tenants or sharecroppers to be “the house” to which the motherly instruction would apply. We had one milk cow, one horse, two mules, a hefty flock of chickens, one hog (most of the time) and lots of plows, wagons, and in later years a hefty tractor to harvest hay and give the mules a run for their money. All of those are long gone except for their memory in this aging possessor of PD. Returning to the farm after years away has been a blessing that has filled this heart with gratitude. Memories have been flowing back recently as we entertain and begin an action plan to revitalize the old farm as a host to a unique breed of beef cattle. The old pastureland has long ago decayed and slipped away to rust and rot, but new fences will soon go up as the new plan and lively stock begin to occupy the space of open fields and grasses. Children and grandchildren will have the opportunity to “tend” to the farm in ways never imagined by my parents and ancestors. The wisdom of choices will be afforded those of emerging generations and the heart and mind of this grandpa, once the child in awe of the farm, will continue to be filled with the peace of gratitude, the thanks for which may endure far beyond this memory!
Silently the old and worn violin hangs on the wall near the mantle. A few simple repairs would bring it back to a usable state. It occupies that space as a reminder of the richness of life that includes the past. My first glimpse at the instrument was near an old storage area in our attic. I was near ten years of age and wanted to know more about the origin of this finely shaped, but mouse chewed device. My mother recounted the cold winter evenings around the old fireplace of her youth as her father made the room come alive with the melodic tones he and his fiddle produced so well. I remember the glow in my mother’s eyes as she recalled the joy she had experienced at the gifted hands of her father as his music filled the air. Grandpa Davis had died of pneumonia in the 1920’s, leaving his wife and seven young daughters. The stories of their survival and ultimate thriving could fill a novel. Some repairs to the instrument brought it to a condition that allowed me to take some lessons when I was but a lad. I wondered what it must have sounded like when Grandpa played it near the old fireplace of my mother’s youth. Silently it hangs now as a prompter of memories that bring it alive in the mind of this beholder. Gratitude fills my heart for memories of the past that bring richness in the present. A thankful heart provides the rich soil in which fond memories sprout into the sunshine of today!
A forecast of summer weather so early in the spring seems out of place since frost just paid us a visit a few nights ago. The landscape is bursting with shades of green as wild onions and wire grass engage their respective genetic propensity on the ground. Mid-morning air, less humid than frank summer temperatures, already seems to beg for a breeze to move it along. A shady place will surely be welcomed by birds and mammals as the afternoon temperature is expected to climb in the higher double digits. Warmth without humidity is a welcomed occurrence to this PD host who sometimes finds maneuvering through cold weather more challenging than not. Thoughts of gratitude well up inside as childhood memories of springtime emerge. The childhood memories of freedom from the restraints of heavy clothing and clunky shoes shed in the warmth of summer flood this thankful heart. Gratitude is the sunshine in which a thankful heart basks and absorbs the memories of a life so filled with love. May your day be bright with that gratitude that illuminates the blessings that surround like the grains of sand beside the stream.
The clouds cast a shadow over the landscape as a light but steady drizzle seemed to permeate the air. The day’s agenda was barren of dedicated community chores or tasks. Free from some pain this reluctant Parkinson’s participant had been experiencing earlier in the week, a leisurely morning was engaged catching up on some reading and reflecting. In the still quiet of the moment a glance at a wall of pictures ignited an almost combustible explosion of memories. Cherished moments of roasting hot dogs with my older sons near the farm pond in North Carolina; Christmas dinner with Mom, my sister and all the kids in our Philadelphia row house; a birthday celebration nineteen years ago in rural Pennsylvania, and our children on the beach near our Connecticut home were images that coalesced in an erupting fountain of thankfulness. The richness of blessings we have experienced came rushing to my mind like a freight train loaded with grains of memories. As I paused in these moments of reflection I recalled that never once did the presence of worry, fear, or doubt regarding our lives serve to advance or propel us toward the blessing of family in which we lived. We lived, loved and worked toward a foundation of wholeness in which each of our lives could thrive and mature. Perfection was never achieved, nor was it sought. However, today’s reflection displays characters perfectly suited for their roles even as the stage is lighted for the next experience.
Brown with patches of residual green the fields in front of the farm house lay beneath the cloud diminished sunlight. Periods of drizzling rain happen upon us as nature expresses yet another change in her never ending cycle. Warm and secure within the shelter of our home this thankful inhabitant reflects with gratitude upon the days and months past. Opportunities presented and actions taken that have yielded desired results and those which have yielded undesirable outcomes are among the collection of memories which we gratefully sort through. Memories serve the purpose of framing the background for today, not through comparison, but rather as a foundation in grace and mercy that have rendered today as being possible in our experience. As one presently looks ahead to the completion of today and the hope of another, the knowledge that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28), serves as a peaceful foundation.
Silently the old and worn violin hangs on the wall near the mantle. A few simple repairs would bring it back to a usable state. It occupies that space as a reminder of the richness of life that includes the past. My first glimpse at the instrument was near an old storage area in our attic. I was near ten years of age and wanted to know more about the origin of this finely shaped, but mouse chewed device. My mother recounted the cold winter evenings around the old fireplace of her youth as her father made the room come alive with the melodic tones he and his fiddle produced so well. I remember the glow in my mother’s eyes as she recalled the joy she had experienced at the gifted hands of her father as his music filled the air. Grandpa Davis had died of pneumonia in the 1920’s, leaving his wife and seven young daughters. The stories of their survival and ultimate thriving could fill a novel. Some repairs to the instrument brought it to a condition that allowed me to take some lessons when I was but a lad. I wondered what it must have sounded like when Grandpa played it near the old fireplace of my mother’s youth. Silently it hangs now as a prompter of memories that bring it alive in the mind of this beholder. Gratitude fills my heart for memories of the past that bring richness in the present. A thankful heart provides the rich soil in which fond memories sprout into the sunshine of today!
Just three miles away the rumbling and boom of fireworks from the local city display sent animals scurrying to their respective safe places. The campfire in the back yard was a delightful accompaniment to the majestic wedding gazebo as a backdrop. A reprieve from the oppressive heat was delivered as fresh cool air from the north invaded the outdoor space. Even the pond this morning was giving off fog in the cooler morning air. Fireworks, campfire, and cool mornings have not been the norm, yet each is welcomed as a joyful addition to the fun of summer. Memories are being created for the granddaughter who revels in the joy of every event. Some folks flinch at the thought of change, but change is a natural progression of life. One may either adjust to it or be overtaken by it. Some try desperately to resist it and in the process become themselves as irritable as a stone in one’s shoe. I seek more and more the understanding needed to not only embrace change but to adapt to it as my travel companion on this life journey. Gratitude is the vehicle that accommodates the new and different!
Heat and humidity consume the out of doors space now as the official days of summer are about to begin. The day’s camp supplies were packed and granddaughter’s breakfast was prepared and eagerly consumed by her before we hopped in the car for the journey to Pelham. It is deeply satisfying to see her so excited about the discoveries about to unfold for her each day. New adventures with new found friends at the camp fill her with stories to share on the journey home in the afternoon. We are ever so grateful for the opportunity to share in the life discoveries of our granddaughter. These times provide us with great joy and equip her with life long memories to recall in years to come. Ours are hearts filled with gratitude for being a part of days making memories. May your day reflect a bounty of thankfulness!
Its brown hues reflect the morning light shining through the nearby windows. The scroll holds the pegs ever so gently these days as it serves as holder now strung to the wall. Years in Grandma’s attic left it exposed to several mouse nibbles that give it a rather “weathered” look. I was fourteen when first exposed to this instrument that had with it many tales of nights around the fire during my mother’s childhood. Grandpa Davis had played this melodic violin almost every evening in that old farm house with his wife and seven daughters humming tunes by his side. Now ninety years later this instrument hangs silently on a wall reflecting not melody but warm memories recalled from beside my mother’s knee. Gone are all the voices that hummed the tunes and gone are the hands that pressed the strings and moved the bow. Remaining are the instrument and the memories now being shared. After all these years a small instrument hanging on a wall in an old home is the spark that ignites fond and grateful memories from generations past. Gratitude now fills the vessel of memory as the joy of the past visits with the present. Each day is another opportunity to create fond memories that may inspire others.