memories
As I climbed the rickety stairs to the quaint old banquet room I was full of anticipation. A reunion of family members from my paternal grandmother’s family was about to begin. A plethora of strange faces confirmed the distance in time and genetics that had invaded over the years. The accuracy of my destination was soon confirmed by a few familiar faces, even some seen just the past week. As conversations engaged about family connections from one person to another, I caught a strangely familiar face out of the corner of my eye as the woman glanced my way. She was chatting with another familiar cousin who had engineered the reunion unfolding. I made my way over to see who she was and discovered a distant cousin I had not seen in fifty years. Her father had given me my first pony and my first bicycle. I still possess the latter, tucked away in the storage shed adjacent to the farm house. The pony is long gone, but the fond memories of my uncle flooded the present as we talked about my family and hers. She is my father’s first cousin and although older than I, seemed very much a part of my childhood generation. She remembered me as the pesky little kid always hanging around. As I sat beside another cousin visiting from Japan and across the table from my renewed acquaintance, I marveled at the wonder of new connections with old memories brought into today’s domain. I looked at their faces and other familiar ones around and was flooded with a plethora of emotions. Pleasant memories surfaced as I realized that even though I may never see these precious people again (by virtue of sheer distance and time), I was filled with gratefulness for the moment at hand. On the leisurely drive home, a storehouse of those memories that were shelved behind busy schedules and seemingly urgent agendas began to be unpacked. On that day I discovered another thread in the tapestry that I am experiencing as life and am so thankful to the Master Weaver.
As the reception tent was being dismantled, Gracie the Golden pup was nosing her way into each person’s attention. Suddenly, from a car that just pulled behind the tent transport truck came a lady I didn’t recognize. As she approached, having maneuvered around the ever more excited pup, she looked at me and called my name from years ago. “Do you know who I am?” she asked. I looked deep into her eyes and was at a loss for recognition. She said her name and a flood of memories washed over me. She and I had gone to school together from grades one through twelve. I had directed her wedding our senior year in high school. She remarked at how different I looked and that she hardly recognized me upon her arrival that day. We reminded each other that fifty years of living had rendered us each with the “mature” looks we now express. We briefly reminisced and shared snippets of life currently before she parted for a part time care taking responsibility she has recently assumed. Commitment to stay in touch since we now live two miles apart was sealed with a hug. The journey to the place of childhood memories and experiences that day brought me to the realization that the move back to my childhood abode is not a journey back to my childhood. Today’s experiences are different from those gone before, but are made richer by the threads of memories that weave the fabric of now. Although PD is currently a recognizable chord, it only has a small role in the sum of life’s equation. Gratitude remains the multiplier that factors into the total of today’s rendering.
The rain pummeled the canvas top of the Jeep as we rose over hills and through the valleys from southern Virginia to the New Jersey shore. An evening stopover south of Baltimore, gave a respite to an otherwise grueling nine hour journey. We talked, we reminisced, and we expressed our gratitude for opportunities of experiences both easy and challenging that we have been provided through the years. A brief detour through the old neighborhood we used to call home in rural Delaware County, Pennsylvania stoked the fires of memories past in preparation for a weekend of renewal and reconnection with dear friends from years ago. Ocean Grove, New Jersey is like no other place. It is dotted with Victorian residences interspersed with summer camp meeting huts and their attached tents. A centerpiece of the town is the great tabernacle built in the late 1800’s. The tabernacle itself seats ten thousand people and has been a magnet for worship services and religious concerts for more than a century. Thornley Chapel on the square, attached to the modest police station, offered the perfect setting for our worship and learning sessions. Minds were challenged and hearts were touched as we listened and observed and enjoyed the fellowship with friends old and new during mealtime or in the rockers on the front porch of the guest house. The time was short, but the connections were deep and meaningful and gave more than ample inspiration that lifted our spirits all the way home. I’m reminded that even a momentary touch can be the spark that ignites healing. Though rain and wind littered our way, the Spirit of hope, trust, and thankfulness was our companion for the ride. With those divine ingredients we knead the dough of faith to watch it rise and sustain us for today’s journey.
It was a charter flight from JFK in New York to Taormina in Sicily, by way of Rome. We had found the cheap flight through a discount travel agency and quickly scooped it up. Our return flight was fifteen days later from Paris, and we had made no hotel arrangements or travel plans within Europe. Passports and backpacks tucked away, we settled into our seats with one carry on stowed securely in the bin above. When we landed in Rome we quickly grabbed our skimpy travel bags and exited to our intended destination, the Eternal City. Until that time I had never been outside of North America and as we stepped onto the street I was mesmerized at the meshing of ancient with the modern. After securing a room in a ragged pensione, we stashed our bags and headed to the Coliseum. The line to enter was short and we quickly made our way to the upper level to observe the vastness of what was once the Roman Empire’s recreational center. As I surveyed the grandeur of the ancient crafted stadium, I thought of my father and how much he would have enjoyed standing where I was, viewing the greatness of this now monument to an empire past. Tears of joy filled my eyes as I whispered; “this is for you, Dad.” The next fourteen days were filled with many more first adventures, each one embraced with a heart of thankfulness for the blessing of experiencing those places and things about which I had only read. There were challenges to getting there and there were challenges in navigating the way through, but perseverance and action toward the goal rendered a cornucopia of memories to last a lifetime. Aches and pains, stiffness and uncontrollable movements present their challenges, but I have learned that perseverance and action toward the goal of healthy living yields a harvest of opportunities far greater than the impediments. Today, thankfulness is the fuel that drives the engine of the vehicle called life!