Hanging onto the memories
Lenten Reflections #4 – Raw recollections during the Lenten Season
While weeding in the yard today I walked over to our kid-size picnic table, purchased at a yard sale years ago. We had just moved from DC to Georgia and the little gem was the perfect addition to our new yard. Blue paint on the table peeked through the two layers of a glossy red shade we used to cover it over the years. It sat there tired as an old oak tree – enduring, yet vulnerable to heat and the many visitors who had rested on its wood. It needed some love, so plank by plank, I scraped off the old paint and tightened all of the rusty screws. I thought back to the sunny lunches at the table with the kids, the obstacle courses they’d create jumping over the table to the finish line. Easter eggs were found tucked in a bottom corner, our dogs slept in its shade, and freshly carved pumpkins perched on it every Halloween. Our own version of the Giving Tree. I brushed it off, convincing myself I’d get back to its restoration sooner than later. It held a zillion memories and I felt like just maybe I could preserve them with some sandpaper and more paint.
The sun was setting so we took the dogs for a walk. On the way, we stopped to visit with a few neighbors who were out piddling in their yards. Around the corner was “the big candy house” duly named because the sweet couple always gave the kids full-size candy bars on Halloween. We chatted with the dad about a few trees he had to have taken down. “They were childhood trees,” he said. The kids even named one Blossom, it stood right there. He swept his arm toward an empty spot in the yard as if he were painting a quick replica of Blossom in his mind. He continued, “But, we had to take it down, then came the basketball hoop. It was sad, but, it was time.” He stood a little taller, “Well, we’re all getting older, so it’s okay. It’s what happens”. On the way home we saw one of our dearest friends who jokingly asked us if we wanted the truck in her driveway. She just wanted to get rid of it but her husband has an emotional attachment to it…and all his boys’ baseball gear filling the garage. It all sounded so familiar. The lessening was all around us.
What I learned:
I’ve always pondered the kids’ memorabilia within the four walls of our home, the old uniforms, the artwork, and the trophies. Then that darn picnic table stirred up my emotions, followed by Blossom the tree, and the truck. Nostalgia is triggering. But time scoots off like a chuckling cheetah and we have a choice – to sink into the quicksand of loss or relish the memories, plant new trees, and repaint that cute picnic table.
Please pray for the Pope and thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
runonmom.com 