I am resigned to the fact that I am the worst blogger on the planet. I am inconsistent and emotional and only have something to say once or twice a year. With that said, this beautiful chair was my Oma’s. My Grandmother. My children’s Great Grandmother. I caught my youngest peeping out from underneath it this morning and thought ‘how cute’. She later came and told me she had written something underneath. As I lectured her on how we don’t write on furniture her little eyes teared up and as she broke down telling me “I didn’t understand”, I decided to look. What I found made me tear up.
Trying to balance things in life often leaves me speechless. (Irony coming from a verbal processor) How to teach a child about propriety while treasuring the beauty of their heart? My youngest had always been close to my grandmother. It’s the reason we moved home, to be closer to family.
I was a contrary child, upon hearing that most young people don’t appreciate the elderly, at a young age, I determined to become the opposite. I would sit for hours at my Great Grandfathers feet and listen to him. I don’t remember much of what he said but I do remember him. The smell of old pipe tobacco and his pride that he could easily do sit ups and jumping jacks well into his 80’s. I couldn’t tell you what I learned, but I’m sure I absorbed more than I could ever know.
Yesterday I visited a church our family had attended for 12 years. It was our friend G’s birthday. She is a beautiful lady of 91. She has been a constant at the church for her entire life. During our attendance the church was slowly dissolving and when we made the hard decision to leave, she was still there. Going yesterday and seeing the young families surrounding her, thinking about how she has been consistently, faithfully attending this church year after year, I was overwhelmed with the beauty of constancy.
After the service I started thinking about how, in being contrary I wanted to become the opposite of my peers, but some things only come with age no matter how much you fight against it. My attention wanders and I often wonder how to speak to people who are significantly older than I. I enjoy stories but have found that questions coming from an adult aren’t accepted the same as from a child. My own life story has become much to complex for those questions! When I ruminate on the boldness and innocence in which I often asked them of the adults in my life thinking I was being smart, I have become dumb.