Crisp@Random.SundayEdition
Posted: January 18, 2009 Filed under: Housekeeping, Joined at the Heart, Writers Write | Tags: 43 folders, creativity, loss, sick 2 Comments »- Everyone in my house, except for the dog, has been sick for a solid week. If you count the fact that Coco brought this home from school on Thursday, January 8, it’s been eleven days. We are tired of being stuck in the house. I told Bacon today, “I like all of you separately. It’s in bulk where I’m having the breakdown. Too much togetherness.
- I’m reading a fabulous book. The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It For Life by Twyla Tharp. I checked it out of the library, but I’m going to buy a copy to mark up and read over and over. I found out about the book from this website, 43 folders, a new favorite.
- A friend passed away this week, Byron Bohnert. Confined to a wheelchair all his *adult life, Byron was one of the bravest people I ever met, a man who refused to be defined by his limitations. He wrote inspirational articles for Christian websites. Some of his writing can be found here.
- While most of the country suffers in the cold, the current temperature in San Antonio, Texas is 74° with humidity at 16%. Postcard weather. Wish you were here.
*updated 2/28/09
The Clock
Posted: July 9, 2008 Filed under: Joined at the Heart, Mouths of Babes, Writers Write | Tags: family, loss, memory 2 Comments »We opened the pop-up camping trailer for the first time in a year. It’s pretty much the way we left it. After tossing a few moldy pillows, we discovered the rest wasn’t too worse for wear. Cherry checked out the cooking utensils. Inside the silverware drawer, she found the wind up travel alarm clock.
“Papa gave this to me.” She turned it over in her hands. “I remember that day. This came from his camper.”
The clock is square with a plastic cover that opens like a locket making its own stand. Cherry opened it, and turned it over to look at the face. Her eyes were glossy with memory. She adored her Papa, my father. A year ago he made this trip with us. He watched the girls play in the creek. He made them hot chocolate in the morning. He played Go Fish with Coco. He was alive. A few months later, he was gone.
This week we’re going without him, and I’m apprehensive. I can’t not go. He’d hate that. Yet going reminds me he isn’t. I saw all of my emotions flash across my eight year old’s face. It was more than I could bear without tears. Since I’m not a crier, I said, ”Put the clock back in the drawer. It’ll remind us of Papa while we’re camping.”
Cherry was obedient. She placed the clock in the drawer with the knives, forks, and spoons. I shoved the drawer shut and tried not to think about it. But it’s there, the loss as certain as the look on Cherry’s face, a tenderness too overwhelming to acknowledge.
When we get there, we’ll take the clock out and wind it, and we’ll remember.
