This morning I got a call from a relative explaining about the illness of his uncle. In about ten minutes, I had contacted three other family members to get word spreading and it all just settled like lead. The reality is harsh and certainly unexpected and there is no way to make that sound nice, except it forces us to talk to one another and cherish our time together. Life is so precious and we only have moments- none are guaranteed.
Once I'd hung up from the short conversations, I intended to get some work done and then create heart-stones from cement in the backyard. It was all I could do to keep going and let things sink in a bit and pray. I was outside looking into the pool and watching the tiny currents swirl with dots of shadow here and there while I thought of times long ago in Spicer, Minnesota as a kid.
Aunt Eleanore is my Grandma's sister and was also the best babysitter a kid could wish to have. She let us make forts, stand on her counter tops, crush graham crackers, play the piano, and with all of the chaos, she just chuckled. We were encouraged to be creative with our play time and we'll never forget that spirit.
It was at her house where I invented a system to play the piano like my first grade teacher did in class. For all I knew, Mrs. Knudsen had done just that to remember which keys to play and in what order to play them. The piano at Eleanore's house is an antique, yet I had no concept of what that meant. I wrote on the keys with a ball point pen; some had ivory, some had none. After I had figured the tune by ear, I wrote the numbers on a piece of paper so I could remember it.
There was no yelling, no spanking, no discipline for what I had done. She wasn't even stern with me. I remember her telling my Mom what I had done and that maybe I should have piano lessons. According to Mom, they looked into it, but teachers in the area didn't want to take on kids who played by ear. That's the story I know, anyway. I cannot imagine, after teaching all of the piano lessons I have taught, refusing lessons to a kid with an ear. At least I made that different in the future... Mom might have told me not to write on the keys any longer and I might have told her, "It's ok, I already have what I need."
Another one of my fondest memories is watching clouds in the summer. We would lay on the green grass and look up at the sky. Actually, we had probably pestered a neighbor who was sunbathing and she found a creative way to keep us busy. Regardless, I remember the deep blue sky and the big puffy cloud circuses and auto collections, stuffed animals and weaponry- well, there was a boy in our little gang after all. Those summer days were so carefree and full of the best times.
Today was filled with blue sky and no clouds. All I could do was try to soak up the good memories and be thankful for each one of them. It isn't Eleanore anyway, and she is 95. But it is one of her sons and I know how hard it was for my Grandma to lose a son. None of us wants Eleanore to hurt and we don't want to hurt either, so we'll pray for Rick and hope for better days. Miracles can happen.
The sentiment on the piece today is from Psalm 19:1 and was posted by my friend Lynn today. It wasn't until I wrote the verse number tonight that I realized it is the same as the date today. We have been on similar wavelengths lately, so I am not surprised her post resonated strongly with me today.
Hug the ones you love and call the ones you hear from least. Even a few minutes brings us closer.
Materials:
Canson XL Mixed Media, 98 lb, 18x24
Faber-Castell Cake Watercolor
Sakura Pigma Micron Pen, 05 Purple
Prismacolor Colored Pencil
The pictures just don't do it justice, by the way. :)
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