Tag: Memories

Gifts Amidst Sadness

~ Denise ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes it is amidst sadness that we find great gifts.

Yesterday we attended a celebration of life for my second cousin.

Listening to family remembering his life, and talking with other family members, I was again reminded of family threads that run through and in us that we are often seemingly unaware of. I thought about my great grandparents and grandparents, some I recall, and some I’ve never knew, who have shaped and impacted generations, and still impact generations today. I thought about how generations before that may have impacted tendencies deep within us, without us even being aware of it. The thread running in my mind was how words and actions have the power to impact generations.

I know that God places each of us where we are supposed to be. I know that He places in each of us a desire to know Him. As I’ve walked and continue to walk my own spiritual journey, I’ve realized there have always been people surrounding me that were drawing me to the love of Jesus. When I was younger, I would have been hard pressed to describe the feeling I had when I was with my Mother’s side of the family, I just wanted to be around them. Yes, I loved my Father’s side of the family, but I was drawn to my Mother’s side.

Lately I have been thinking about our older generation. I’ve come to realize that even though our older generation was not always as vocal with their spiritual beliefs, they lived it. And, by living it out, they drew in me, a little girl who was being led down a false path to continue to lean in and press near to Jesus. I rejoiced yesterday; when the Lord’s name was declared! Praise Jesus!

When I was very young, I remember gathering, playing and laughing with multiple generations of my Mother’s side of the family. We would gather at my Great Grandmother’s house for picnics and gatherings. As the years passed, when any from that generation would gather together, for whatever reason, there was always the feeling of acceptance, love, family, of just being home. Sadly, the gatherings became fewer in between as most of the older generation passed, & the younger generation scattered.

For years now, whenever I think of Heaven and what it might be like, I remember those gatherings. To me Heaven would be an expanded version of those gatherings. Where not only those who have passed on would be gathered in one great picnic and homecoming, but I would also one day see all those in my life that my family circle has expanded to be: whether by marriage, birth, friendship, church or community. Heaven will be one glorious homecoming of all those that the Lord has placed in my life for His purpose.

Yesterday, some of that generation gathered again, to remember a loved one passing. For me, that same feeling was there. That feeling of hope. The hope that I have in Jesus. With that hope is the belief that He is pursuing those I love that don’t know Him. The belief He cares enough for us to pursue us. We just need to respond.

So, while it is sad to say goodbye here on earth, a great gift is bestowed. The gift of hope! The gift of Jesus! That is what I believe Heaven will be. Oh, what a glorious homecoming!

May you find the true gift of Hope this Christmas Season.

May you know Jesus.

“That if you confess with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord”, and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” Romans 10:9

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16

 

Second Nature

~ Denise ~ 4 Comments

I have this habit that I didn’t realize I had.  Craig pointed it out a while back.  Then I started noticing it.

It is I guess a sort of self-soothing, thinking, unaware thing I do when I’m lost in thought, anxious, bored, reminiscing or what not.

Usually it involves just my left hand, but I have been known to do it with both hands.

What is it?

I rub my thumb between my second and third fingers in a back and forth motion, generally across my nail, in an absent mind sort of way.

Once this was pointed out to me, I tried to pay attention to when I did it or the occasions I did it.  It seems to be something I do when I am deep in thought and definitely a tactile means of self-soothing.

I wondered for a bit why I did this.  I wondered was this something I learned by observation. All the while, rubbing my fingers.

I had this nagging feeling that I had seen the behavior somewhere.  A sort of comfort behavior.

Then I remembered this picture.

Grandmom deep in thought while we were probably driving to Maine.
Grandmom deep in thought while we were probably driving to Maine.
Here is the same finger pose. Pensive thinking, fingers ready.

I love this picture.

This person I loved with all my heart.

When I rub my fingers now, I also remember my Grandmother.

I’m connected to her again.  I remember her love.

Sigh.

Rub. Rub. Rub.

It’s self-soothing when you miss someone.

I am now on a mission to discover how many family members inherited this trait or learned this behavior.

So far I’ve found two more.  🙂

Spring Cleaning

~ Denise ~ 8 Comments
Cleaning Supplies for Spring Cleaning
Cleaning Supplies for Spring Cleaning (Photo credit: Chiot’s Run)

When I was younger I remember my Mother would go through her big Spring cleaning stage.  We cleaned each room from top to bottom, inside and out.  We wiped the walls, baseboards, floors, windows, cleaned curtains, linens, emptied closets, and believe it or not, we aired the furniture outside and polished and cleaned it before we brought it back in!  I remember how the room felt when it was completely empty and then that fresh and clean feeling afterwards.  The exciting part was putting things back.  That’s because we never seemed to put things back in the same place. That was where the fun came in, re-arranging.  Starting fresh, springing forward, and starting over.

As I got older, I don’t remember Spring cleaning being such a big production.  Mom scaled it back.  We still did a lot of main cleaning, you know, like windows, curtains; a wipe down of the molding and baseboards, but the furniture didn’t make it outside for its sunbathing time.  The furniture always seemed to have a re-arrangement time, at least once or twice a year, and that stuck with me.  When I thought about my own Spring cleaning, I thought of Mom’s scaled down version.  You know, minus the sun-bathing furniture.

Fast forward during the time in our marriage when Craig would be traveling and he would never quite be sure if I would have re-arranged the furniture during the day when he came home late at night.  I’d get this itch just to shake things up a bit and move things around.  I think I tried as many combinations as possible there for a while.  I think he bumped into a lot of things too.  (Thanks, dear for putting up with all that.)  🙂

I don’t know if the boys caught the Spring clean itch or not, but it was not for lack of trying when they were young.   Both boys completely changed what rooms they called their bedrooms here in this house three times over the years.  We’d do my own mini-version of Mom’s Spring clean on a bedroom.  Well, the furniture never made it outside, but it did get a good cleaning.

Before we landed here, there was this period of time in our marriage that we moved every year, one year we moved more than  once.  The joke was, it must be time for a Spring cleaning, the movers are coming!  We had moving boxes with different mover’s stickers on them.  When we moved here we thought it would be for just a short time also.  That was over 19 years ago.

Somehow life just caught up, and I just didn’t do the whole deep Spring clean thing like I used to.  Sure, there would be cleaning (duh, please), but not the top to bottom, inside and out, that sent a breath of fresh air stirring inside me.  I’d get the occasional rush (gosh, that makes me sound like an addict) from a mini-Spring clean of a junk drawer or a closet re-do, or one room cleaned, but there would always be something else I would have liked to get done.   There is a feeling that is hard to describe that comes over you when you know that your home is clean from top to bottom, all at once.  I understand my Mom’s change in her Spring cleaning now that I’m older.  Her house grew, and the stuff grew.

My personal taste is not easily defined.  In some areas I would like a modern/minimalist area, and in others I like a “make yourself comfortable-mix it up with family heirlooms”.  I guess that is why the expression “eclectic” came up.  It’s for people like me who don’t know what they are, or who start out with just a little bit of stuff and they and their family accumulate more things they like or have been given them and then just add on.  They say you should surround yourself with only things you love.  Well, often those things “don’t match”.  So eclectic it is.

Like I said, I understand my Mother’s change in her Spring cleaning now that I’m older.

I used to sit and think how nice it would be to have every area of the house gone through from top to bottom and in between.

To sort through the accumulation of things that have been put away for the time “when we get to it”, and to actually have decisions made on things to keep, sell, donate or purge.

The task could seem overwhelming at times.  Where to start, when to start, and then sometimes, even why bother starting?

Over the years we had accumulated enough things that I felt our house was bursting at the seams.   I’m not suggesting anything like the TV show hoarders.  I just felt that we were in a serious need of a thorough Spring cleaning.

After sending items for #2 son’s new apartment, two loads to an auction house, multiple trips to donation facilities, giveaways, and some purging, almost every inch of the house has now been gone through from top to bottom inside and out.

While we finalize the last minute details of things that need to be done, I’ve re-arranged what little furniture and things we have left, for old times’ sake.

The furniture will get its’ sunbathing and fresh air time while being loaded on the truck.

Well, it is Spring.

And the movers are coming.  Yes, the movers are coming.

Definition

~ Denise ~ 6 Comments

Hey

Do I have your attention?

The first definition of hey is getting someone’s attention or expressing surprise,  anger or showing your annoyed.

Hey, John!  Come here a minute!

Hey!  Watch where you’re going!

The second definition of hey is hello.

Hey, Sue.  How are you?

The South is where I first learned how the second definition is truly used.

In the South, hey is  hello, hi, and how’s it going.  (Even though in my mind “How’s it going?” will always be associated with a certain  N’Awlins transplant.)

The first time I heard the expression was when we moved here for the second time in 1994.

I was walking down the hallway of the Realtor’s office with the boys in tow, and I heard a woman behind me saying “hey”.  She kept saying “Hey…Hey!”

I was like, “gees, I’m hurrying as fast as I can, pleeeese lady, give me a break”.  (This was in my head of course; you know, children with, trying to set an example and all that, however, we did have a big laugh and discussion about it later so….never mind).   The first chance I had to move out of her way I did and turned around, to which she looked at me and said “Hey, I’m so and so”.  It was then that I realized that “hey” was a greeting.

I guess it was only natural that I would start using the expression.

I don’t remember when I realized the frequency that I used it.

Maybe it was when we traveled to our home state of PA and I said “hey” as a greeting and got that strange look like “what the heck?”

“Hey” had become part of my everyday vocabulary.

Recently, Craig and I had a reason to travel to another part of the country.

I thought about it when I said hello to people who greeted me.

I said hello, or hi.  I tried not to just say hey.

I didn’t want to stand out too much, “don’t you know”.

Heart Warming Messages

~ Denise ~ 8 Comments

Text messages….Email….Facebook….

All a quick way to stay connected.  I use each one.   I’ve found certain family and friends respond better to certain means of communication.

However, there is something heart warming about “snail mail” pieces.

Something resonates in me about the way the person puts the note together, how they sign it, even if they doodle on it.  All of these things I look at.

Recently we received a sweet note from our Granddaughter.  It is definitely going in the keep box.

Now if you’re wondering have I kept all the cards and letters I’ve received over the years, no, but I have kept some.

There is something heart warming about opening a card or reading a letter from someone dear.

Lately I’ve had to go through some paperwork to be shredded, and found a few cards and letters that got mixed in.

Found a note from my Grandmother after we had a 80th birthday celebration for her.  She tucked the note in an anniversary card to us.  Her birthday party had turned into a sort of family reunion.

When she sent the note, it was special.  I kept it.

But, somewhere in my head I forgot it.  I forgot what she wrote.

I had always kept the loving feeling she conveyed with me, but reading her loving words again, was very special.

That is what is heart warming about reading a letter or card again.  Especially when the person is no longer with you.

What a blessing it was to read again.

A text, email, or Facebook message just doesn’t seem to have the same impact, at least for me.   Don’t misunderstand, I appreciate getting those type of messages from people I care about if that is the way they communicate, it’s just a handwritten note is different.  That is why I keep them.  There is something about finding them, seeing someone’s handwriting that is no longer with you, reading their words, and having them talk to you, again.  Their handwriting, just like their voice, if recorded or saved “speaks” again.

Letter writing and the days of “pen pals” seems long ago.  My kids probably would laugh at the expression “pen pal“.   I however, am not ancient (regardless of what they may think), so it wasn’t that long ago that is just what one did to communicate.  I can remember having various pen pals when I was younger.  I even was much better about letter writing to family and friends.

Ah, but now I’m just as guilty about not writing notes or letters to people.  Even the yearly Christmas cards don’t have all the individualized notes like they used to have on all of them.  I tell myself I’ve cut back because my fingers start to ache, which is true, however, I could plan better and not wait till the last-minute.

I wonder sometimes if other people save these things or think about this stuff, or if I’m just overly sentimental.

Probably the latter.

That’s okay.

I’m going to read my Grandmother’s and Granddaughter’s notes again, before being safely tucked away to read another day.

Notes

Blessings to keep.

I also have a letter to write.  Maybe, just maybe there is someone else who is a little sentimental too.

“Engaging in Memories and Tiny Treasure”

~ Denise ~ 8 Comments

I was plowing right along there with my personal daily blogging challenge, until yesterday.  Had a busy day with work and meetings, and just did not have the time needed to post, nor the mental thoughts to think about a memory for “Monday’s Memories”.  By the time I got home yesterday, I was pretty much spent.

That’s okay, it was good to sit and relax, and today I figured I could just combine my “Monday Memory” with a “Tuesday Treasure”.

I was thinking how I really don’t blog about my father’s side of the family much.  Granted, most of my father’s family, with the exception of an aunt and a cousin, have no contact with me.  I was particularly thinking though I haven’t blogged about my paternal Grandmother.  We called her NanNan.

I probably spent just as much time around NanNan as I did my maternal Grandmother, however, I do not feel like I knew her.  She seemed distant to me.  I used tell my Mother that my sister was her favorite.  I used to feel like I was getting her disapproval most of the time.  I don’t recall her being affectionate.

NanNan was the person who decided that being a Jehovah’s Witnesses was the course of lifestyle for her family. My understanding is that my Grandfather did not agree.  I did not know him.  Most of my recollections of NanNan are from attending meetings, going door-to-door, conventions and other JW activities.   She lived with her daughter, my Aunt Jean, who I am very fond of.  I liked staying the weekends with Jean, however, I always needed to be up and ready to go with NanNan on Sunday mornings.

My Aunt Jean married late in life, at which time NanNan had a small home built that she moved into.  She seemed happy in her home and was independent for awhile.

The first time I heard the term rheumatoid arthritis was in connection with NanNan.  My Dad started taking her to doctor visits, and she became unable to do a lot of things for herself around the house.  The disease progressed and soon she was unable to clean her home.  I don’t recall why it was decided that I would be the one who would stay overnight on occasions to help clean and take care of her, but that is what I did.   I sort of liked cleaning her little house.  I would pretend, it was like my little cottage.  I would be very proud of my work and look to NanNan for approval, and if she smiled at the job I did, that made me feel good inside.  On really good days, she could cook the best Chicken and Dumplings   I remember when I realized that she wouldn’t be able to anymore, she couldn’t handle the pots and pans.  Some days I would cook for her.

On bad days NanNan would sit in her chair in the living room, just watching me or looking out the window.  She would sit with her hands curled up in her lap.  Every so often she would dip her hands in a hot wax treatment to help with the pain.  I remember how she moaned in pain.  Some days she would be better, but eventually she was unable to take care of her basic needs, and I recall her waking me up in the middle of the night to help her.  Even in my early teens, I knew it was very  hard for her to ask me to help her in that way, and to help her get dressed and with basic needs.  I knew she needed me.

It was on one of those visits that I was in her bedroom and cleaning her dresser and looking through her jewelry.   I asked her about a tiny, dainty pin.  It was broken and missing a little pearl, but I still thought it was just the prettiest thing.  I had never seen her wear it.

She said “Oh, that old pin, you can have it.  It’s broken though”.  I told her I thought it was pretty.  What she said next surprised me.  “That was my engagement gift from your Grandfather”.   She got quiet then.  I told her that I couldn’t take it (but inside I was hoping I could).  She told me she didn’t wear it and I should take it.

After I was home and showed it to Mom I think she was just as surprised as I was about receiving the pin.  She took me and the pin to a jeweler and they repaired it and replaced the pearl.

There a just a few things that I remember my NanNan by.  I remember her with this pin.  I remember her when I play or walk by her piano she left me.  The other thing is I try to keep moving my fingers and joints, I remember how she progressed, I have RA too.

On that evening many years ago, I felt like I saw a different side of NanNan then I had before.  One pin, given as a gift symbolizing an engagement of two people, and connecting two others.

Just a little old pin.

pin

But, it’s not the pin.  It’s the stories with it.