Susan Writes

Give a Gift and Get it BAck

Posted on December 8, 2016 by susanrray

It’s a plain white ten-inch tall teapot with a hexagon shape base. I gave it as a Christmas gift and got it back. When Aunt Doris’s kitchen cabinets were cleaned out after her death, my cousin said, “Here, Susan, this is yours. It has your name on the bottom.” I gladly brought the teapot home.

Every Tuesday night in 1970, I scrubbed and glazed ceramic pieces and made many Christmas gifts and then years later, some were returned. The teapot is my style, but that’s not true of the tall vase with pink and blue flowers that I made for Husband’s grandmother. It looked at home on Granny Ray’s living room French provincial desk and now sits in the top of my closet waiting for the right place. However, I love that the white and gold Christmas candy dish was returned. It brings back memories of Husband and me taking Daughter to his grandparents’ house for her first Christmas. Granny Ray held Daughter, her first great-grandchild. The candy dish, centered on her coffee table, was filled with Granny’s homemade chocolate covered cherry candy.

I made other gifts. A green felt Christmas card holder, decorated with sequins and silver rickrack, hung in Mom’s kitchen. When the glue on the pockets gave way, Mom stitched it, as I should have done. It hung in my kitchen for a few years and now it hangs at Daughter’s house. On my sewing room shelf is a needlepoint purse made from plastic squares. Simple nature designs decorate each square. I did the needlepoint and stitched it into its box shape, and Mom lined it and attached handles. Maybe it’s time I carry it; the Grands would like the butterflies and frogs and birds.

One of my favorite returned Christmas gift is inscribed ‘Presented to Dad by Susan, Allen, Alicia, and Eric. Christmas 1983.’ I’m thankful for the large print in this King James Bible and treasure the few notes Dad wrote in it.

When I was thirty, I thought a gift given, stayed given. Now I know better. And if children are smart, they’ll give gifts they want. Things they’d like to own, but wouldn’t buy for themselves. So I’m making my Christmas wish list with that in mind. What would my children like?

Local artists offer some fine gifts. A wood sculpture or vessel from Brad Sells’ Bark Studio or Andy Lane’s Against the Grain Wood Sculpting workshop. Pottery from Addled Hill Pottery where Susan Stone takes her inspiration from nature. Or how about a piece of jewelry crafted by Lenny and Eva? And then there are artists, like Marilyn and Adrienne, whose paintings could decorate my walls.

How about a jigsaw puzzle or a book? Diamonds? Rubies? Silver? Gold? Or make something homemade? Whatever gift my children choose, I hope it’s something they like because someday it’ll be theirs. That’s just how it works. Give a gift and get it back.

Filed under: Christmas, Gifts | Tagged: Christmas gifts, get back, give | Leave a comment »

Wanna’ Come Play?

Posted on December 1, 2016 by susanrray

Ruth, age seven, and I sat in the middle of a bedroom floor to empty a box labeled ‘Susan’s dolls.’ “Gran, look! She doesn’t have a leg. I bet Pop can fix it,” said my Grand. She held a one-legged Barbie. We rummaged through the box and found Barbie’s leg. Pop, aka Husband, can fix most everything, but not a 1950’s Barbie that I’d played with all those years ago.

Other Barbies were perfect, except for their hair. “How about I just cut it?” Ruth asked as she tried to pull a comb through one doll’s hair. I suggested that she comb the ends of Barbie’s hair first to get the rat’s nest out.

My Grand tossed Barbie onto the floor. “Rat’s nest! A rat did this?” I chuckled and explained that it’s just a saying that means a tangled mess and my dad used to say my hair was a rat’s nest. With patience, Ruth combed Barbie’s hair until it hung straight.

I was a bit taken back when I discovered Barbie clothes. Clothes my mother had made. A pink nightgown and robe. Knit tops and skirts. A blue sundress trimmed with white lace. “These smell yucky,” Ruth said.

My Grand helped me find a shelf to display two antique dolls that had been handed down to me. And we cut one doll’s hair that was beyond repair and scrubbed two bald-headed baby dolls with Soft Scrub and Baby Wipes until they no longer felt gummy.

From a box with a cellophane front, we unpacked a two-foot doll, wearing white plastic sling-back high heels, a pink taffeta dress, and lace gloves. “She was the last doll I got for Christmas and she stood on top of my piano in my bedroom. I never played with her. She was just to look at,” I said. Ruth asked why I didn’t play with her. Why, indeed?

“Gran, I think these clothes will fit Samantha,” Ruth held a red corduroy jacket, a dress, pajamas, and more. “Can I take them home?” We made a plan that the next time she visited she’d bring Samantha, her American Girl doll, and try on the clothes.

The afternoon slipped away while Ruth and I played. Two days later when her family came for supper, she brought Samantha and ran straight upstairs. All the doll clothes had been washed and lay in the room where Ruth and her younger sister would sleep that night.

A bit later, Ruth ran to me and whispered in my ear, “Almost all those clothes fit Samantha just right.” My Grand’s eyes sparkled. I hugged her. She whispered, “That fancy doll’s clothes and Barbie’s smell better. Wanna’ come play?”

I did, but I said, “Another time, okay? It’s time to eat supper.”

My Grand’s face fell and then she asked, “Just me and you? One whole afternoon? Okay?” I agreed.

When I packed my dolls away so long ago, I didn’t know it’d be even more fun this time around.

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Filed under: Grandchildren, Play | Tagged: american girl, doll, dolls, Samantha | Leave a comment »

Thankful for Cousins

Posted on November 24, 2016 by susanrray

I’m thankful for cousins. Especially my only two first cousins, Mike and Alan. They’re on my emergency call list. You know, that list of three people to call when you need help and they come immediately without asking why and what. They simply ask where.

And I’m thankful for my cousins’ wives who married into a family with strong traditions and they adjusted their family plans around the Bertram traditions. These women have willingly (at least I’ve never heard them complain) taken their turn hosting our family gatherings at noon on Thanksgiving Day. A tradition started by three sisters, my cousins’ mothers and Mom, in the 1940s.

Tomorrow we’ll eat the same foods our mothers prepared years ago. Including cornbread dressing shaped in balls and asparagus casserole with cream of mushroom soup.

I’m thankful for another cousin I’ve recently gotten to know. I’ve always known about Francis, a generation younger than me. Knew when he was born, followed his educational journey, his career success, and knew he lived in Cookeville. A few weeks ago, I had reason to know him personally and hug this cousin.

During the time that our home of 32 years was on the market to sale, I prayed for someone to buy it that would love it. Appreciate the effort we put into building it. Love the trees and yard. Several lookers walked through. Finally, we got the call of an offer and after two more phone calls, we agreed on a price. Then Husband asked who the buyer was.

I called the realtor to be sure of the name. He confirmed Francis by name and occupation. Francis and his wife had walked through once and made an offer shortly thereafter. “Francis is my cousin,” I said.

Why would anyone make the decision to buy a house after a fifteen-minute walk through? Francis told me, “I’ve always liked your house. When I was a little kid, Mom and I rode bikes past it and she told me, ‘Your cousin lives there.’ She told me how we’re related and about you.”

Francis’s great-grandmother and my grandfather were siblings. His grandmother and my mother, first cousins, were born a few months apart, were everyday playmates as kids and good friends as adults. So that makes Francis and me fourth or fifth cousins or some would say, distant cousins. But in small town South distant cousins, that you like, are cousins with no numbers.

And I’m thankful for Francis’s wife. As I took a seat across from here at a bank conference table to close the house sale, she leaned toward me, put her hands forward, and held my hand. She said, “You must be sad leaving your home. We’ll take good care of it and love it. And bring your grandchildren to play in the creek and snow sled. Our girls would love to meet your grandchildren.”

Thanksgiving. A time to be thankful for cousins and their wives and answered prayers.

Filed under: Family, Thanksgiving | Tagged: cousins, thankful | Leave a comment »

What’s Normal?

Posted on November 17, 2016 by susanrray

I declined a brunch invitation because I was in the middle of moving. “I hope to get back to normal soon,” I said.

My friend quickly replied, “What’s normal?” A question most of us have heard. Normal. We know what it means: usual, ordinary, expected, everyday, routine, fixed, traditional.

I’ve missed normal everyday life for the past few weeks. I can’t define a normal day for another person. Everyone’s routines are as different as fingerprints. None of us do the exact same things nor in the exact same ways.

But I know what’s not normal for me and my days have been packed with not-so-normals. Like handling a warm apple pie candle five times while packing. Throw it in the garage sale box. Wait, it goes with the electric simmering pot that’s in my writing and sewing room. Don’t pack it with books because it might get mushed. Not with fabric. What if it comes out of the plastic package and makes a mess? Put it with kitchen stuff or maybe the bathroom stuff or just stick it in my purse.

It’s not normal to brush my teeth with my finger. I patted myself on the back because the coffee pot, coffee, and cups were ready for the first morning at our new house. Yet, I didn’t have my toothbrush or bath soap.

It’s not normal to sit on a living room couch with a broken leg. The movers warned us the back right leg was loose and when I accidently bumped into the couch, the leg fell off. Anyone else flip a dozen light switches before turning on the light you want? And who can’t turn on a front porch light? It’s controlled by a push button, not a switch. At least, that’s what Husband says.

It’s not normal to move a box of sandwich zip lock bags five times. Which drawer or cabinet should they be in to be most handy?

I pushed every button on the microwave. A dim light came on. A brighter light. Nothing happened. The word ‘Cancel’ flashed. Just cancel. Lukewarm coffee, that was hot an hour earlier before I lost it, tastes good.

It’s not normal to search ten minutes for peanut butter. Hit my head on the same cabinet door three times in one day. Read out loud the words printed on oven controls and still be confused about which button to push first. Not recognize the sound of my doorbell. Lose a bathroom rug. Hang bathroom towels straight and evenly spaced because that can be accomplished quickly to satisfy my need for order.

It’s not normal write this column just before deadline. To continue to move the words “Write column” from day to day until it had to be done.

These past few weeks have thrown me curves. I look forward to flipping light switches and turning on my oven with confidence. And laughing and visiting with girlfriends over brunch. I look forward to normal.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Friends | Tagged: normal | Leave a comment »

When Children Help

Posted on November 10, 2016 by susanrray

There are have been some unexpected cherished times during this move to Husband’s and my new house. Although sorting, packing, hauling, unpacking, and ‘setting up’ house has almost done me a few times, I treasure some conversations with our children and Grands.

When Daughter-in-Law asked if we’d have room for all our furniture, I said, “We’ll probably sell a few things. Like the antique oak washstand. It’s not a family piece and it won’t go in our new kitchen.” Son muted the televised football game he was watching, and he tuned into our conversation. “Wait a minute,” he said. “What are you talking about? What’s a washstand?” I explained that it had always set in the kitchen by the bay window. “You mean the table where you put the little Christmas tree decorated with seashells?” Son asked. Yes, that’s a washstand.

He wrinkled his forward. “What do you mean it’s not a family piece?”

“It didn’t come down through your dad’s or my family,” I said. “We bought it a long time ago. Probably in the late 70s.”

Son leaned back in his reclining chair and tilted his head. “But it’s always been in your kitchen. It’s a family piece to me.” The washstand now has a place in a guest bedroom until Son wants to move it to his house.

Both Son and Daughter offered to help. Son said he’d fly across country to set up electronics and carry heavy boxes. We took a rain check on that. Daughter said, “Just tell me when to be there, Mom.” I thought she had enough to do homeschooling her children and her daily responsibilities as wife and mother. “I’ll come late afternoon or after supper,” she said. “And what about moving day? You’ll need your bed made and towels out and ready for a shower. I can do that.”

The tables have turned. Husband helped Son organize the garage in his new house last year. When Daughter was a college student, Husband and I helped her move into several dorm rooms and apartments and never left until the bed was made and the towels hung.

I recruited my 9 year-old Grand to help pack our playroom, a former bedroom filled with blocks, cars, dress-up clothes, Fisher-Price play sets, books, art supplies, and more. All saved from our children’s childhood and things I’ve bought because the Grands needed more toys. What to keep? What to cull? “Gran, keep the multi-colored, funny wig,” Lou said as she threw it in a packing box. “Get rid of this straw hat and these caps – nobody ever wears them. Keep these purses. The little girls (her younger sisters) like them.” Lou sorted quickly and she packed, placing things tightly, with no empty spaces. We finished an all-day task by lunchtime.

David, age 11, sat on the floor in the middle of our new garage. Papers with printed directions, metal shelves, screws, and bolts for Husband new workbench were scattered around my Grand. “Pop had some other things to do so I told him I’d do it,” David said. Two hours later he told me, “Some of pieces looked the same, but the directions were good, and I took my time.” Project completed.

One day only David and I were riding in my van and we’d talked about the official moving day. He asked, “Gran, are you happy about this move?” Yes, of course. “Aren’t you sad, too?” I nodded. “So are you more happy or more sad?”

I’m thankful for our children’s and Grands’ help. It’s made for a happy move.

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Filed under: Children, Grandchildren | Tagged: children help, moving | 4 Comments »

Oh, the Things I’ve Saved

Posted on November 3, 2016 by susanrray

Packing everything in the house, where Husband and I have lived for 32 years, is a monstrous task. And so many times, I’ve blinked my eyes, shook my head, and wondered, “What was I thinking?” I’ve saved stuff that is going straight to the trash or recycling and stuff we’ve donated or boxed for a springtime garage sale.

Until now, I’ve never considered myself a pack rat, a hoarder. I’m sentimental and practical, my excuses for stashing away so many things.

A white bag labeled Happy New Year has hung in a guest bedroom closet for at least ten years since Husband and I hosted a few friends on New Year’s Eve. I thought the Grands would like the noisemakers and headbands. After supper one night last week, they blew those horns outside for five minutes, and I knew none of us would ever see the contents of that bag again. There’s a reason for the name, noisemakers.

Surely the five pairs of panty hose were good at one time. Now the elastic is stretched and the hose would fall to my ankles. And why did I hold onto a device that never worked? A battery-operated, hand-held gadget to remove fuzz from sweaters.

I must have kept every flower vase I ever touched. Tall clear glass ones. Short squatty ones. White plastic. Bud vases. Bouquet vases. All can be reused and I hope someone puts beautiful flowers in the ones I donated. Same with mugs. Some I don’t even like. How many hot drink cups does anyone need? Yes, extra mugs can hold pencils and toothbrushes, but I don’t keep pencils and toothbrushes in every room in my house. Well, I do keep pencils everywhere, but I don’t need mug holders everywhere.

While packing the drawers of my kitchen hutch, my friend said, “Here’s another rock.” A flat gray, silver dollar sized rock. She’d already laid aside others: limestone, creek, volcanic, sandstone, slate, granite, calcite, and more. None valuable. All collected from somewhere special, at the moment, or given to me by someone special, forever. Then she held a creek rock, slightly smaller than a deck of playing cards that had been painted gold. “This one must be a keeper. It’s painted,” my friend said. She was right.

When I pulled open the travel filing cabinet drawer, I smiled. All those trips. All those folders labeled with places and dates and in alphabetical order. Some filed away before the days of technology when searching for hotels and restaurants wasn’t as easy as typing a question in a search engine. When information was shared by travel agents and friends. I kept a menu from Boston’s Bull and Finch Pub, made famous by the television program “Cheers.” A map of Maine. A brochure from Chicago’s Field Museum. And from a more recent trip, I saved a river cruise dinner menu. Did I just want to remember that I’d eaten potage de legume, vegetables in cream? And after I showed the Grands a brochure of Thomas Jefferson’s Library in the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., why did I file it?

I must have put every picture developed from my Kodak Instamatic camera in picture albums. There’s no time to go through all those pictures now, but I glanced at a few. Who’d save a blurry photo of college girls wearing baby doll pajamas and hair rollers and sitting on a dormitory bed? Or a picture of school children at environmental camp and all you can see is their backs?

Oh, the things I’ve saved.

Filed under: Everyday Life | Tagged: flower vases, mugs, things saved, travel folders | 4 Comments »

Clowns – Not all Bad

Posted on October 27, 2016 by susanrray

I’m sad about what’s happened to the image of clowns. I like clowns – those happy, smiling, white faced, bright red-mouthed clowns. Clowns that make people laugh and clowns that touch the heart’s soft spot.

I know that sinister, evil clowns have appeared throughout history. All the way back to ancient Egypt to the Joker, the archenemy of Batman, and characters in Stephen King’s bestsellers. I avoid scary, evil clowns. Don’t read the books or see the movies.

During the Middle Ages, clowns, known as court jesters, performed for royalty. In the 19^th century, three ring circuses travelled around the country, and sad, hobo clowns became popular. In the 1950s and 1960s, Bozo and other silly clowns entertained children. And that’s when I grew up.

Maybe it was Red Skelton that first made me like clowns. My family didn’t miss his weekly television show that began in the early 1950s, and we especially liked when Skelton took on one of his comical characters. Clem Kadiddlehopper, a big-hearted, singing country cabdriver who was a bit slow witted. Sheriff Deadeye with his thick bushy mustache and eyebrows and wearing a fringed western vest.

Freddie the Freeloader, a tramp with a blackened chin, white mouth, crushed top hat and who chewed on a cigar was my Dad’s favorite. He laughed as soon as he saw Freddie and by the end of the skit, Dad had bent double, slapped his knees, and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. I laughed as Dad did this week when I googled Red Skelton and watched Freddie on YouTube. And Skelton ended each show saying, “Good night and may God bless.”

Before her birth, I decorated our firstborn’s nursery with clowns and bright primary colors. I sewed curtains from fabric printed with circus clowns riding bicycles, balancing balls on their noses, rolling huge hoops. Husband painted a wooden rocking chair bright blue and the crib yellow. There was even a clown lamp and a matching light switch cover.

When our children were young school age, Husband, Son, and Daughter marched as clowns in Cookeville’s Christmas parade. They smeared Zauder’s superior Clown White on their faces and necks and painted huge red mouths. Husband wore a multi-colored wig and blue jean overalls. The kids wore traditional one piece, long sleeve, and two-colored clown outfits.

That was about the time I started a clown collection. One of my favorites is a Norman Rockwell porcelain figurine entitled The Runaway. A clown wraps his arm around a young boy’s shoulder, holds him close with one hand, and wipes his eye with the other. A black dog sits at the clown’s knees. It’s a feel-good piece. A runaway child cared for by a stranger.

Because family and friends gave me almost every clown that sits among the books on our bookshelves, I like them all. The Emmett Kelly, the traditional sad faced hobo who became one of the world’s most famous clowns, is a reminder of the depression years. I treasure a two-inch unpainted clay clown that Daughter created and the tall blue and white one blowing a horn and the cow clown. After only a few years, I announced my collection was complete. Twenty-five was enough.

The current clown panic means there probably won’t be any kids wearing clown outfits thrown together at the last minute and shouting, “Treat or Treat!” this Halloween. I agree with Stephen King’s recent tweet as reported in The Week magazine, “Time to cool the clown hysteria – most of ‘em are good, cheer up the kiddies, make people laugh.”

Filed under: Halloween, Uncategorized | Tagged: clowns | Leave a comment »

Earworms Dig In

Posted on October 20, 2016 by susanrray

The wheels on the bus go round and round. Round and round. Round and round. STOP! I want off this bus! This silly song won’t go away. Like wheels, it goes round and round in my brain.

Call it an earworm or a brain worm. It’s defined as a catchy song or tune that runs continually through a person’s mind, or more scientifically, it’s involuntary musical imagery (INMI). Sometimes an earworm attacks long after we’ve heard a song and often it’s an annoying ditty that we’d never choose to remember. It is probably not even a favorite song. The Wheels on the Bus is certainly not worthy of being my favorite and I don’t want to hear it over and over.

Why does this song get stuck in my brain? And how can it get it unstuck? Although psychologists and brain researchers have studied earworms, what triggers them and why they occur remain mysteries. Mainly because earworms, which supposedly last only a few seconds, are involuntary and that makes tracking them in a scientific setting almost impossible.

It’s believed there are groups of people who are more likely to experience earworms: those constantly exposed to music, those who are exposed to the same song multiple times during a short period, those with obsessive-compulsive behavior, and those who express strong emotions. So I expect that my friend who teaches school music classes and sings the same songs during school hours will hear those tunes long after 3:00 p.m. And it makes sense that people who try to do everything right would strive to hear a song perfectly and repeat its lyrics many times.

Brain researchers suggest that the size and shape of one’s brain might be a factor. Earworm frequency depends upon the thickness of brain regions and are more common in people with thick brains in the areas associated with musical memory and auditory reception. (Side note: did you know it’s been proven that the smartest people have the thickest brains?)

So I can’t determine exactly why the Wheels on the Bus gets stuck in my head, it just does. Are there ways to prevent it? I could quit music, cold turkey. No radio. No Pandora. No singing with the Grands. No concerts. But I’m not giving up music.

However, I discovered many suggestions to stop an earworm. Sing the entire song, every word, every note, every stanza – wear the song out. Or listen to other music. Or sing a different song – either aloud or in your head and hope it doesn’t get stuck. Or distract your brain by engaging in a language activity: work a crossword puzzle, play Scrabble, write a poem, or simply talk to someone.

My favorite solution comes from an article published in The Quarterly Journal of Experimental Psychology: chew gum. The articles states, “Doing so appears to reduce the numbers of wanted and unwanted songs in your head and is consistent with other studies saying gum chewing disrupts voluntary memory recollection.”

So now I have a plan to stop the wheels on the bus. I’ll chew gum and sing every verse aloud, including the verses about the wipers and the horn and the people. If that doesn’t work, I’ll play Scrabble, my all-time favorite board and online game. And for good measure, I’ll call a friend for a phone visit. I just hope she doesn’t mention the words wheels or bus.

Filed under: Music | Tagged: earworm, Music, the wheels on the bus | Leave a comment »

Leaving and Taking

Posted on October 13, 2016 by susanrray

screen-shot-2016-10-13-at-6-35-24-am Husband and I are moving. Leaving the house we built. The yard we cleared of brush and saplings. The home where we raised children and welcomed Grands. Moving a short distance, only a mile. To a yard that’s much smaller than the 2.3 acres we cleared thirty-something years ago. To a house a bit smaller and making it our home.

It’s a good move. A move we’ve talked about for several years. A move that’s our choice.

We’re leaving our snow sledding hill. Where the Grands learned to sled, learned to lean left to avoid hitting a tree, learned that their sledding turn wasn’t over until they pulled the sleds up the hill for someone else to have a turn. We’re taking the buyer’s promise that our Grands are welcome to sled anytime the hill is covered with snow.

We’re leaving the basketball goal. The goal set up on the concrete driveway before the house walls were painted. The goal that our children and Grands spent hours shooting a basketball through. We’re taking the ball and we’ll buy a portable goal.

We’re leaving the wedding steps. The outside yard steps built fourteen years ago so wedding reception guests could easily walk down our steep hill to celebrate with Daughter and Son-in-Law. We’re taking the memories and pictures of a long line of family and friends who visited as they slowly made their way down the steps to wedding punch and cake.

We’re leaving the creek. The shallow, narrow creek that’s perfect to wade in and build a dam across. To throw a leaf into and watch it float, to throw rocks into for a big splash, to gather smooth rocks, to dig in the mud. We’re taking the buyer’s welcome to come play anytime.

We’re leaving the dining room. The room where Son and Daughter-in-Law opened wedding gifts the day after their wedding while those who love them best sipped coffee and nibbled cinnamon rolls. Where Happy Birthday has been sung dozens and dozens of times. Where my parents celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary supper and their teenage grandchildren wanted to eat and run and go to their high school’s football game. Where friends eat whatever is served – soup and cornbread or steak and shrimp. We’re taking the dining room table, the china, the silver, and making plans for family Christmas breakfast at our new home.

We’re leaving the very best ever next-door neighbors. Neighbors who watched our house and collected our mail when we vacationed and brought treats on every holiday. We’re taking their friendship.

We’re leaving trees. White oak, sycamore, tulip poplar, dogwood, maple. Trees we marked with yellow plastic strips to save from chain saws. Trees that drop brown and yellow and orange leaves. Trees where squirrels build nests and run along their branches. Trees I love. We’re taking memories of our children and the Grands jumping in just-raked leaf piles. Memories of the last yard clearing, for the year, on the day after Thanksgiving when family time was spent using leaf blowers, rakes, and huge tarpaulins to haul leaf piles to the woods.

We’re leaving a basement garage. We’re taking our cars to a main level garage.

We’re leaving one home and taking our beds, our clothes, our books, our coffeepot, and our welcome mat to a new home.

Oh, how I wish I could wave a wand to pack, move, unpack and be sitting with my knees under my writing desk. The move is good. The moving, not so good.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Inspirational, Uncategorized | Tagged: leaving, moving, taking | 3 Comments »

Special Delivery

Posted on October 6, 2016 by susanrray

screen-shot-2016-10-06-at-2-15-56-pm As Husband and I drove 1295 miles west, we wondered how much it would’ve cost to ship everything in our van. Son’s stuff that been stored at our house all his life and a few of his and Daughter-in-Law’s things. Now we were spending two and a half days travelling in a van packed to the hilt. Picture albums, quilts, treasures from grandparents, Daughter-in-Law’s great-grandmother’s desk, a Civil War rifle, a handmade cedar chest, and so much more.

For days, Husband and I gathered and wrapped and packed. We prayed for travelling mercies: good weather, safety, a sense of humor and all went as planned. We arrived at Son’s home in time to greet our five-year-old Grand as he stepped off the school bus. Dean’s eyes grew big when he saw his parents and us. He jumped down the bus steps, almost fell, and ran to my open arms. “Gran!” he shouted and threw his arms around my neck.

“What’s in your van?” Dean asked when saw it in the driveway. Things that belong to your daddy and mommy. “Any toys?”

The next day after breakfast, Husband opened the van’s doors and Son and Daughter-in-Law were surprised to see how much we’d brought. The best way I could help was to take the two younger Grands for a walk. Neil, age 3, rode his balance bike, and I pushed sixteen-month-old Annie in her stroller.

When we returned, the van was empty and Son’s office was piled with treasures. Sitting on the floor, Dean plucked the strings on a guitar that lay across his legs. Son tightened the strings, showed Dean how to hold a guitar, and admitted he never learned to play when he got it as a young teenager.

screen-shot-2016-10-06-at-2-15-02-pm Neil grabbed a stuffed Benji, Son’s sleeping buddy when he was a toddler. Then he found two other Benjis and hugged all three. “These are mine!” Neil announced.

Chests that my dad had made were carried downstairs. The toy chest was filled with dress up clothes in the playroom; the cedar chest set at the end of a bed for guests. “It’s perfect here and I want to store quilts we aren’t using in it,” Daughter-in-Law said.

Dean discovered an orange and tan quilt that my grandmother had made and dragged it to his room. He yanked a quilt off his bed, threw it on his brother’s bed, and pulled the orange quilt onto his. “Here, Neil, you can have my old quilt,” he said.

Annie rocked in the toddler-size rocking chair that my dad made for Son almost 40 years ago. It fit her perfectly. Several times during the four days Husband and I visited, Son ‘went missing.’ He unpacked and unwrapped and reminisced, and he didn’t try to send anything back with us although I predict some things might be donated or tossed.

After we left Son’s house, he texted a picture of a 1940’s porcelain white chicken candy dish that was his grandmother’s. “Just found the little white chicken. It’s great! Some things old are new again.” I wiped sentimental tears.

When we got home, Husband found a box we forgot to take and two weeks later, I found a box in our storage closet labeled with Son’s name and “School stuff and more.” He’ll be surprised when UPS delivers a box on his doorstep. I hope he reads the autobiography he wrote when he was in the 8^th grade and I wish I could be there when he opens that box.

Driving 1295 miles wasn’t just about delivering stuff. Hugs and kisses and playing can’t be measured in dollars.

Filed under: Children, Grandchildren, Uncategorized | Tagged: children's stuff, delivering stuff | 1 Comment »

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