food, crochet, merriment
One of the many, many days we love…because of what it has always meant to our family…
Alfred R. M. Beck–my great grampa
Johanna Sophia Beck–my great-grama
It’s a day to remember the people we have loved…
Elsie Beck–my grama
Clyde Mitchell–my grampa
and to show that love by decorating their resting places.
Andy Kirby and Marion Mitchell–my dad and mom
This sweet day seems to mean more to me every single year.
Hard to say just why.
Hope your Memorial Day was wonderful!
“All of us now are serving and will continue to serve as lifelong missionaries. We are missionaries every day in our families, in our schools, in our places of employment, and in our communities. Regardless of our age, experience, or station in life, we are all missionaries.”
“The Lord expects us to be as faithful, as devoted, as courageous as those who went before us. They were called to give their lives for the gospel. We are called to live our lives for the same purpose. In these last days we have special reason to do so.”
Robert D. Hales
There was a day, long ago, a day I miss deeply now–
when there was some kind of music coming from several different corners in our house, at the same time. Over the years we’ve had a couple of flutes, a clarinet, a French horn, a couple of violins, and always, always there seems to have been a child sitting at the piano. I know that my memory is very selective about this, but I’m fine with recalling our family’s musical years as a lovely melodic blur.
Of course with all those instruments there also came lessons and practicing–oh the practicing that went on…and the treats we bribed the young musicians with. All for the promise of another version of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” to be played for me.
And how they played.
I was asked often how I could stand so much beginner noise in all it’s difficult phases and it surprised them to hear that I loved it…all of it. Though I never played anything myself, really, the instruments fascinated me–and so did the ability to pull a sweet sound from so many different places. As a mother–it’s always incredible to hear your own child create something beautiful–
that you did not teach them.
After all these years, most of the music is quiet now. The once avid players each found different places to spend their creative energies–jobs, missions, marriage, housework, church work and babies. That’ll certainly do it.
But–how I miss the music.
I’m waiting for the day when one of the new children–my musicians children–will come running in with a familiar shaped case and say, “Grammy–wanna hear me play?”
I know just what I’ll do…
I’ll smile and nod and get comfortable in a soft, easy chair. I’ll close my eyes.
and listen to the dear, sweet, scratchy sound of each note.
“Twink-le, twink-le lit-tle star, how I won-der what you are…”
I just hope I don’t start to cry.
Indeed…I can hardly wait to say, “Oh, please, please…
…play for me.
My clever mama made these pretty little Raggedy Ann dollies for Laurie and I when we were really young. Andy only got to hold the silly parakeet…poor guy. I like to think of these handmade treasures as relatively as old and we are. We, meaning Laurie and I, of course.
Look how well the old girl’s held up. Oh, sure–her elastic is a bit stretched out…
and her loopy hair is all pulled straight—don’t know why I did that…
her red felt nose got scratched off…somehow–don’t know why I did that either…
and she has a scar from an old, old wound.
But she still loves me–as you can see…
her socks stay up beautifully without elastics…
and she still manages to hold her head up straight and tall and keep a sweet smile on her face…
which is an amazing thing for a relic…
who’s the same age…
as me.
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