524

524:

Five hundred and twenty four instants condensed from the hundreds of shutter clicks both actual and virtual.  Five hundred and twenty four images captured, each just a fraction of a second, less than the inhaled breath it took to keep the scene in focus.  It took more than an hour of squinting and sorting to winnow this year down to five hundred and twenty four vignettes. Like the famous film editor told us, "so much good stuff winds up on the floor..."

365:

The days of 2017 lay out in a grid of white on the computer screen.  Add in the ability to format the cover page to accept five or more photos on the top half of each month, that part usually decorated with snowy peaks, or wildflowers...compiled wisdom or poetry....cute kids, old tractors, fast cars,  appealing pets, or whatever catches the customers' attention in the auto parts shop. Tally those sums and 100 of those 524 precious, if insignificant slices of life must be left behind to be consigned to Time Hop, or Moments, or, horror of horrors, reduced to nothingness, non existence, with a swipe of a finger through the trash can icon.

See, when I put together a calendar, every day of the year gets a picture, not just major holidays like the 4th of July or Thanksgiving.  Birthdays get pictures; anniversaries get pictures; even dates like  Pitchers and Catchers Report and Daylight Savings Time Ends get a picture. Every Monday thru Sunday from January 1 to New Year's Eve gets a story from the previous year, unless the photo completely obliterates the birthday or anniversary already noted in print. It seems only logical: if one is going to purchase a calendar from a company that provides photo products, then MAXIMIZE THE PHOTOS!

That's the physical part.  Now for the metaphysical aspect, the essence, the lifeblood, the underlying part and parcel and meaning of every day to day to day up to three hundred and sixty five....

There's a sundial in a corner of my back patio, perched on a plant stand built of railroad spikes.  Soon after it was given to me, I discovered its defect; the gnomon is backwards, so the shadow is always pointing to the wrong time.  Despite its uselessness as a time piece, the sentiment imprinted on its surface is one I'm fond of: 'Grow Old Along with Me, The Best is Yet to Be.'   Season after season, as we plant and harvest, grow and work, gain and lose, we measure this motto against the times, adding to the sum of our days the blessings thereof.  Barbeques and birthdays, babies in bathtubs, banquets and bequests, ballgames and warm beds afterwards......hugs, harvests, helping hands, and homes.  Travels. Travails.

Not every "yet to be" is the "best".  The sundial counts "Only Sunny Hours".   The calendar measures only the happiest of times.  But that is as it should be.  We should build our year with the sunniest, the most blessed, the simplest, and the homeliest, of days.  At the end of this year, we are the most fortunate to count not just our daily bread, our daily blessings...not just the three hundred and sixty five and  the extra one hundred special moments pictured  on the month, but even more...overflowing on the unnamed, the unnumbered white spaces....  Count them all! Five hundred twenty four...

...and so many more...

P.S....Last year it was 530!

THESE Things

All the things in this life that aren't politics. 

Fifteen years of Winnie the Pooh....

Aren't newsworthy. 

Aren't on the television. Or social media. In font sizes over 48. 

That aren't the Cubs......

That still make life rich, memorable, vital, and individual.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.  

Phillippians 4: 8

Think on THESE things.

Lizzie.  At the helm of the auger wagon, bouncing over the bean field on her dad's lap, steering and singing in her pink t-shirt and John Deere green french terry pajama pants.  Pure happiness.

Abbie and Josh. With armloads of fake autumn leaves and weeds, stringing a garland here, setting a pumpkin there,  every vase with its flower, every bowl with its gourd.  Finally, the TA-DA moment as I'm led (close your eyes, Grandma!) to the dining room to ooh and aaah over their enterprise.  Lovely, indeed.

Ryan and Lee.  Lee with her foot bound up and her big toe stitched.  Ryan taking the laundry downstairs, bringing her drinks and ibuprofen and making brownies. Putting dishes away.  Lee: "That's not where those g....oh....just put them where ever you want to!"  When your wife is laid up, where ever those  clean dishes are stacked is the definition of commendable....

Gabe and Abbie, Aaron and Lizzie, Josh and Annie.  After school and after work, the "knackers" come help clean up the leftovers of the fall mum crop.  With high spirits and a Tom Sawyer attitude (make work fun!), they give the dead plants the old heave-ho into the back of the green pickup, roll up the irrigation lines, make big nosegays of fragrant bronze blooms, and stack up the used pots; all for a 6 ounce Sunkist orange pop!  Well, except for Aaron, who takes advantage of the opportunity to practice his mad manual transmission driving skills in the '95 Dodge Ram five speed....Worthy...worthy of praise!

Aaron. First junior high basketball game.  His mother calls..."Keep moving...use the backboard!" Aaron, to his credit, not only meets his mom's eyes, but mouths.."I know".   I remember junior high basketball....and the girl who shot the basketball just so her dad would shave off his beard.... Whatever is honorable....Whatever is just.

Josh. A font of information and a sponge for knowledge now that he's in kindergarten. "I can count to 100, Mom." from the back seat. "Yes, and I'm so proud of you..." from the driver's seat.  From the back seat...."One zillion and one....one zillion and two....." Absolutely true... 

Levi.  At a fall hayride with his parents.  Riding the skid loader, checking out the John Deere tractor, watching the cattle in the pasture: "If this were a real farm, there would be a combine...."  Excellence...in story telling anyway!

Think...and smile....at THESE things....

Bob the Builder circa 2005

Construction guy circa 2016

Froggie suit circa 2014

Froggie suit circa 2011

Froggie suit circa 2004

Breaking Up is Hard to Do...

It was cleaning the bathroom that did it. The downstairs bathroom, the one with a few leftover diapers in various sizes underneath the counter, the one with tear free kid's shampoo in the cabinet, the one with the rubbery dinosaur and frog from Target, the yellow duckie hand sponge, and the squirty fish toys that continued to bring squeals of surprise and laughter to baths as each grandchild came to visit and say, "I want to take a bath..."  

It was just yesterday, I swear, that Aaron would climb up my back before his bath and ask for the "cups and spoons" out of my kitchen that stood in for 'real' bath toys before this grandma was quite prepared for water play.  And here on my Timehop is a picture from five years ago...five years! with a little short Josh climbing out of his pants in an effort to join his older brother...a measuring cup in the picture... in the big iron tub just off the living room. 

 (It's an odd location for a bathroom, I concede, but closer to the family action and far warmer in the wintertime than than the one upstairs.) Josh doesn't ask for cups and spoons when he takes a bath anymore; Aaron is 13, and more likely to take a shower upstairs these days.when the kids come to stay. Levi still plays with the little boats and squishy fishes, but the time is coming when these toys will have done all their work and be as unnecessary as the diapers I should take to church so someone can use them.... What should I do with that handful of cheap little toys? Scoop them into a drawer? Into the trash? Will I be tidy? Or sentimental? I don't know.  The squeaky frog toy my kids played with at my parents' still lives on the side of the tub.

This big, old, cluttered house doesn't lack for room for the toys of kids of all ages: the Gator, thirteen years old and now mute, but plenty sturdy for whichever kid, 4 to 9 chooses to  skid it across the wood floor; the hardwood blocks in their wagon, made by my grandfather and well into their third generation of construction; a veritable artist studio of pencils and notepads, hole punches, stamps, and markers in the dining room at two short wooden play tables; dollies of various vintage that are still occasionally swaddled and left napping on the ottoman. The kids still dig through the big red barn toy box for defunct cell phones, handbags, and assorted construction toys, but there's no doubt the My Little Ponies, farm animals, and Toy Story characters are lonely for company these days...all but Buzz Lightyear! 

 Buzz, a handmedown from Gus via Lydia has captivated every small child in this house with his spinning aura of green and purple and astonishingly long battery life. Even Blake and I behold him with awe.

Thankfully, the front room is still awash with Legos...current Legos, five year old Legos, ten year old Legos....twenty year old Legos.........Legos a quarter century old! Legos: the past, the present, the happily ever after hand-me-down!

Despite the amusing meme and very real danger stepping on a Lego, it is a lucky grandma who finds random Lego creations lining the window sills and standing guard from the stairwell.

  Periodically, when Levi calls to Facetime, he will ask if he can see the "toy room", and I walk through to reassure him that the train tracks and the farm machinery are as they were when last he saw them.

The day of Aaron's first junior high football game, Ann forwarded me a picture of Ben's seventh grade football picture. Ben has a big grin, wearing a big 75 on his red jersey.  I guess he hadn't gotten the memo about looking grim and unsmiling in your sports shots. When I look at his picture, all I can think is, "Who pasted that little kid's head on that football body?"

Aaron's smiling sixth grade football pic on my fridge has been replaced by a squinting wary serious looking guy wearing the #30 Wolves jersey. No rookie photo mistakes for this seventh grader.  

Years have passed between the junior high Indian and Wolf, and much has changed besides the uniform. But not the fun of climbing bleachers or making a road trip with other moms, dads, grandparents, friends...and assorted younger siblings and cousins.

Isn't there a song that says "Growing Up is Hard to Do"?  NO...wait!  That's "Breaking Up is Hard to Do" by Neil Sedaka....showing my age. It isn't always easy to pack away old toys or happy memories.  So the bath toys stay at their posts, waiting to play with Joshie or Levi and I stick another piece of tape to keep the multi layered artwork on the door.  

Yeah, and I'm better at Waylon and Willie than Neil Sedaka....

"She just talks about the good times they've had and all the good times to come"

--Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson