Cherish the Ordinary

Yesterday I was part of a large gathering. I saw more than a hundred people (maybe close to two hundred), many of whom I haven't seen in more than a decade.  It was a rich photo-taking opportunity, but I knew I would not be using a camera. I was at a place I didn't want to be.

For some people, a photograph is a picture of people, places, or things. For me, it brings back a memory. Often when I see a snapshot, I see not only the person or the place, but I recall the circumstances and the mood. I remember the event, and even sometimes those who were there but not in the picture.

I look at a faded picture of my grandmother and remember the clear gallon jar she kept the sugar in to sweeten iced tea, and how she emptied the pot of wet tea leaves around her rose bushes. My dad sits in a chair smiling for the camera, but I remember him playing the steel-guitar, or badminton, or checking my homework, and how he would let my brothers and sisters climb onto his back and take them for a ride.  On a side table rests a photo of my Dear Departed fastening a necklace for me, but I remember it as the year he gave me 3 Christmas cards because he couldn't choose which was the most special.

I look at pictures of my children when they were young and remember not only their antics and the joy of the moment, but if we were living in the rented house with the red carpet, or the one with the fireplace that never kept us warm enough, or the one with the vegetable garden, or the one where we had barbecues for friends most every weekend. I have a few pictures of my brothers and sisters and extended families taken two years ago, and wonder if we will all be able to get together for a happy occasion again. Pictures representing some of the dearest people and times of my life will be the first things I grab if I have to leave home suddenly in the case of fire or flood.

And so often, as I look at these representatives of times past, I realize I would not have anticipated how important the picture would be later. How often someone says I'm so glad you took (or have) that picture. How often our days seem unremarkable, until we look back. I pray that I will cherish the ordinary days and moments I have with my children and grandchildren, and other friends and loved ones. I pray that they will cherish the ordinary days they have with each other, and with me.

So most of the time, I feel free to take candid shots of people and places, realizing that they will mean more later than they do at present.  But not yesterday. We put to rest a truly great man. I don't want to remember yesterday at all.

Some Things Just Can't Be Wrapped

Christmas Eve is my favorite day of the year. My three children and their spouses and my seven grandchildren (six of whom are boys, from 3 months to 8 yrs old) all gather in my little house. It is usually a little hectic as I'm busy cooking from morning till night, often trying several new recipes. I've learned that if a recipe says 40 minutes prep time, I can count on at least 60. And there's just so much counter space,  just one oven, and just so much  room in the refrigerator. 

Imagine my delight when my daughter told me her son Andrew, age 7, said one of the things he likes most about Christmas Eve is the food. That might not seem so remarkable, unless you know that Christmas Eve is when the children open all their gifts.

Chase, the 4-year-old, told his mom a few days ago, "When we go to Grandma Carol's house we read stories at night, and when we wake up in the morning we can build a tent."  Alex, age 8, likes it that they can "sleep in the bed that folds up into a couch."   Shelby, age 15, knows her job is to roll the breadsticks in Parmesan before they're baked and wrapped with prosciutto. Last year, I was proud of  her when she leaned over and whispered to her dad, reminding him to put his napkin in his lap. One of my sons said he thinks something is missing if we don't have the salad with fresh pears, bleu cheese, and pecans. ("But I won't eat bleu cheese any place else," he said.)  My other son recently told me, "You always make everything so nice for us, Mom."

There won't be as many presents under the tree as in times past, but I'm realizing the things my family most remembers aren't the ones with wrapping paper and ribbon. Yes, Christmas Eve is definitely my favorite day of the year.