A Moment Of Clarity

The lane that runs beside my home,leading to the house I grew up in.
The lane I walked down every morningto help take care of my Mother as
she did battle with colon cancer. She ultimately lost.

  This mornings as I did my roll-stumble-stagger out of bed, I wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to just stay where I was, nestled in the oversized comforter, not moving any of the achy muscles or puffy joints. My special, downy pocket of denial.

  As I lay there, I squinted into the darkness towards the snoring form of my hubby and again wondered if he now sees me as broken, something that used to be pretty or useful that has become so much crooked debris. A sad reminder of what used to be.

  That’s when I knew it was time to start moving, before those thoughts could take hold in a wide awake brain. Pre-dawn can be a dangerous time to contemplate fears. Doubts hide in the deeper shadows.


The "seat" from the outhouse that my Grand Parents used while
they built the house I now own. My Grandma, being the woman
she was, used it as a planter. Nothing ever went to waste with her.



   As the Sun rose I went outside with my ancient digital camera with the intentions of stalking the birds. Instead, I ended up stalking a moment of clarity.

My Grandpa broke two ribs and cracked his neck raising this pole.
The day we closed on the house, hubby moved the chair over
to help him climb the pole and ring the bell in celebration.
He broke the chair, but rang the bell.

  I stood for a time in the last stages of the sunrise, looking at the mess that is my yard. I felt embarrassed and thought for the millionth time that SOMEONE (not me, of course) should clean it up. Haul away all the clutter and broken debris.



   Then, as my eyes slid over a crooked rocking chair that was propped up against a huge wooden bell-pole, something shifted. I’m not sure how it happened, but suddenly I wasn’t seeing trash, I was seeing priceless reminders. And that’s when I started to smile.

  The more I wandered around my yard taking poorly lit pictures, the more I began to laugh. After all, memories are only as sad as you let them be. Even the bittersweet ones can become a path leading to happier times.

A grindstone my Grandpa used to sharpen his axes.
The day we decided to move in, my Mother and I found it
hidden in tall weeds. It's leaned against this tree ever since.

  In the light of day, muscles loosened by my morning-movement and far removed from the things hiding in the shadows, I looked around my yard and realized how much beauty existed in the things I had only minutes before thought of as eye-sores.

  I also realized that a few hours ago, I had used the same words to describe myself as I had the bits and pieces that now surrounded me. Funny how it was easier to find the beauty in a twisted rocking chair than it was in myself.

It may be a little bent and in need of repairs,
but it still posses a simple beauty, a
complex history, and serves an important role in our lives
...just like me.