Little Bateese

I lost my beloved dad six and a half years ago. I miss him every single day, and I know that my entire

family still feels the loss of him being here. But every once in a while, something special happens that reminds me that we are still connected. Today was one of those days that poked my heart.

In searching through my vast compilation of work emails (seems I never DELETE anything, only archive) my search keywords for some reason brought up an email from my father from three years before his death. I love it when this happens, and make it a practice to always open them up, it is like conversing with Dad again! 

This one really struck a chord with me, as we have our first grandson (Dad's first great-grandson after two great-granddaughters) and the family has been talking about how much Dad would have loved the new little guy. Dad was a sentimental man, a rare fellow who did not hide his feelings. He would tell us on a regular basis that he loved us, and that he was proud of us. And those words have stayed, even though he has gone. 

I hope you enjoy Dad's favourite poem, "Little Bateese" by William Henry Drummond. 

Drops of Moments

My husband is currently going through old family photos. As we look at photos in the stacks of albums, we flip past the pages of landscapes and seascapes and tourist attractions. Of course, there are the happy Christmas photos of family gatherings, and school portraits which are wonderful. But the photos that get pulled and cherished the most are ones of seemingly "everyday moments'. A photo of my husband and his brother, not much more than toddlers, having peanut butter and jam sandwiches on their grandmother's front porch. There is another one of the two boys a little older, at the kitchen sink in their childhood apartment, with dishtowels in hand. Little boys standing in the garden, among the peonies. Those drops of moments in that come together to create the ocean of a lifetime, the story of a family. 

So often we spend our days wishing them away. We wish for the workday to end, wait for the weekend, count down the days until vacation. We get caught up in just getting through until the next big thing. Instead of being in the moment, we think that the things we are doing now are insignificant, not worthy of note.

Our wedding day, 1986

Of course, those major milestones are amazing, those life events can truly be joyful and memorable. I remember my wedding day like it was yesterday, I remember when each of my three children were born. Those memories come to the surface very easily. Those memories are truly gifts. 

But just last week, my husband and I drove by a building that has gone through many transformations over the years, and we both commented on how it used to be a  Sir Donut Shop in the 1980's. Long before the Tim Hortons showed up in our part of Canada, the Sir Donut was the place to go. And we both brought up a memory, of a Saturday back in 1984 when we were first together, and we stopped at the Sir Donut for a coffee and a donut. We sat at the counter, on little upholstered  stools that spun around. We had hot coffee in the white ceramic mugs, and I had a maple dipped donut. I had a polariod camera (ah yes, the 80's!) and I actually snapped a photo of my sweetie as we left the building (I came home and searched my photo boxes so I could add it to this blog post!) 

What a cutie!

The vividness of this memory, and how we both could revisit it with such detail, was a delight to both of us. 

The fact that such an insignificant event, a drop in the ocean of a lifetime, could still hold space in my memory almost 40 years later, makes me think about how many of those moments I just push through, without appreciating them. Those moments are so special, those moments of summers enjoying flowers in the backyard, of doing the dishes after a meal of delicious food and shared laughter, of peanut butter and jam sandwiches on the back patio with the grandchildren. I am trying to make a point of savouring those everyday moments. I want to be mindful of those blessed days as they happen, instead of waiting 40 years to remember how beautiful an inconsequential morning at a donut shop really was.

Chloe's Night Light

My granddaughter is almost three years old. I cherish these times with her, I know too well how fast children grow up. 

Last weekend I had the chance to babysit my granddaughter overnight. When I do that, we have a special sleepover in Grandma's bed.  We have a special pillowcase that we use on her pillow, embroidered with flowers by her great-great grandmother years ago. And even when the summer evenings bring bedtime before the sun sets, when my room is not dark at all, we have to use Grandma's special night light. This night light comes from another great-great grandmother, who left this world 24 years ago.

My Grandma Vincent was a very special lady. Born in 1905, Grandma Vincent would share stories of  teaching in a one room school house, and would do up my hair in 1920's pin curls. She would host tea parties, and patiently watch our amateur variety shows that my brothers and I would perform in our living room.  I told her all my secrets. She was everything that was loving and gentle and graceful.  I want to be a grandma like her. 

Grandma was also a writer of poetry. Sweet and silly little tales of her childhood memories, of day to day life, or poems she would give as a gift at a niece's wedding shower, or to welcome a new baby.  I put all the poems together into a book after she passed, and gave them to family members for remembrance.

One of these poems is about her friend Chloe, whom she met on a flight back from California.

 My Friend Chloe! 

February 3 1979

They say, "Don't talk to strangers!"

But that isn't good advice

For it's my guess,

that you will miss

Meeting someone nice.

That's not just a speculation

And I'm the one who should know

On returning from my vacation,

I met my dear friend Chlo!

We started to talk and she told me

She was coming to my hometown

Where she was a total stranger

And feeling a little "down".

Her daughter had married and gone away

Just as mine did way back when...

And I knew how her heart was yearning

To see her dear daughter again.

So I got to know her better

And found her sweet and kind

So don't be afraid of strangers

There's some wonderful ones to find!

Grandma, being as kind hearted as she was, arranged for my cousin to drive Chloe to her daughter's home. Chloe was touched by the kindness, and the two ladies started a friendship that continued for many years. They became very dedicated penpals. At one point, Chloe sent Grandma a special gift, this dove night light.

When I was a child, and had sleepovers at Grandma Vincent's little studio apartment, she always lit the special dove night light, the gift from "dear Chloe". A lady I never met, but was my Grandmother's friend.

At some point in time, when Grandma knew she was getting older and may not be able to be on her own much longer, she gave the night light to my mother, who had always admired it. Grandma said, "it will make me happy to see you enjoying it, even more than me keeping it myself."

And now, my mother gave it to me, so that I can enjoy it with my granddaughter. She calls it "my special light". And I know that Grandma Vincent is smiling at us, because a little gift from her dear friend, is now being loved by a fifth generation.

And I am reminded, that being kind and gracious can give you some of the most precious things.