Why is it every year some of us make resolutions we know we never will keep? I can almost guess if I had made a few this year, they would surely have been broken by now. Instead of resolutions I have laid down the law on my procrastinating, and will clean the garage when the weather warms up — say in the spring?
I will go through every box and cupboard to see what has been saved for that “rainy day” that my grandmother always warned me about. There are kitchen items that are never used, pop-up tents that no longer pop, clothes out of fashion, and who knows what else has been squirreled away over the years.
There is a large floor-model freezer in the shed Don put his elk into years ago after hunting. It’s filled with Christmas decorations now. Instead of getting rid of the monster, I decided it was a great storage place in case field mice decided to set up housekeeping in my boxes.
Each July, I help our church gather used items to raise moeny for community needs, but little of my own ever makes it into the collection. Who knows, going through old collections I may have an antique worth something. Or, I may find half a dozen items I believed were lost. I like the antique idea because some of the glassware, crystal and whatever else, is probably more than 60 years old. I can hear the kids, when I go to my next pit stop in the sky, “Why would mother hang onto so darn much junk?” Oh, sure, but the one who finds that great article worth a few bucks will be saying, “Wow!”
The weather sure has been a pain in these last months. Snow before Thanksgiving, icy roads and rainstorms. More snow fell last night. At about midnight I looked out to behold a silent winter wonderland. I could see the pond covered in a pristine silvery-white, sparkling in the glow of my flashlight. It was a magical moment. I could imagine the Snow or Ice Queen skating across the ice in white fur. Lacy flakes fell ever so gently, floating down onto shrubs and trees, building layer upon layer, forming pictures of fairy tale art. Our old white-muzzled shepherd, Mr. Murphy, seemed enchanted by the scene too, on his trip to answer nature’s call. But not Crazy Gracey, our tortoise shell cat, who is not a people lover. She never moved from her basket in the laundry room by the furnace vent. Her nose gets a out of joint because she is a great hunter and snow doesn’t fit with her nighttime adventures. Two slanted green eyes glared at me when I checked on her, flashing the light into her basket.
The power had gone off an hour and half before letting the Murph out, and fortunately came on not long after. Since it was late we hadn’t started the generator and had gone to bed. What a comfort these days to know there is a back up for emergencies. I remember when, in the 1960s, we were without power almost two weeks. Most everyone out here had wood stoves back then. I remember the hot water pipes to the kitchen stove broke, and Don was stuck in Seattle, but the boys were able to get the water shut off. For months after, we heated bath water on the wood range until repaired with new pipes. You don’t know what comfort is until you pull a chair up to a wood stove and put your cold stockinged feet into a warm oven. In the evening as many as three of us sat there drinking hot cocoa and talking about the day.
True, that was in the yesterday, and today we are fortunate to have all the comforts one needs- and yet, I am grateful to have the warm and fuzzy memories of our early days in the country.
Reach columnist Jacque Thornton at jacquejt@centurytel.net.
