I was mowing the lawn at my home the other day, and while I was
moving the lawn mower from the front yard to the back, I decided
to get a drink. Into the kitchen I went, lemonade from the fridge
and over to the cupboard for a glass. Up on the top shelf I saw
it, smiled, reached and pulled down what is without a doubt my
favorite glass.
It
used to belong to my grandmother, Nana. She had a full set, and
probably got them from saving S&H Greenstamps (now that’s
going way back). And if not from there, they likely weren’t expensive.
But the best lemonade I ever had came out of those glasses. I’d
mow the lawn at her house, and dripping with sweat, come inside
when I was done. I didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to look. As
soon as I finished, Nana was standing there with an ice cold glass
for me.
Over
time, those glasses became a part of visiting her house. I can’t
explain it, but they just became my favorites. If she offered
me something to drink when I would visit, it had to be served
in one of those glasses.
She
passed away four months prior to my wedding. When we cleaned up
the apartment she lived in at the time, I saw the glasses and
passed them to my wife. “Don’t lose these” I told her. They became
the water glasses for us at the head table of our wedding. And
now they are in my home.
I
suppose there are lots of things from my youth that I have no
mementos for. This just happens to be one I do. But when I try
to explain to my stepsons about asking questions and enjoying
moments as they pass, it’s very difficult to explain how important
a glass might be to them one day. It’s like trying to explain
the significance of sheets drying on a clothesline.
Ah
yes, some of you will remember that pleasant smell. A cool spring
breeze comes through the windows into the house. Outside, sheets
are on the line, the scent of Downey filling the air. Clothes
drying outside… one of the true signs of improving weather. And
it’s gone. Today you don’t see people hanging clothes outside
as much, forget about the smell that went along with it.
In
my office, directly above the monitor to my computer is a small
mouse. It’s made up of a flat rock, some felt for ears and a tail,
and tiny buttons for a nose. The whiskers have long since melted
off. For Christmas every year, my parents would give the kids
a few dollars to shop for presents. It became quite the chore.
You had to be economical, and you really tried to find something
people would “ooh” and “aah” over on Christmas morning. Once at
a church bazaar, I spotted this very mouse on a table. I couldn’t
tell you the reason why, but it seemed perfect for Nana and a
bargain at twenty-five cents.
When
I gave it to her, she placed it on the top of her stove (hence
the melted whiskers). It remained a constant, visible display
in her kitchen for easily over twenty-years. She had a few items
like that in her house. She was famous for saying everything was
beautiful and she cherished anything her grandchildren gave her.
Even a couple of gifts given as a joke became treasures to her.
And
now they are treasures for me.
Indeed
it is the little things.