Well, summer has officially began here in the Ozarks. It's been 10 days since we had measurable rain, and it was 76 degrees when I stepped outside this morning. One part of me wants to get out and get going, but there just isn't any way to escape the heat. It's a Saturday, so I'm not going to walk around the creek like I usually do, and many of the things I like to do in the yard send me into an immediate sweat. It's even been too hot to sit out on my back porch and take in the pleasant morning air as I usually do after my walks. So, here I sit at the dining room table tapping away on my laptop. All around me are reminders of Glenda's presence, and even some reminders of my parents. If you came to my house to visit me, I could show you the mileposts of my life, but it wouldn't just be my life, it would be the life that Glenda and I shared. Our past surrounds me, and sometimes seems to press in on me like the hot humid air outside. Just outside the dining room window is a small birdbath that Glenda bought to be able to watch the birds from her beloved porch. When it isn't as muggy as it is today, you would find me out there reading or playing solitaire. It is a good place to be to find my center before the day gets underway. It's too dang hot to be out there today. So, as I sit here at the table, I can hear a couple of sparrows mixing it up around the bath and it makes me laugh. It made me thankful that humans aren't the only ones in God's creation who mix it up over stupid stuff. I can't help but wonder if sparrows ever think about the past? What happens to that fat old male sparrow if his mate is taken from him way too early? Does he revisit their time together? Does he move on and hope for another mate? Does he sit in the old nest, surrounded by the artifacts of their life together?
When we moved from our home on Lone Oak Dairy road, we made ourselves throw out as much of our past as we could. Over our years of being married, my mother had given Glenda many home decorating items, which helped to fill lifeless spaces and give the house an eclectic look. To say the least, Glenda and Mom had very different tastes, except for floral displays. Every floral decoration in our house was done by my Mom, and they still adorn tables and vases around...my... house. When my Mom died there were many floral decorations that disappeared that Glenda had wanted more than anything. Now that Glenda is gone, I don't even think about it anymore. What would I do with them? They would just be one more thing my children would have to decide what to do with. At the time though, Glenda was furious, and threw all kinds of accusations around. The truth is, we don't know where they went, but the consensus was that my Dad accidentally threw them away. Every daughter-in-law grieved the loss, as they were truly spectacular. They didn't mean anything to my dad. I have vivid memories of my mother sitting in the middle of the living room floor with boxes of artificial flowers all around her as she fussed over the color and placement of each flower. Those memories are written in stone in my brain. I can also remember the irritation in my father's voice as he tried to negotiate the minefield of flowers to get into the kitchen. So, I kinda lean toward the idea that he threw them away after she died. It doesn't matter to me because she'd filled our house with plenty of arrangements. It's funny how without Glenda to keep the issue alive, I really don't care. Sometimes the things from our past that we hold on to can become a poison to us. I know for Glenda, she groused about it even as she faced death.
A couple of years before Glenda was diagnosed with cancer, she and my daughter decided to make our hallway into a wonderful display of our family. It was my daughter's birthday gift to her mother, and it was one of the greatest gifts she could give. It is a wonderful way to recount our story to visitors and for family to stop and remember what family is. Still, it is in the past. It's like a soft blanket that you carry with you because someone gave it to you, but you can trip over it if you're not careful. The moments in those pictures mean nothing to anyone else but our family. The memories are in me, not on the walls. There isn't a picture that can relate the love bursting in my heart when Glenda said 'I do.' There isn't a picture that can make anyone feel the immense awe, and fear I felt when I picked up my infant children for the first time. Each child came with a promise, and a responsibility that only the future knew. Because I was the photographer for our little family, I don't have as many pictures of me as I do of Glenda (it's a physics thing). There are no photos of me carrying two sleepy little girls through the flea market in Mountain Home, Idaho while their mother went from table to table. There aren't any pictures of those same little girls making snow angels with me during a blizzard in Idaho. There aren't any pictures of me holding them in my arms in church and dancing with them during the song service. There isn't any proof I loved them and worried continually about their safety. There aren't any pictures that show my pride as we went to innumerable elementary school programs where they played instruments, or sang in choirs. Those are things that are written in my heart along with a million other moments that you can't put into words. Some of those memories will die with me, and never be recounted again because they were my memories. They are meaningless to anyone else. There are a few, that I've never shared with my own children because they were so special that there was no way to make those memories about them, even though they are the only reason I remember them to this day.
So, how did this little story start? Instead of going outside this morning, I went into my office where my 'love me wall' is, and found myself staring at the accomplishments of my time in the Air Force. I am proud of my service, and thankful for the opportunity to have worked on three distinct weapons systems. When I went into the Air Force in 1980, the world was in total chaos. We were at the height of the Cold War, and involved in minor incidents in the middle east. The end of my service was marked by Desert Storm and eventually operation Deny Flight. Those days are gone! They're in the past and time has gone on without any memory of my contribution. This is the way of things, and isn't something to be concerned with. As I sat in my recliner trying to put together the events that were marked on my wall, I realized that none of it meant anything. I doubt seriously any of my children will want my 'shadow box' nor the flag that flew in one of the hangars at Tonopah. My achievements, held within cheap plastic frames, means nothing to anyone else but me, and even now they hold very little importance. I find myself trying to find the good in holding on to those memories. The thought occurred to me to just take them down, place them in document protectors and place them in a binder. Yep, that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to put my past into a binder and close it up. I'll put those memories in a plastic tote and let my children decide how they want to handle those memories. At the same time, I'll cherish Glenda's 'love me wall' filled with the faces of friends and family, and happy times. You see, I think I've finally learned that finding the good in our past means cherishing those who will live on in the future.
Besides, I'm not a sparrow.