Go back and read this post for the story behind "Five Small Things Friday".
For this week, here is my list:
1. Sight: Pimento Cheese Heart
2. Hearing: Bro. Dennis Laughing
3. Smell: The Grandfather's Purple Heart Case / Corn On The Cob
4. Taste:
5. Touch:
The stories behind the list:
1. Friday morning got off to a little bit of a rough start for me. Grumpily I dug through the refrigerator, looking for something to take to work for lunch. I pulled out a Tupperware box and took off the lid and a bright orange heart shone back at me cheerfully.
There had been a little bit of pimento cheese left, and Trissy had taken a knife and formed it into the shape of a heart for someone to find. I had been that someone, and I was both cheered in my discouragement and shamed for my bad mood.
2. Sunday night was the 'community Thanksgiving service', hosted by another local church, so Victory Rd. canceled services that night and went over to it. Afterwards the host church served a light meal of 'finger foods' (sandwiches, cookies, bottled water, etc.). In the crowded fellowship hall, the Victory Rd. folks sortof congregated together at two different tables on opposite sides of the room.
I was eating with my family and some others at one, when within the comfortable din of crowded chatter I heard a vibrant, distinct, throaty laugh from across the room. It was Bro. Dennis, sitting with Bro. Blake and his family, overcome by the hilarity of some joke he'd just heard or just told. I hadn't heard him laugh like that for months. He used to all the time.
3. I spent the day Saturday helping The Grandmother do some "deep cleaning" - cleaning out drawers and closets and desks that had been collecting stuff for years. It was something that needed doing, and with my busy schedule I hadn't been able to spend much time with The Grandparents for a little while. They seemed to really enjoy having me around that day, and I think The Grandmother had as much fun as I did sorting through all those drawers and corners, finding unexpected treasures and making organization out of clutter!
In the course of cleaning up and clearing out, she gave me The Grandfather's Purple Heart and other stripes and pins to put away. The Sunday before was Veteran's Day I believe, and she always puts his medals and pins on his suit coat to wear to church on days like that.
I found the little burgundy-colored box of his war mementos on the top shelf in their closet, with the Purple Heart's medal case nearly on the top. But instead of just putting it in the case and putting the box back on the shelf, I sat down in the big recliner in their room to take a more deliberate and respectful moment to put the things away.
I must have seen the things in that box a dozen times over the years. Letters to and from his sisters during the war. His rifle and other pins. A small Nazi flag with the cruel black spider coiling in the center and victorious messages from fellow G.I.'s scrawled along the sides and in the corners. A few foreign bills and coins. And the Purple Heart. I held the black case for a moment, scuffed and a little cracked in places. I opened it up and breathed in the strong old scent of the age-spotted cream velvet. It had probably been white originally. It smelled old and rich and full of history, if history has a smell. I laid the Purple Heart and it's stripe in their places, stroking the purple ribbon. It wasn't faded at all, and General Washington's profile stood out in bright gold on the face of the purple field.
Maybe I've taken for granted a little my Grandfather's contribution to freedom. I've grown up with the stories; and, though I love history and know he's a hero and how significant it is, it's part of my life and I probably haven't let it soak in as much as I should.
As I sat in The Grandmother's recliner, a ton of sorting and cleaning still waiting for me in other parts of the house, I took a minute to be swept away by that rich old scent. To realize how much had been given up by soldiers and their families for ages and in multiple wars so that young people like me could clean through old treasures in peace.
And my grandfather was part of it.
/
Mom fixed corn on the cob as part of our Sunday dinner and put it in the middle of the table in her big metal pressure-pot. When she took the lid off, the steam billowed out, breathing the scent of garden-grown goodness into our faces. Took me back to days spent at my great-uncle's (The Grandfather's oldest brother) old farmhouse and the smell of my great-aunt's country kitchen. She's gone now and he's in poor health, and the smell was both warm and happy, and a little sad at how times change. I'm so thankful for the wonderful memories I have, and the fact that I realized - even as a child - that they were precious, and worthy of being cherished.
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