Small Things

It is the small things that make life so precious- these are some small things on the shelf in the kitchen, small but precious. The bird I remember from long ago, not sure where she acquired it, but it's beak opens and it is a tiny container. Bright gold with blue eyes...the rabbit was a gift from Grendel long ago, carved out of wood. Today it reminds me of my favorite rabbit, who I miss lots. The apple is clear and large, catches the light and glows. As long as I can remember Mother collected glass apples- Barbie has the majority of the original collection, but the collection is being rebuilt. (Hold on, going to count- I'm getting a quick count of 26, but they are not all glass- there are a few others. The majority are glass though-)

Thing is about these small things is not what they are, or how they look, or what their value may or may not be... thing is that they carry their own magic to call up the past, stories and experiences and thoughts always to be remembered. The bird reminds me of Mother getting dressed up to go out with Daddy one night- I don't remember why I link the bird to this, but it would of been long ago. Mother's pant suit was peacock blue, her hair red and she had a scarf that was brightly colored...red lipstick. I can smell the perfume, picture her clipping on her earrings. Elegant and excited and beautiful. The apple reminds me off all the apple hunts in dusty antique stores, flea markets, gift shops, glass factories... the excitement of finding an apple, or saving one up, hiding it away until a suitable holiday. The apples displayed in the windows where they caught the sun, or in the old glass-fronted display case. Each with a story, a memory attached. I don't remember much about the bunny except I think Grendel found it in our travels... it is light and white wood and friendly. The bunny and the bird together seem to be talking, and that reminds me of playing at the ladybug house at Headacher.

Long ago, when I was very little, Mother would take me out to the cow field at Headacher. There was a huge flat rock with curious depressions worn by water... little pebbles and flowers all around. That was my ladybug house, and we would arrange pebbles for furniture, decorate with flowers, wait for the ladybug to 'flyaway home'. I felt safe because a stone house could never burn or tumble down (I worried about the song... ladybug, ladybug, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children will burn... rather grim? wonder where it originated from) anyway, we had splendid times out in that pasture. Mother's gift of imagination is priceless.

Today is my last full day with Mother- we are going shopping for a clock and a 'special' dress (watch out Charles! I will be so gussied up that you shan't recognize me!) then home for pizza. I have enjoyed my stay - the time flies by so quickly (yet it seems years since I have been home, and admit to being a touch homesick. I miss the Manz and the boy and the doggs...even though they were bad, bad doggs last night) but this time is priceless and precious and I am so grateful to have it. I love you Mum!