| Monday, February 06, 2006 |
| TGIG* |
*Thank Goodness, It's Grandma!
I mentioned previously that Granny Grin was coming to visit this weekend and rescue me from the pits of toddler hell. We had a lovely time while she was here, and Paw Paw Grin surprised up with a visit on Saturday to get his grandchild fix as well.
He then became Lauren's new best friend. Meet Alice.
Alice, as in Allis Chalmers, which is perfect because Paw Paw picked up some hay for the horses at their hay barn on the way home. He told me later that he had another dolly in the truck, but he didn't know if he should give her another doll on the same day. You have to keep in mind that Paw Paw hasn't seen Lauren since Christmas as we live about 2 1/2 hours apart. I talked him into keeping the other doll until we celebrate Rancito's and Paw Paw's birthdays in two weeks.
How cute is that? A second doll.
I don't know why, but yesterday I stared at that photo I posted above for a long time. I giggled at Lauren's fish lips. I marveled at the tenderness my father is showing with my little girl as he is instructing how to pop Alice's pacifier back in. My eyes focused on the blood blister on Paw Paw's "tall man" finger, a symbol of the life my father worked so hard to provide for his family. It's a life spent out in the extreme heat and cold doing construction, a life I experienced in my early teens when I spent summers helping him and cleaning up jobs.
And then I remembered the story behind those hands, hands as rough as boot leather with skin as taught as a freshly healed wound. Hands so precious that the sight of them makes me realize that it is a miracle that I am here today.
When my father was a teenager, he was working in a basement constructing something or other, when a space heater blew up. He and my mom describe the explosion as having such force that it felt as though the house lifted off the ground, shifted, and came back down. I don't think my mom was in the house at the time, but I think she was nearby.
My father was rushed to the hospital with severe burns. My mom said that he was in rough shape and that a fluid was poured over him as he lay on a bed, and the drippings ate the tile flooring beneath him.
I tell you this story from what I remember from conversations long ago. I'm sure my mom could add more to the story since it's something she'll never forget. I'm pretty sure that I wasn't around yet, but my brother was possibly a baby at the time.
It's amazing to think of what external events have shaped our lives as we know it. I recall my mother telling me that her father fought in WWII during the second wave at Normandy. He would have been about 24 years-old on D-Day, June 6, 1944. My mother was born eleven years later.
When I remember my loved ones in this way, it helps me to appreciate my time here on Earth. I believe I'm here for a reason, Lauren is here for a reason, and it's my job to make the most of it. It's tough to snap out of a daily routine, but I'm trying my best.
And finally, while I'm strolling down memory lane, there is something I'd like to share with you. My mother has a red wash pan that her mother used. I remember it quite clearly when I snapped beans from my grandfather's garden for the very first time. My mother wrote a little story about the pan, and I ran across it today. Hope you enjoy.
The Legacy of the Red Pan
If this battered old pan could speak, it would have a story for every dent and scratch. Each Gallagher descendant can recall its hundreds of uses throughout the years. On Saturday mornings it held fresh rising bread dough. Later that day it hosted a large batch of cookie dough. On many occasions, during episodes of Gunsmoke, it served a mountain of buttered popcorn. Some summer evenings, it soaked chokecherries. Later, those juices were strained through a dishtowel fastened to the rim with clothes pins. The red pan accommodated the bounty of the garden: cucumbers, tomatoes, new potatoes, sweet corn, or snap beans. Occasionally the little feet, upon finding a rusty nail, would soak and soothe in warm Epsom salt water. It has served as a make-shift tub; it bathed the wriggling new grand babies as well as bathing and comforting the dying. This pan has witnessed a multitude of memories. We, the family, are much like the red pan. We stand ready to be of use to others, knowing a dent or scratch enhances value. |
| posted by ieatcrayonz @ 2/06/2006 |
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