Things in our lives

Gertie came to work today. I sometimes can't believe her energy. She does such a good job that when she is done, the whole place just shines.

That isn't what today was all about. Today was about memories. One must be getting old if life is a series of memories. Today was that kind of a day.

Each piece of furniture evoked a different time or person. Putting oil on an old water closet reminded me of when this same piece of furniture was being used by my great Uncle Louie. It sat in his room. I don't know where it came from before that but my Mother gave it to me when I moved back to Wisconsin. It had drawer fronts that were cracked and the wood hadn't been taken care of like it should. (I have a great fondness of real wood, with its warmth and depth.) So the first thing that I did was to take a broken drawer to a hardware store to see what would be the best way to repair this. While I was there, it was pointed out to me how well made these drawers were along with the quality of the oak that they were made from. It was suggested to use good wood glue, then refinish the piece. I did that. Blaine helped me pick out new hardware and I put a clear finish on it. That was thirty years ago and to this day it looks lovely.

Then I was cleaning the piano, I remembered the old piano that I left in California. This one was purchased with my first tax refund in Wisconsin. I would come home after work, fix supper and playing my songs to relax. This was after I had refitted the room with track lighting. The house that I bought had a center light in the living room. So I took it apart and wired up a track with three flood lights. One went to a picture that Kathy and I had purchased in California. Another shown on a plant in the corner and the third one illuminated the piano.

How about the library table that lives in the corner of our living room? On the shelf under the table are picture albums that track the life in this household. On the top is a statue that the girls gave me when I retired from the hot-line after 10 years there. The table itself belonged to my grandmother at one time. Then it lived with my sister Donna and her family for a while. Donna really didn't like wood things. Betty and I used to call her the "Glass and Brass" sister. She liked shiny new things. So when her boys wanted to make models of cars and boats, she told them that they could use this table. When I got the table, the knife blade marks were all over the top. I stripped it and sanded the top a great deal. It still carries the marks of model making but has a nice finish on it. I even crocheted a square of material that covers most of it.

Then I moved the round table that I have recently put a skirt on. This table also is wood and belonged to my grandparents. When my mother had it in Florida, she wanted a skirt around it. She didn't have enough material so I made a skirt for it out of some curtains. She had it in her living room with a lamp on it. So many memories.

How about the plant stand that is in the front hallway? My Dad made that a long time ago. While I was cleaning it, I remembered the typing table that he also made. I have it in the basement. As long as I can remember, the typing table was painted black and white. I have since repainted it a blue and I used it with my typewriter. (I miss typewriters.)

Each thing that I touched reminded me of someone or something. How about the "Nesting duck" that I purchased from King when my Uncle Art was alive and living there?

Then there is the dimestore mirror that I bought to put in the boys room when they were little. I purchased 4 feet of rope that is an inch thick. I put the mirror on some waxed paper and using Elmers glue, I glued the rope around the mirror and let it sit. After a few days I pealed the waxed paper off and the mirror has been around for about 40 years still encased in rope.

All the things in our lives are there because we chose them or have chosen to keep them around. They are all a part of us, even down to the scratches on them. Each has a story to tell; a treasure from here or there, from this person or that.

How hard it must be to lose everything to a tornado like the people who live in southern Wisconsin this past week. Lost are the treasures of their lives. How does one recover from such devastation? Perhaps by realizing that all the memories are still there, only the things are gone.