I Call It Life

It simply looked like garbage. It was laden with dust, with a faint odor of mildew. There were old, unimportant magazines on top of a pile that looked to be miscellaneous papers. I was short on time and very tempted to toss it. But something stopped me. I had been very careful with everything since I had begun the enormous task of moving my folks out of their 55+ year home.

"I just can't get careless now." I said out loud to myself with nothing left but the basement walls to absorb my comment.

And that was what prevented me from tossing some of the last items stored away in a cabinet in what was now a very lonely room. It was an understanding that this wasn't my stuff...and therefore not my right to throw away without inspection.  I don't know, maybe it is guilt that controls me. Some would say so. Some would laugh at me, I am sure. But I am glad that I listened to that inner message sent to my spirit. I packed it all into a clean box as carefully as I could. I would look at it later.

So 9 months later I am finally getting to it. A slow, snowy Sunday when I could stay home for an afternoon would allow me the time to peruse through the box carefully.

 Oh the treasures I found. Flight records from when my dad was a crop duster. Cards from Box 124 and letters from a mama to her son as he had just returned home from overseas.

 

Mish-mash

 There were letters and cards from a son, who had also served overseas, as the war in Vietnam came to an end. And there was a school library card from a daughter. There were letters from Senators and Representatives in answer to one man's lifelong efforts of staying politically active, paying close attention and understanding this to be his civic duty.

1978 Grandchild

These were memories that made me smile. These were memories that made me weep. An instruction sheet on how to put a tricycle together brought the greatest tears. Who would ever guess? But it hit me just then...these items represented a life - two lives. It was the memories they intended to keep, some intentionally, some probably just ended up there. Regardless, everyone of them represented their life.

 

Daddy's Sermon Notes

And on this cold, dreary day after several wearing years of  wondering how we got here, these items - carefully stored away - somehow breathed life back into me.

Yes, I suppose some would think me foolish. Obsessed even. I don't know. I don't really care. I suppose some would call it junk...I call it life.

 

 

LIFE

R.S.V.P.

R.S.V.P. stands for a French phrase, "répondez, s'il vous plaît," which means "please reply." The person sending the invitation would like you to tell him or her whether you accept or decline the invitation.

Pretty simple. Everyone in this day and age knows what "RSVP" means. As well, there has never been an easier time that a reply can be given: a quick text; a simple phone call - even to an answering machine; a private message on Facebook. The task has never been more simple, yet I believe it has also never been more rare.

 

I wonder why. Busy lives? Lack of understanding because one has never entertained themselves? "It's just what we do."? Couldn't care less? A stab in the back because you don't like someone? Probably all of the above at times, depending on the person.

 

Who knows? Are any of those reasons acceptable? The only thing I know is there really is no excuse. Saving someone a little time and money as they plan an event is always important, in my opinion. Acknowledging someone's kindness in desiring your presence at a party with a simple response should be something each of us would want to do, I would think.

 

Usually, I like this truth: "The test of good manners is to be able to put up pleasantly with bad ones."

 

That is easy-schmeesy when it is only about bad manners. People have had to deal with that for forever, probably. Well, at least since we have thrown the importance of good manners out the window, anyway.

But the truth is, I really couldn't care less about what anyone does...unless it hurts someone I love.

 

Nice fork!