the moving truck

It’s been a weird week the past seven or eight days or so.  My grandparents moved, we’ve got family in town, and the summer kitchen learning curve has been steep.  Rather than hanging with my kids at the lake, I’ve spent most of the days thinking about the next meal we need to make, pushing the carts through Sam’s Club and Aldi, wondering if we have enough syrup, buns, bread for grilled cheese, and hairnets.

We just want to make everyone happy out there.  I find myself hiding from the people in line.  If I don’t look up, then I don’t have to face my own shameful fear of failure.  I don’t have to interact with the expressionless child, the overtired counselor, the random kid who can’t have the lactose or gluten. “Hi, kids! I’m so happy to see you all!” are the first words that want to come out of my mouth.  But when they don’t smile back…

I miss my days at the lake with the kids.  We still have piano and library days.  The schoolroom and the house are an ever work in progress. A little bit here, some decluttering there.  Since the move, I’ve talked to Grandma briefly once.  A moving truck came yesterday with their stuff.  Two men from G and G’s  church drove a moving truck over 2,500 miles from New York down to Florida, then here, then to my mom’s.

There wasn’t a whole lot of stuff to drop off, but the things they had were important to me.  Grandma’s old guestroom bed with matching headboard, dresser and breakable touch lamp.  The chimes that played in the back-porch wind, Grandma’s red, gingham, Betty Crocker cookbook, a few boxes full of old tablecloths, sheets, and spare trinkets.

It occurred to me that all of this was Grandmother’s stuff.  It made me wonder for a moment–what kind of legacies do Grandpas’ leave behind?  The things of Grandpa’s I wanted, the scrapbooks, the journals, the Clermont church history, these things he still wanted to keep for the time being.  They had to leave behind so much, but much of it was able to follow them there, then spread out to various parts of the country.

Lord, I don’t need to be the greatest camp cook ever.

I just want to be a sunny spot in Your day.




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