philosophical issues, POTPOURRI

WEEKEND POTPOURRI

Laurel-Rain in a Contemplative Mood

Nearing the end of the day on a Saturday in February, there are so many thoughts racing through my head.

Seemingly the days are speeding by, so much so that’s it is difficult to stay in the moment.  But I want to!

Yesterday afternoon, I picked up my granddaughter Fiona from school…she’s celebrating her thirteenth birthday tomorrow.  And last Saturday, her cousin Aubrey celebrated her thirteenth.

Fiona at Thirteen

These two girls are my only granddaughters, and are also featured on Snow Impressions, (now Snow Sparks), in a photo blog header of them at age seven.

First thing she and I did, of course, was to go to Barnes & Noble, to pick out a book and have a snack.  Then home to watch DVDs and to read.  She almost finished the book she selected, in-between shows.  She even took the book to Marie Callender’s, where we had dinner.

This morning, it was waffles and juice, with a little coffee on the side for her (a relatively new addition!), which she spices up with a little milk and whipped cream.

When I took her home later, after we’d taken a few photos, read some more, watched some TV—it felt like deja vu!  The new house she and her family moved into about a month ago is not that far from the place I lived with my kids during the eighties…back when they were young.  She pointed out the community market where she and her mom shop for groceries, and I was reminded that a Save Mart, where I used to shop, once stood there!

Just to see what else might have changed in the neighborhood, I drove around a bit after dropping her off.  The old apartment complex looked kind of the same, but a little more bedraggled than I recalled.  The big old trees that I loved and that had drawn me there in the first place were…still there!

So many things change that it was nice to see that something that I loved about a place remained the same.

It reminded me of the times I’d traveled back to the little country village where I grew up, and how I used to drive past all the old farmhouses where my relatives had once lived.  Of all those houses, now with new residents, the one where I grew up is still there!  It’s a different house, but the same property…it’s the house they built when I was in high school.   Now my brother and his family live there.

The old barn that shelters some relics from that time is still standing, only my brother’s sign-painting equipment and office are now inside.  And the old outbuildings where we had chickens stand empty except for old bicycles and other equipment.  I always had planned to take my old bicycle and turn it into a planter for my front deck—for the house I had in the foothills.  But I don’t have that house anymore and have no room for it.

The Old Barn

I guess what I’m trying to say is that, while much changes, one thing remains.  The feelings and memories and the people who are still here—legacies of all that has gone before.

I’m reading an intriguing Fannie Flagg book today, called Can’t Wait to Get to Heaven, which is so colorful and down-to-earth and reeking of small town life.  The dialogue takes me back.  This book is set in a small town in Missouri, which may be why the conversations seem so familiar.  My grandparents lived in Missouri for awhile, and brought with them that lingo, and that trickled on down to us.  Cozy talk between people who’ve known each other most of their lives…

Tomorrow, I’ll share more about my reading week at my Sunday Salon post.

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