Bound Together

I am so happy that it's Sunday all day today. And of course that statement reminds me of my Grandpa Nick who used to holler up the stairs when we stayed the night at their house: Are you up for all day if you don't fall down? I need to hear those feet hit the floor!" And then if someone would say, "What day is it today?" He'd say, "It's Sunday all day long."

When we would go downstairs, there would be Grandma, standing over a hot stove making fried eggs and bacon. "Do you want your eggs over easy?" she'd say. And I would always nodd my head yes; my sister Tami would say no--she didn't like that runny yolk. Grandma made the best everything. She cooked her eggs in bacon grease and could make a mean pie. We all loved going to grandma's because everything she cooked was simply divine. And, of course, they had bottles of coke on the porch and Snickers in the freezer. We happily helped ourselves.

Yesterday Jace wrapped himself in a quilt that my Grandma Crowder (my mom's mom) made for me when I got married. It's a beautiful quilt--one of her finest. I have always treasured it because it makes me think of her. She was a good lady. And so when Jace sat down by me on the couch, all bundled in this blanket that is bumping up on thirty years old, I said, "My grandma made that quilt for me and gave it to me at my wedding shower."

"Cool."  That's all he said.

Clearly he doesn't share my sentiments about the quilt.

I have another quilt that my grandma gave me--one that isn't quite as beautiful and looks like a grandma made it. But I love it so much. It has served me well over the years. It has mismatched squares of material sewn together on one side, and the other side is all the same material: white splashed with hot pink flowers on green vines wound together.  I honestly don't remember the occasion that Gradma gave it to me...a birthday? Christmas?  I'm pretty sure she gave it to me before I got married but I could be wrong. But that quilt is my go-to blanket. It goes with us to the park, on picnics; I use it for guests when I have to make an extra bed. It is the foundation for a pallet on the floor. And yet...it is still in great shape. It is durable and thick and, well, perfect.

When Roy and I first got married, I took classes at the University of Northern Colorado in order to finish up my degree. One of my classes was a poetry class with a woman who had personally had books of poetry published. She was amazing. One day, she assigned writing a poem about an object. I had recently used this same blanket--my go-to blanket--and while I was covering myself up, I was pricked by a pin that Grandma had inadvertently left in the quilt, and it drew blood. I found that fascinating at the time, considering the possibility that this same pin had pricked Grandma's finger and now mine, our blood mingling together on the end of this pin, linking us together through a quilt that she made for me. And so I wrote my poem about that pin.

I thought it was clever, but...I only got a B.

Recently Darian and I were talking about geneology and how, if we could go back far enough and meet everyone in our family, we would find someone who is just like us. I find that fascinating--to know that somewhere in my history was a girl who had many of my character traits, and maybe she even looked similar to me. If we could go back far enough, well...someone lived who had feelings and desires and thoughts and all of those experiences we all share communally. And if we could meet, we would most likely stand in awe at how we are just so alike.

I don't know much about our geneology really. I wish I did--I think that it's interesting how families come to be, how grandparents and great-grandparents met, how they worked the land and struggled together to create a life, a future. I don't know too much about my mom's side other than the fact my grandpa left home at 12 or 13 to strike out on his own. I can't even imagine that. Jace is bumping up on twelve years old now and he can't even make his own sandwich! And I have heard stories about how my dad's side of the family traveled to Oklahoma in a covered wagon when my great-grandma was just a little girl. And now here we are, all of these lives gone before us, and now...they're all gone, like a fire snuffed out. Poof.

Just yesterday I was reading this blog that said 50 Things You Won't Say on your Deathbed. It was humorous actually--several things made me chuckle a bit as they hit home. We all spend our lives getting frustrated about things that don't really matter or waste time on frivolous, meaningless activities. We stress and gossip and spin our wheels. But in the end, we will look back and wish we'd spent less time on such things. In the end, those aren't the things that will matter.

Awhile back I started a Bucket List of things I want to accomplish in my life. It's so easy to live day to day and forget that we only have this one life. That's all we've got to hang our hat on. And so, it's important to make our days count, to create memories and relationships that stand the test of time. Bucket Lists create purpose and help us stay focused on doing things we want to accomplish, even if those things are simply singing in the rain and stomping through puddles. I need to revisit my bucket list; I need to keep adding and crossing off. In fact, I think I'll pull it out today.

I wish my grandparents were still alive today. I wish I could sit down with each one of them as my 47 year old self and talk to them, really listen to them. I wish I could ask them about their childhoods and their dreams; I wish I could get to know them as people rather than grandparents. Somehow I think I would see a different side--I would see youth and vitality and hopes and fears. I would see people who are just like me; just like all of us.

But of course...I can't. They are only alive in my memory, but I can see them clearly in my mind's eye. I can see the twinkle in their eyes, their smiles that light up their faces. I can still hear their laughter and I can picture their hands that cooked for me and sewed for me. A little piece of each of them is in me...and in my kids...and will be in my kids' kids someday. So even though they're not here physically, we honor them through our lives. We pass down their traits, their sayings, their recipes, their blankets. It's what makes us family.

It's what binds us together--all of us--through the strands of time.