Day 32 - February 20
Steven is taking care of father’s desk contents, office closet, books, stamps, coins, Hummels. We exchange queries: Does this look important? Is that something you want? Where do you think I’ll find a key for this?
During the years when father walked daily, he recorded each mile in little green record books. Every time he filled his car with gas, he entered data in spiral notebooks--mileage, gallons purchased, price. Eighteen years on the mission field, he listed every single expenditure, every single contribution--all monies in and out faithfully recorded down to the penny. Boxes of this paperwork filled spare closets. Add to that, every letter, card, newsletter, bill invoice, bank statement, receipt, you-name-it piece of paper that entered his life, he saved.
I stand at the kitchen counter, a small spoon in hand, tapping gently against the rims of crystal pieces. I love the different tones and the sensitive quality variations. Some are muted chimes, others ring like bells--one bell sings like a breathtaking solo in an Italian monastery on a hill overlooking a bay.
I begin to pack it in boxes. There is no room to accommodate this crystal collection in my home. Yet, it’s beauty is tangible, and I decide I want this tangible expression in my life.
I know it’s idealistic. Our family was no more perfect than the next. Our love no more unflawed than the next. But in spite of any of their mistakes, I know mother and father did the best they could, given who they were and what they knew, given the times they lived in, their milieu, their role models and the trials of their own childhoods.
The crystal posed from behind glass display doors, and hid in cabinet recesses most of the time. But it had its moments--a vase full of flowers transforming the dining table and tall water goblets sparkling at the head of each plate for a dinner full of guests.
When I stayed with father each month these last two years I tried my best to create meals he could eat, but would also enjoy. In my own home we often grab whatever plate and glass is available, and unless guests are present, we proceed with our meals quite unceremoniously. However, remembering mother’s attention to detail and father’s appreciation for it, I set a careful table for our times together.
I made a decision without consulting him. It was time to use the crystal! Mashed potatoes on the menu? They filled up a crystal bowl. Carrots, green beans? Two more crystal bowls. Dr. Pepper? Crystal goblets. Postum with cream and sugar? They came to the table on a crystal tray. M & M’s on an end table? In a crystal candy dish. Cough drops? Crystal!
Every time I turned around, I found another use for these delicate, melodious pieces. I picked wild flowers along the edge of Lima’s country roads--into the crystal.
I thought at first he would object. For so many years it had only come out on special occasions. Instead, he smiled. Even though mother would never have used it with such reckless abandon, it reminded him of her. He saw her like crystal--the beautiful girl he married, her lovely singing voice, her fine qualities, their many years of devotion to each other.
One of the boxes of paper in father’s closet is full of letters he and mother wrote back and forth the year before they married. I save the whole box, but only open one letter, reading the closing.
...Well, honey, I’m sure that by the tone of this letter you know that I love you and miss you very much--and “the half has never yet been told.” I’m sorry I must close now. So long Ruth. I’ll try to be back soon.
With my fervent love for you,
Chet
Along with these letters, I will transport ten boxes of crystal to Chicago, and while they may hide away in a storage closet for some time, I know the day will come when there will be a place for them. I will start by scattering a few pieces throughout the condo--a crystal tray for the TV remote, another one for a jar of honey, a vase for the guest room, a bowl for whatever I choose to put in it!
The best of what my family was and is--our hope, our fine qualities, our abiding love--will sparkle and brighten our everyday lives in the midst of our chaos and imperfections.
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