In a wave of emotion, Hank had laid the letter on Mollie’s worn bible. Having it visible brought him some comfort. Her quiet time in the morning had always been her first priority. She did her best to be up before the birds and before the pitter- patter of little feet could be heard, and she continued this practice into the teenage years of their children. Thanksgiving Day went by like any other day. The pain in his right shoulder, instigated by too many falls off horses in his younger years had caught up with him. No amount of whiskey or Ben Gay brought relief. He settled himself in his easy chair and prepared for what might come from reading the letter.
He had been afraid to read the contents, and as he slowly read each word of the sweet simple letter, years of pent-up emotion spilled out like a dam that had burst. The tears came from the depth of his soul where nothing, nor no one could reach in the past few years. After a matter of minutes he was able to gain his composure and took in a few deep breaths. He felt as though a weight had been lifted and a sense of peace overcame him. So, Kayleigh and Libby were following in their grandpa’s footsteps. He recalled the times he played the fiddle for the girls when they were just toddling about, sometimes following him into his workshop where he spent numerous hours building and repairing violins.
He had not been in the shop for years. When Mollie departed, he lost interest in music, his reason for living was gone. Gone was the laughter, the singing and the smell of bread baking in the old stove. Why, he had asked God over and over again. Hearing of his granddaughter’s interest in music sparked a light within him that hadn’t been there for a long time.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
Before Hank called it a day, he decided to check his mailbox. There was rarely anything worth even checking for except for the normal bills. But, since there would be no mail the next day, he hiked to his mailbox and pulled out a small assortment of envelopes and headed back home.
He sat down in his rocker, the same one Mollie had used to rock and soothe their babies. Two boys and one girl. As he scanned the mail, one of the envelopes caught his eye. It appeared to be written by a child. Although written in cursive, the slant of his name was much exaggerated. He looked at the return address and it said, Abby Brown. He was shocked! He had heard nothing from his daughter for three years. His hand began to shake and his heart began to pound. He got up to get his glass and fill it up before he opened the letter. He couldn’t bring himself to open it. All of a sudden a wave of remorse hit him.
The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child shall lead them.
He got up to the sound of a dog barking. He hemmed and hawed and complained as was his same response when he heard the dogs barking and really got rattled when the neighborhood children rode their bikes by his home. All he heard was screaming and laughter. Outta be a law against happiness he thought to himself. He looked out the window and it was another bleak day, in his mind. Color had left the old man’s life. All days looked the same. Since his wife passed away and his kids refused to talk to him, his heart had hardened and he refused to see beauty in his world. He only listened to the endless pessimistic rants of the news media. Always siding with those that pushed their negative opinions on those that listened. November had moved quickly. Not fast enough for the old buzzard, as he was secretly called by his neighbors. They had initially attempted to befriend him many months ago when they were new to the area, but he immediately rejected any offer of friendship. He looked at his calendar. He was surprised to see that the next day was Thanksgiving. Just another day to him. He pondered for a moment and remembered that he had a tv dinner in the freezer, so there was no need to make a trip to town.
Despite his attitude he managed to keep Mollie’s Antique store going. He knew she would be pleased.There for just a moment he felt a tingle of warmth, but he quickly dismissed it. It was a wonder that their business continued to thrive considering his lack of personality. It could have been a deal breaker and a deterrent to many. But what saved him was their vast collection of unusual antiques and eclectic junk that they had hunted for in their forty years of marriage.
They had been a team and without her, life really was not worth living.
Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen… Ephesians 4:29
On Tuesday my husband had a morning appointment at the Portland, Veterans hospital. Other than driving by Portland we had not visited the city. While Mr.G, went to the various departments, I went outside to try to locate an area where I could get a decent view of Portland. It would have been easier to just go up a few flights, via the elevator, but I chose to brave the cold and wind and go outside. Because of my small town upbringing I get enthused about seeing new sights. I think I mentioned that in yesterday’s post. I absorb the scenery, sights and colors, kind of like a sponge. For my newer readers, I often take photographs while my husband is driving. Reason being is that I don’t want to miss anything interesting. As we drove up to the hospital I noticed water and I got so excited. The rode was windy and there were no full views because of all the trees. By the time we got to the hospital, I was eager to start exploring. I could overwhelm you with what I saw, so instead, I will keep my composure and dole out the photos a few at a time..
Mt St Helens in the background
I have previously shared that I like to collect postcards. It is not an obsessive hobby and there have been times in life that I did not bother with them. I will call it a casual hobby. I do participate with Postcrossing and it is so much fun to receive postcards from other countries. Along with this I also have a deep appreciation for vintage postcards. Life for me began in the community of Palm Springs, California, the year of 1951. I am a vintage along with the cards… Here and there I have picked up postcards of Palm Springs.
I looked up the population for 1951 and it was around 45,000
I found these in an antique store recently in Silverton, Or. I graduated from Palm Springs High School in 1969. Many years of my life were primarily in desert communities around Palm Springs. On Christmas Day it will be a year that we have lived in Oregon. Yesterday, we had a new experience in a large city. The hustle and bustle of city life is not for me, but I can appreciate sight-seeing and capturing what I can with my camera.
A window view of where we spent our day.