Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
Gardening is going great so far. Out of the 60-80 bulbs planted, I have a whopping total of one dahlia peeking its head out of the soil.
One. So, I wait.
Truth is, there is a lot of waiting in planting … waiting for winter to pass … waiting for the ground to warm up … waiting for warmer days to clear outdoor spaces … waiting for sprigs of green to pop out of the dirt (or not) … waiting for things to bloom.
We wait.
There are parallels here between what happens (Oh. So. Slowly.) in the garden and in life.
We wait for a special occasion to bust out the good dishes and family linens. We wait for the right moment to wear a special outfit and sparkly shoes. We wait for the perfect party to use the good crystal platters.
What we tend to forget … what I forget … is that this moment IS the special occasion. So, why wait?
I have begun to practice that a little. I have a set of Christmas china that I use throughout the year. I was always sad that it was boxed up most of the year, never seeing the light of day until the day after Thanksgiving. And following the holiday cycle, it was put up by the first of the year.
I have some depression glass that belonged to a great grandmother (so the story goes). It was always “too special” to use, so it gathered dust being stored in a cupboard.
I have doilies that my mother made, that were properly folded up and stored in a hope chest. Now, the largest doily is framed and hangs on the wall.
I have books that belonged to my dad that I keep in my office, a reminder of him and how much he loved to read.
When I was a kid, one of my favorite things to do was dump out my mother’s and grandmother’s jewelry boxes on the bed. I would pick up each piece of costume jewelry and watch the light dance on the glass stones. It was a special event when I was allowed to pour out the treasures across the bedspread. Oh, the stories I’d make up about the jewelry and women who wore it.
I do that now. When I need a break from the pressures of work, bills, worries of old/sick dogs … I scatter the contents of the jewelry boxes across the bedspread. I tell Bandit (the cranky old border collie) about the jewelry and women who wore it. The worries of the day fade away as the old jewelry and stories spring to life.
Those moments and memories keep me connected to my own history. Dishes, doilies, books, and a couple of boxes of costume jewelry doesn’t add up to much in terms of worldly wealth. But the memories and stories and love are absolutely priceless.
Patti Dobson writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact her at: