May 8, 2007
Our kitchen table is not made of the finest oak. It is not large or grand in beauty. It is small and rectangle. It has white tiles in the center and is framed out in a light wood. The legs of the table are simple and white. There is no fancy design to make them stand out. Their purpose is the support the table top without flare or statement. The edges are dented and scratched from constant use. The condition of the chairs is similar to that of the table. There are little hand prints that sometimes appear on the table and chairs in a variety of flavors, from spaghetti sauce to finger paints. But, this table is in the most important place where the most important conversations occur.
I often find myself thinking about the meaningful conversations I’ve been a part of at our kitchen table. It is not only the place where our family eats; it is the place where we find out about each other. I think about my seven year old son who is so busy and full of energy that it is hard to pin him down and really talk. At our simple kitchen table, my son sits still long enough to eat and talk freely about his newest theories on life and asks questions about things he heard at school. At the same time, my other children comment on the food and what cartoon character is on their plates.
The plates that we eat off of at our kitchen table are mismatched. When the kids are at the table, they eat off of Star Wars plates and use Spiderman silverware. The adults at the table use our plates with the mint green and black triangles along the edges. There never seems to be enough silverware to go around and I often wonder what great adventures my kids used them for.
Cups are another variety. There are no glasses at our kitchen table, only plastic cups. Some are clear, some are green, and some are in the shape of cartoon characters. The colorful array of décor on the table is second nature to the comfort and concern felt when sitting in front of the mismatched meal.
The emotions felt at our table can be as random as the place settings and many times reach beyond our immediate family. It is felt by guests that frequent the rectangle structure for food and conversation. My sister is one who has sat at our table and shared fears and emotions as her four-year-old daughter went through chemotherapy after being diagnosed with leukemia. It was comforting for both of us to be able to sit together and talk about the reality of cancer in a safe and simple setting.
Conversations are not always complicated at our table; sometimes they are as simple as the table itself. The men that visit our home are usually engaged in conversation about basketball or fishing. Women discuss potential decorating changes that would make the entire room more appealing. The people and conversations change and sometimes so does the paint on the walls but, the table, as simple and insignificant as it may seem, remains a constant, giving our home a feeling of comfort and warmth that everyone who enters can feel.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The Beginning
The Most Peaceful Place I Know
As an adult I have a great appreciation for the experiences of my youth. I often think back to the days I spent at my grandparents’ home in Richmond, Utah. The peace I felt in Richmond throughout my childhood guided me in one of the biggest decisions I would ever have to make.
When I was five months pregnant with my second child, I found out my baby was going to die. I knew I would only have a short time with him after he was born and I wanted to spend every minute I could showing him how much I loved him. When he died, I wanted him to be buried in a place I knew I would always come back to no matter where my life took me. My first and only thought was Richmond. I remembered how beautiful it was and the feelings of peace I had when I was there, and I knew that was the place my baby should be laid to rest.
The memories of Richmond began with my grandparents. They lived in the small community their entire lives. My Grandpa Smith built his home two acres south of his parents’ house. Family roots in the town run deep in Richmond, but this was not the sole reason for my appreciation of the area. My experiences as a child molded my outlook on life, and navigated decisions I have made from where I live to how I want to raise my children.
Every summer when I was a child I stayed with my grandparents for a week. I remember waking up in the morning in the “west room” with the window open and the morning breeze blowing the curtains. I would sit up in my bed and look out the window at the white fence broken up by red wagon wheels. Beyond the fence were the pasture and the barn where the calves grazed. Looking past the barn I could see fields neatly divided into sections for farming. Even at a young age I loved the view from the window and looked forward waking up in such a beautiful place.
My days in Richmond were filled with work, play, and exploration. The sounds of the small country town were different from the city. Sometimes I would lay on the grass in my grandparents’ yard, close my eyes, and listen to the sounds of the birds and the stillness of country life.
As evening approached, I loved to watch the sunset from the back porch. Some of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen were as a child in Richmond. I don’t really remember the details of the sunsets as much as the over whelming feeling of appreciation I had.
As I grew older, my focus in Richmond changed. I still loved to visit my grandparents and I would still wake up early in the morning and look out the window in the “west room”. But, instead of breakfast I would put on my running cloths and run the miles of uninhabited roads that made up the town. Richmond is set on a hill and as I looked out over the valley of farmland I wanted to take the beauty into my soul and carry it with me. I always felt like Richmond was a sanctuary from the fast pace and conflicts of the city and drew me there time and time again.
The adult decisions I am frequently confronted with often turn my thoughts to the most peaceful place I know, Richmond. The death of my baby was no exception. My son, Aron, now lies in the Richmond cemetery next to my grandparents, an uncle, and many other relatives. He has a great view of the beautiful sunsets that I frequently pondered in my youth. In Richmond I know his body rests in a place of peace and safety and no matter how much time passes and changes occur in my life, I will be forever drawn to Richmond as a place of my past, present, and future.
As an adult I have a great appreciation for the experiences of my youth. I often think back to the days I spent at my grandparents’ home in Richmond, Utah. The peace I felt in Richmond throughout my childhood guided me in one of the biggest decisions I would ever have to make.
When I was five months pregnant with my second child, I found out my baby was going to die. I knew I would only have a short time with him after he was born and I wanted to spend every minute I could showing him how much I loved him. When he died, I wanted him to be buried in a place I knew I would always come back to no matter where my life took me. My first and only thought was Richmond. I remembered how beautiful it was and the feelings of peace I had when I was there, and I knew that was the place my baby should be laid to rest.
The memories of Richmond began with my grandparents. They lived in the small community their entire lives. My Grandpa Smith built his home two acres south of his parents’ house. Family roots in the town run deep in Richmond, but this was not the sole reason for my appreciation of the area. My experiences as a child molded my outlook on life, and navigated decisions I have made from where I live to how I want to raise my children.
Every summer when I was a child I stayed with my grandparents for a week. I remember waking up in the morning in the “west room” with the window open and the morning breeze blowing the curtains. I would sit up in my bed and look out the window at the white fence broken up by red wagon wheels. Beyond the fence were the pasture and the barn where the calves grazed. Looking past the barn I could see fields neatly divided into sections for farming. Even at a young age I loved the view from the window and looked forward waking up in such a beautiful place.
My days in Richmond were filled with work, play, and exploration. The sounds of the small country town were different from the city. Sometimes I would lay on the grass in my grandparents’ yard, close my eyes, and listen to the sounds of the birds and the stillness of country life.
As evening approached, I loved to watch the sunset from the back porch. Some of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen were as a child in Richmond. I don’t really remember the details of the sunsets as much as the over whelming feeling of appreciation I had.
As I grew older, my focus in Richmond changed. I still loved to visit my grandparents and I would still wake up early in the morning and look out the window in the “west room”. But, instead of breakfast I would put on my running cloths and run the miles of uninhabited roads that made up the town. Richmond is set on a hill and as I looked out over the valley of farmland I wanted to take the beauty into my soul and carry it with me. I always felt like Richmond was a sanctuary from the fast pace and conflicts of the city and drew me there time and time again.
The adult decisions I am frequently confronted with often turn my thoughts to the most peaceful place I know, Richmond. The death of my baby was no exception. My son, Aron, now lies in the Richmond cemetery next to my grandparents, an uncle, and many other relatives. He has a great view of the beautiful sunsets that I frequently pondered in my youth. In Richmond I know his body rests in a place of peace and safety and no matter how much time passes and changes occur in my life, I will be forever drawn to Richmond as a place of my past, present, and future.
WELCOME
I have added this blog so I can write poems, stories, or whatever floats my boat. My view of the world can be skewed and sometimes really odd. I believe that the what people write says a lot about them. If anyone wants to share what they write, feel free to add it in comments. I would love to read what others have to say. Anyone can write, they just have to have the courage to put their thoughts on paper, or in this case, on a blog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)