This morning I kicked aside an anonymous pair of dirty socks
and jeans pealed off inside out and left in the floor. Who cares that “someone” would have to turn
them prior to washing. Next I moved aside my "Midnight Muncher’s" crusting dishes
left in the living room, and began the task of making breakfast and school
lunches…once again. “Lord, show me the beauty in all of this, please.”
I stole a few inopportune moments to flee the ever waiting mess in exchange for a walk. The grey, drizzling
rain matched my mood. Wondering how I’d
manage to face the day ahead, I prayed, or rather mumbled my complaints out
loud to whoever might be listening. “I know there is beauty beneath the rubble; I just can’t see
it clearly, God." Then I remembered
Friday’s adventure with Lydia .
She’d wanted to begin reading a new book series so I’d
suggested an ancient set of books I’d loved as a child, Cherry Ames. There must have been 20 or so books written
about a 1950’s nurse carrying out her duties and amateur sleuthing
escapades all over the world. I became
convinced this collection was stuffed away in some corner of my mom’s attic. After saying as much to Lydia , she became obsessed with
going on a treasure hunt of her own to solve our mystery of the missing
books. Friday finally arrived, and with it,
her much anticipated chance to canvas Mom’s old attic. I’ll admit, I too had visions of finding priceless treasures from my past.
Step, step, step the three of us ascended the attic stairs;
my 75 year old mom first with Lydia
following close behind. We put on dust
masks at her insistence, and carried a little lamp to light our way. The dirt was everywhere, literally layers of
it settled into boxes rising up like smoke when disturbed. We must have opened seven to eight boxes, but
sadly, never found the lost books.
There were containers full of old rat eaten teddy bears,
dirt smudged dolls with homemade clothes, an old Barbie styling head, and
broken bits of who knows what…but nothing that resembled anything of value, at
least not to me. I could tell Lydia
was disappointed too, but not Mom. She
came to life, dropping years off her tired face as she rummaged through old
“keepsakes”. Climbing over ancient
suitcases, stacked boxes, and air vent tubing, she was persistent to keep going
while making the comment, “Oh, you’d be surprised what I can do!” She made me smile. Poking and prodding, I heard her explaining
the history of many things to Lydia …
a table Daddy had made, a suit case I’d taken to camp as a child…
A little mouse with a long tail scurried away in the
corner. It had nothing to do with the
past and was distracting me enough that I edged us back out of the creepy
crevices toward the stairs. I was more
than ready to leave. Yuck! Covered in dirt, I’d found nothing of value. That is until I looked up to see Mom taking
one last longing glance at a box of dried miscellaneous flower corsages left over from
my special occasions. I saw her eyes come to life and perhaps even a smile on
her face. She was…happy?
I hadn’t seen any treasure amidst the dirt and rat infested
old boxes. I hadn’t found what I’d come
for, the books. But mother…seeing her
made me think. She’d looked beyond the
years of accumulated dirt and disorganized piling of their old junk, to see
something much more valuable than order, cleanliness and belongings. She’d climbed into the attic back in time to
an older life. Opening a window into her
past, she’d glimpsed a memory of joy.
I believe it was this that the Lord showed me in and around
my mutterings of dread for today. Blow off the dust,
Kerrie, like your mom was able to do.
Look past the piles of dirty clothes and ignore the daunting stacks of
dishes. Perhaps then you’ll see an abundance of
Monotonous Monday, attic full of messy memories, now in the making.
