I
have brought over two cotton summer dresses for mending, and that’s when the
moment happens. Unexpected. Uncomplicated. Unassuming.
Ken and I are staying at the bunkie since Sunday when our whole family (almost) arrived to spend our annual time together at the cottage. Between the ‘actual’ cottage, and some space we’ve begun to reclaim on the property next door (such is the ongoing redemptive story, details another time), we now have ample bedrooms and two bathrooms to share for ten people. And it works. Except for when some things are not where you are and you have to go fetch something, which is something every day.
But I’m not fetching for the mending thing. I have the dresses with me. So, I just go over and plonk myself down on a chair and start rummaging in the small sewing kit for what I need. The kit itself is in much more of a mess than I remembered, being a remnant compilation of my mother-in-law’s past sewing passion, and my own sundry stitchery-stuff extras from the purging we did when we moved. I eventually find the kind of needle I need, and some white thread, which will do nicely.
As I stitch, which I’ve always found calming, I become more aware of the various activities of my family around me. The heat and stiff winds coming at us all day have us now inside in the later part of the afternoon, windows open to welcome the breeze, sheltered from the sun.
Grandad is playing cribbage with Zachary and Harvest, the game being thoroughly discussed for every hand. Ken loves card games more than I can get my head around them, so he’s always in such a good mood when he can get grandkids interested, taught, and practiced up to a level where they can give him a run for his money (poor idiom since no gambling happens at all).
Uncle David has humoured Timothy with his request for Snakes and Ladders. Timothy is making his way through everyone, one at a time, because he LOVES Snakes and Ladders. When that’s done, David finds the giant board of games that has been up here for ages, and shows Timothy how to keep the monkeys out of the swamp. This is almost as good as Snakes and Ladders, and that’s saying something!
Jayden and his Dad are playing chess, or rather, Jayden is receiving some tutoring in the game, in the form of those longer, careful instructions you can give on a slow summer afternoon. Kristyn is enjoying a rare moment with her feet up, which makes me glad.
And then it happens. This golden moment. All of us here, I realize. All of us just being simply together in this place.
And I hold my breath to hold the moment.
All of us here, and that’s no small thing. So much, so much has tried to tear us apart. Yet here we are. It's not lost on me. All of us.
And here I should say almost all of us, because Abby’s arriving on Friday, the adult young woman that she is, driving up in her very own car. And so we grow.
I let the breath go, but hold the moment longer. I don’t want to get up, so I start sorting the mending kit; buttons, and spools, and safety pins, and needles, and the little end pieces of thread I never throw out for some reason. And I take my time with this, slow, methodical, listening. Letting this be unassuming, real, uncomplicated. Just us.
These are the touch points of something much bigger than us, I know.
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