By: Marlene Oxender
In one of the boxes of memorabilia my mother saved, I found yet another calendar from decades ago. I remember thinking to myself, “Another little calendar?”
My parents didn’t throw them away. Now I need to find a new home for the stack. I guess. But maybe I should look at them one more time.
When I flip through the months of an old calendar, I can’t help but think, “Something happened on those days.” People went to work. Children went to school. They grew up and got married. And things like becoming a grandparent occurred on those days.
In some of our old family photos, a calendar can be seen in the background on the wall. When the image is expanded, the month and year can be read.
I found my Grandma Lula’s wallet. She didn’t leave any cash for me, but I do have her Medicare card. And her 1973 purse calendar was from Leo F. Thomas, an insurance agent.
There were two baby photos in the wallet – a boy and a girl. No names on the backs. Who in the family was born around 1972? Grandma knew whose pictures were in her wallet, and that is all that matters.
What should I do with her wallet? I found it when I was cleaning out Grandma and Grandpa’s antique secretary. Since my sister Carolyn is the new owner of the secretary, I shall give it to her so her granddaughters can play with Grandma Lula’s wallet.
The little girls will know that the grey wallet, with a gold butterfly on the outside, belonged to their Great-Great-Grandmother Lula. And if they read the papers within, they will discover she filled out the identification card.
They will learn her phone number – back when there was no need for an area code. And they will know she was an 83-year-old woman who never weighed more than a hundred pounds.
There is a space on the card for a photo and a thumbprint. Grandma did not leave a thumbprint on the little piece of cardboard. She did not fill in her height or hair color or eye color. I wonder what color her eyes were. Another question for the oldest cousins.
I know the color of Grandpa Imm’s eyes, for his WWI discharge papers from 1918 list them as “grey.” How I would love to look into his eyes once again and see what the Army was talking about. My grandfather had grey eyes.
We’ll tell my little great-nieces that their Great-Great-Grandma Lula lived on the most giant hill there ever was.
Lily of the valley flowers bloomed each spring in the back yard. Neighborhood children played on the property and took their sleds to slide down the most giant hill ever.
The children kept their balance as they walked on the front brick landscaping. For a child, it would be quite a tumble to fall off that brick wall.
But then we grow up and wonder where the magnificence went and how it could have lost the grandness we felt as a child.
Someday, the calendar will be turned to the month when we leave our house on that most giant hill of hills, and our spirit moves on to even better landscaping.
Our wallet will be left for our family to find, and we oughta leave a nice amount of cash behind. They could take their friends out to eat. They’ll have the chance to check out each other’s eyes. They’ll discuss the color of their grandparents’ eyes. Anyone out there with smokey grey?
When we learn of the passing of a friend or family member, we often think of the last time we were with them. The last words we’d spoken. The last hug between us. The last laugh we’d shared.
A friend of mine recently told me that a buddy he’d once worked with surprised him when he stopped in for a visit. The two had a wonderful time catching up.
As his buddy was leaving, he hugged my friend. It was a big hug. The kind of hug that lasts a little longer. The kind of hug that lets a guy know he is loved.
A few weeks after the two had spent time together, his buddy unexpectedly passed away peacefully in his sleep.
As my friend was telling me the story, his voice cracked. He needed a chance to pull himself together so he could finish telling the story of their visit that ended in an unexpected hug.
The two men didn’t know it’d be their last visit together. They didn’t know their hug would be their one and only embrace. Ever.
Perhaps it’s the spirit inside us that would prompt a visit and an unexpected embrace. In this case, between two men who had never hugged before.
I’ve heard it said our last moments on earth are the best, for they are the moments we are nearest heaven.
So while we are residing on this earth where the pages of the calendar are flipping quickly, we can look for ways to live well and live simply.
We can choose to smile at everyone we meet. We can visit with those who may be lonely in a world where love seems invisible at times.
And if we have little ones in our life – we can cuddle, we can snuggle, and we can notice the color of each other’s eyes.
On sunny winter days we can join the children on snow-covered hills that may seem small to us but giant in their eyes. We’ll find out what they know about snow that packs well.
When springtime arrives, no need to worry, for the children will follow the rules and won’t step on any cracks. They don’t want to break your back. So let them be amazed when they see an old person walk on the ginormous sidewalk ledge.
May your little calendar be full of things that happened. Things that made your day. May you never miss the falling star or the wink of an eye.
May your clothes smell like last night’s campfire and your hair be sticky from the touch of little marshmallowed hands.
May you be a moon watcher who texts your friends to tell them to look at the moon. And they will text back asking where the moon is at tonight.
And most important, may you be contagious. May your smile be contagious. May your hugs be even more contagious. May your friends say your love was never invisible.
May your embrace be the kind that makes the other guy say, “I think he just told me that he loves me.”
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Marlene Oxender is a writer, speaker, and author. She writes about growing up in the small town of Edgerton, her ten siblings, the memorabilia in her parents’ estate, and her younger brother, Stevie Kimpel, who was born with Down syndrome. Her two recently published books, Picket Fences and Stevie, are available on Amazon.