It’s been a hard year. We’ve lost a number of family members and dear friends. Had job changes. Experienced new aches and pains. Dealt with little annoyances like losing an iPad and a coat (how does that happen?? Are our minds slipping?!) And we’ve suffered through continuing bouts of ennui and this great restlessness. A combination of things that leaves our hearts hurting, our thoughts scattered and worried, our confidence tested, and our energy exhausted.
We wonder, how many more Christmases will we have? How many more summers? How many more times will I get to hug this person–or hear that story again–or ask those questions? How many more times can I say “next time, we’ll do that” –before there is no “next time”? So, this Christmas, when I went home to Nashville to see my Mom and Dad, I also made plans to see some extended family–people I love, and used to spend more time with, but who I don’t have a lot of chances to see on quick visits home from Chicago. It was good. We shared laughter, stories, meals. I need more of this. And I have made a promise to myself to do more of it in 2015, and make it count.
I also spent a little time driving around Nashville…visiting some places I love…places that are scratched into my memory. Former homes, old neighborhoods, favorite streets and parks. Maybe I only spent a little time there–or maybe a lot. But these places remain in my heart. And while I can see them –any day– when I close my eyes, I wanted to touch them again. It was good. This too, I need more of.
Things change. Buildings get knocked down. Trees get cut down. We change. People move in and out of our lives. It hurts sometimes. And while we can’t always see them anymore, they live on in our memories. And there is this magical kind of peace and grace in remembering those memories, and visiting those old places.
So, here’s to peace, and to a new year spent making good memories. Happy New Year!
This is my old street and the neighborhood’s best sledding hill. When Nashville got snow, this hill was covered with kids and sleds. If you had good slick snow and a strong push off at the top of the hill, you could make it all the way to Valleywood.This place will always keep a few pieces of my heart. My precious grandmother passed away there. Three dogs are buried in the backyard, along with two pet turtles, three goldfish, and a few wild birds. Those two strong maples were plucked from the woods by my father and grandfather–planted in the little front yard of our other house and then moved to this yard as saplings.Roots and foundations on Shelby Avenue.Gone are the paddle boats and swans: The Parthenon’s pond in Centennial ParkCentennial Park Swings: These are the best swings in the world. It’s all in the footboard…Neon sign from the old fashioned soda shop on Elliston Place. Milkshakes and grilled cheese…yum.Exit/In brought the music to the locals. And in a town like Nashville–“special guests” could mean a Rolling Stone, a Beatle or Johnny Cash.My grandparents had tomato plants…lots of tomato plants in their tiny backyard. One summer, they came to this spot in Shelby Park every day to dig dirt–buckets of good dark river dirt. We’d go home each day with 4-5 big buckets of Shelby Park dirt for those tomato plants in the trunk of their car.I once flew in a red wagon down Long Avenue’s alley hill into Shelby Park–zooming with more speed than control–with my laughing and elderly Aunt Tiller. “Don’t you take that baby down that hill Tiller!”, my grandmother yelled from the kitchen window. “Wave at her,” my Aunt Tiller whispered in my ear as she kicked the wagon into motion.One of the most peaceful places I know. The tree in Spring Hill beneath which my grandparents rest.Daddy’s shoe shop, closing early on a rainy Christmas Eve’s Eve: No matter where I am, I think of him whenever I smell shoe leather—or wear my Converse with no arch support.“More sage!”: says my step-dad Marvin every time we test Mama’s homemade dressing.Bill Monroe sings, “Christmastime’s a comin’, and I know I’m going home”: There is a special comfort in being at Mama’s house on Christmas Eve. The smell of dressing and vegetables cooking, the lights on the tree twinkling on the bows & ribbons below, and you know that after eating, you’ll sit in that room chattering for a few welcome hours.Anticipation: Setting the table with the holiday china and Mama’s place cards for the Christmas Eve feast.Later at Daddy’s house: We sit at the kitchen bar and talk about old family photos, health, and those little Christmas trees Aunt Robbie made all those years ago.
