Now that Spring has come and warmer weather is finally urging things to grow again, small town life is all about garage sales. What makes this year different from any other is the fact my boyhood home is up for sale and my folks are no longer able to care for themselves like they once did over the course of sixty odd years together. It pains me to see my mother struggle with her memory or watch my father stubbornly sort his assortment of multicolored, sized, and shaped medications on my sister's kitchen table. And I think to myself: “These are not the people I knew as a kid growing up along with five brothers and sisters under that roof down the street.”What a shame that the accumulation of things throughout a lifetime become a bargain hunters dream. But things themselves do not begin to define the meaning of what it means to change with the rolling tide of time.
One constant sound that keeps me focused tonight is that little cuckoo clock I bought for the folks years ago when I was stationed in Germany. It has come home to roost upon the wall of my apartment and provides a metronome pace to my typing that no digital alarm could ever do to rouse the memories I keep safe in the recesses of my soul. Yes, I mean soul, for no disease could ever steal away the lessons of senior year composition class, the sound of a drill instructor's cadence on an early autumn run in Missouri, or erase the love in a conversation over a long distance phone line. And now I recall the silence of my grandmother's clock as it sits waiting to hear what fate has in store for it. I don't think I want to see it go as an item haggled over between two people out in the driveway. Time, what a curious concept indeed.
And what of change? If time can change the course of mighty rivers and create snow covered peaks where once tropical breezes bred leviathans of mythic proportion millions of years ago, then why not my heart as it revels in a sentimental stupor over things like guilt and poor decisions I learned to hold on to as regret? Why is it that emotional attachments seem to play by a different set of rules? I guess I need to look back over my shoulder and realize that even cuckoo does not function the way it used to way back when as the little man in lederhosen does not peek out from behind the closed door and the music no longer plays by the hour. I guess emotions play a bigger role than mere passing of time when it comes to change.
God love you if you have managed to read down this far. Seems like the twenty four hour news cycle and twenty second sound byte have replaced good old conversation or a good book read for the pure enjoyment of it. It is my hope then that perhaps your tenacity has stirred in your heart a hope that change is not such a bad thing, but a necessary process. If it is hard to let go of the material things, then put them away in safe keeping in your soul for another time and place. Heaven knows we shall revisit the moments and people we once knew as children and recapture the youthful maturity that led us to this space of fond reminiscence that I share with you tonight. Good night little cuckoo and God go with you on your journey through life.
Witt
