We have ghosts... a lot of them.
It was a simple piece of exercise equipment. Just metal. But when I looked at it, I saw my oldest son working hard toward a worthy goal. The chin-ups. The push-ups.
When he moved away to college and third son moved into big brother's room, the exercise station stood as a silent sentinel in the room's corner.
When third son moved away to college and my art studio (part deux) crept into the room, Mr. Exercise Station Sentry remained.
At last, after almost 10 years, I realized it was time for the sentinel to abandon the post.
So, down it came, and into the garage ( a bastion of all-things needing to be de-cluttered but too emotion to yet be released). No longer was it standing proud and tall but was reduced to the pile of metal rods it truly was.
Soon the pile of rods began to irritate the organized side of my brain.
"Off to the curb,"I ordered in the bravest voice I have.
Yesterday a pick-up truck pulled up; I watched as a young man loaded the curbside freebie into the truck's rear.
"Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a ghost story!"
"Patience," replied the blog writer.
Good-bye, silent sentinel. Your ghost (See, I told you this was a ghost story) remains in the room's corner. I see you every day and am reminded of how you helped my son achieve his goal.
My Hillcrest Cottage has several "hot spots" where I can see what no other can. Occasionally, I will find myself staring into what appears to be emptiness, pausing to watch the ghostly scene play in full.
On the veranda a 5th grade boy plays chess with me. It was the eve of his first day at a new school.
"Mom, it's the last day of summer, would you play a game with me?" he eternally asks. And we play. Again and again. And again, always asking the same question.
The basement is jam-packed with the 40 plus teenagers who marched down the squeaky basement stairs and blessed us for over 8 years. I see them crammed into the tiny space. In the same room I sometimes see three young sons with blankets and pillows and favorite snacks anticipating our Friday night "movie night", enjoying the security of a loving family.
The back yard has grade school jousters and air soft battles and trampoline wrestlers and a marine sniper wannabe honing his craft on unfortunate birds and squirrels. The football catches, baseball throwing, and soccer kicking. The more mature fire pit huddles and chiminea chats: Adult to adult.
The meals together. The late night kitchen talks.
The front door flings open to greet greatly-anticipated-visiting-college guys. The sidewalk that brings them home...
also leads them away.
Pause. Play. Rewind. Fast forward.
I know there is more to come. I look forward to this Christmas when, for the first time in one year and seven months, the entire family will be in the same room again. The echoes of laughter, story telling, and hugs will join the beautiful ghostly montage of this thing we call
P.S. Right now is Life, and we only get one. What kind of videos do our homes play? Let's make them be the kind we will enjoy watching again and again... like our most favorite movie. Whew... sometimes it is difficult, but I think, in the end, we will be grateful we did it the happy way!