threads of love

 I thought about sending today's post just to family members, but I'll send it to everybody. Yesterday we were doing some work in one of Allyn's gardens. I noticed this pile of rocks.

Allyn spends a lot of time in her gardens; much more than I do. During her daily rounds, she takes the time to save and store the rocks that she finds. There are rock piles scattered everywhere in said gardens. She takes the time to do this because when her grandchildren come to visit, they love to throw rocks into the creek from the bridge that connects Kahle Road to the main road. They are set aside for this that purpose. I initially took this photo as a poignant reminder of our lost summer. No children and grandchildren visiting this year. The rocks are still in their designated piles rather than at the bottom of the Ira creek where they belong.

There's another way to look at this, however. The rock piles are just one of many examples of the threads of love and support with which  Manga (Allyn) connects with her grandchildren. She sends them gift packages to help them celebrate the holidays like Halloween and Easter. She sends them Jib Jabs on their birthdays. Eliza is seven now. She has learned how to call Allyn on her lap top, and she calls Manga almost every day (I will do in a pinch if Allyn is unavailable). The two of them are now and forever connected. Allyn is a part of Eliza and Eliza is a part of Allyn, and this is the case with all of the grandchildren. We are lucky to have them, and they are so fortunate to have such a wonderful grandmother.

But it doesn't stop here. There aren't many advantages to being old, but one of them is the perspective that comes with time. Knowing Allyn's mother, it's not hard to see how Allyn ended up the way she did; hard working, kind, selfless. I never met Allyn's grandmother, but I have a pretty good idea about what she was like. And these threads of love were sewn by the other side of our family as well. My step-mother, Helen, was a saint. She was so busy loving her family that she usually forgot about herself and her own desires. These threads go in the other direction as well. John and Erin fortunately are like their mother, and are wonderful parents, just like their mother was. Where does this blanket of nurturing and caring start? Where does it end?

And I know that our family, fortunate as it is, is not the only one possessing these threads of love. So many of us are lucky to head out each morning to face the world, fortified by the warmth of fibers extending back  countless generations. We are all very fortunate.

All from a pile of rocks.