I wrote an earlier jlog regarding fond memories as I went back to my roots in eastern Colorado. To refresh your memory for those who read that jlog I will give you the backdrop and for those who didn’t, this information will be new for the first time. My mother finally decided to sell the home site that I grew up in. It was a home that my father had built when I was 4 years old. It was a block away from our old house and she and my Dad lived in it for 65 years. That’s deep roots. It’s countless memories. It’s decades upon decades of birthday parties. It’s monthly bridge parties with their friends. Countless dishes were washed in this house as well as countless loads of clothes were dried on the outside clothes line and folded to be put away.
My sister and I moved away from the house when we graduated from high school and never moved back home to be with our parents. But mom continued to live in the house when my dad died in 1990. It was only a couple of years ago this coming September when my mother decided it would be best if she were to move into a facility to help her if she ever needed assistance. Most of the stuff in the house had been evaluated as to what was going to go with her and what needed to be given away.
There was one thing that was sitting in the shed out back that brought back vivid memories. You can see in the picture the cob webs hanging from the back wheels of the wagon. You can also see as you look closely that I decided to paint my wagon that had faded over the years. The tongue of the wagon was made of steel and was crunched by the car one time and bent the curved handle a little bit. We’re talking about a wagon that withstood 65 years of bumps and bruises and then sat in the corner of the shed for 50+ years not being used.
And yet when I needed to use it to help clear out stuff in my mother’s house that was going to the trash container, it was up for the task. I hauled load after load to the dumpster and it never complained one bit. It did it’s job of getting the trash from the garage to the dumpster over and over and over again.
It reminds me of some of us who after turning 65 are put into the shed of our society where cob webs begin to grow. It doesn’t matter how old someone or something is. If we take the time to dust off the cob webs and see the value in that old radio flyer or the person who has chosen to retire, we might just find that the joy we once experienced will again come to life. There is value no matter how old a wagon is or how old a person is.
On this journey we have the opportunity to open our eyes and look at people as well as old wagons. Who knows whether or not those individuals can give us a little help along the way if only we take the time to see their value.