Throughout our journeys, we can expect the road of life to be paved with many joys and sorrows. What I am about to convey to you, the reader, are a few of my joyful memories during my quarter of a century travels on this road. Some of you will be able to empathize with what I say and relate to the same general feelings. Others will not relate to my own specific events but instead recall their own. As human beings, we can relate to the same subject of joy and sorrow.
My earliest, joyful childhood memory is that of my grandmother and the times we spent with one another. I had to have been about seven years old. At that age my grandmother meant the world to me. I remember her taking me on “secret” walks with her on her farm. These special adventures were reserved just for me. We would go to her meadow of wild flowers on warm and sunny days, lay down a big comfy blanket, and have a picnic fit for royalty.
She would always go out of her way to make our special retreats in this place magical. She would pack her best plates and crystal water goblets in her large wicker picnic basket, along with all the foods and beverages we jointly enjoyed. She and I would make our way to this place on earth that was reserved solely for the two of us, all the while, her reminiscing about our shared bonds of heritage.
When we would get to our lea, with its soft scents of honeydew dancing around our noses, we would feast on our picnic. During our banquet, we would concoct outlandish stories, each of us building off the others, most of which involved fire breathing dragons and damsels in distress in far away lands. I must admit, she always gave birth to the best ones.
After our meal was completed we would lie on our coverlet. With languid eyes, we would watch the rays of sun beaming from above playfully bounce around in our half-full goblets of water, propelling little rainbows in every direction. When this would happen my grandmother would tell me if we were very quiet we would be able to see little leprechauns scurrying among the blades of grass, looking for tiny cauldrons full of gold. We must not have been quiet enough. No matter how silenced we were or how intently we looked, we never had the pleasure of seeing one. When we were rested from our adventure, we would skip back to the house, hand in hand, singing and laughing. When we got a few yards away from the house she would stop me and have me promise not to tell any of my siblings of our day. She said that this day was hers and mine alone. Like the obedient grandson I was, I always swore that I would never make mention of it. I took great pride in the fact that my grandmother and I had a special bond that was shared between no one else and us.
To this day, I still haven’t told them. In retrospect, I am sure they too had their own secret rapport with our grandmother, but, like my memories that is theirs to enjoy and privately smile about when no one else is around. No matter where we find ourselves on the road of life, we can be sure it will be a worthwhile travel. One thing we should hope for is that the good outshines the bad and that we are blessed to have our lives touched by ordinary events that include extraordinary people. To sum up my memories of my grandmother with an anonymous quote, “Some people weave burlap into the fabric of our lives, and others weave gold thread. Both contribute to make the whole picture beautiful and unique.” May your life be interspersed with gold thread as mine has.