The Things We Come To Know

Yesterday evening, when I was headed to our friends house for dessert, I had this realization. It was when I passed this certain house and its lights shone through the raised shades. In a brief glimpse I could see the old man and woman sitting at the dining table. These folks have no idea who I am, or that I have known them for years. Glimpses of their life fills me with familiarity which lends itself to security. I have been cognizant of these folks for at least 10 years. Every morning as I pass their house early on the way to school, the old guy is sitting at the dining table reading his paper. For some reason my olfactory memory always conjures up toasted bread and coffee. Every Christmas, they have decorations that are natural and understated. They live on a busy thoroughfare, but their life always disproves the rushing world on the outside. The world trying to get from here to there. Children with backpacks waiting for busses. The busy coffee shop across the street. The graffiti marking the nearby fence. This home boasts soft-lit warmth, time for introspection, tidy, half-mast blinds across the seven floor to ceiling picture windows, and a well-kept front yard behind a littered curb.

It's funny how these things punctuate our lives and give us direction. Things that pass through our consciousness so quickly and leave their mark on our entire day. The rain I hear in those moments between alarm clock and slippers, pinging through the rainpipe from the roof to the lawn that lets me know how to dress that day, rainy day activities I need to pull out of my bag of tricks for the children, and that Harry the Weiner Dog is probably going to do his business on the front porch when I let him out because he hates to get wet. A mental note to make time to clean it up before I leave. I knew all of that, all unspoken, within the *plink* of a few raindrops.

Or with parents in the school world. How one brief glance at their shoulder tells me the story of the morning. The remnants of tears and nose clinging to the fabric of their suit jacket or sweater lets me know so clearly, so unspoken, that their child needs some extra love today. Somewhere, for some reason, there was sadness in the morning. Sometimes they tell me. Sometimes I just know.

The coffee house. I can tell by a quick glance in the parking lot if I have time to stop that day or not. Tones of voice. Flashing looks. After the first month of school I can tell by the feel of a child's hand in mine who they are. Their laughs. Their cries from another room. I can feel in my bones when it's going to rain. I can smell autumn in the air. I can hear when my car needs oil.

This human thing is so amazing. I am so grateful for all these ways I am able to come to know.

Comments

[Rebekah]

This was great. Have you ever thought of knocking on this lovely couple's door to say hello? Or leaving a little note on their doorstep? (Maybe that's kind of stalker-ish, though. Still, I love the idea of meeting people you've known for years.)

[Beth]

That is truly beautiful. The familiar things that make our days special and let us know our place in the world. So nice, to read your thoughts.
Beth

[tracey k. in Ohio]

How lovely that was! Thank you for 'planting the seed' that we should all be so aware of our surroundings & be so in tune w/our blessings.