I went to bed with three extra females in
the room last night, watching. Just
watching. No, my daughters-in-law
weren’t all over to nurse the old man back to health. It wasn’t even Cailyn and her imaginary
friends. It was much, much worse. I had to try to get to sleep with three new
dolls staring at me. Frightening. Terribly, terribly frightening.
The dolls were just a tiny portion of the
truckload of sentiment we managed to bring back from our trip to Bay City
yesterday. Chris’ half-brother called to
let her know he had sold his Dad’s house and she was welcome to come pick up
some of her Mom’s genealogy stuff and a few pictures. He knew the genealogy was in a file cabinet
and stacked on a shelf, so he suggested she bring a few boxes as well. I’m so glad we took the pickup truck. Once we got there the two of them started
picking up objects and checking behind pictures on the wall. Most things had been marked with the person
who was intended to receive that item.
And that meant Chris was responsible for doing the distributing. And that meant we had to find a way to fit
them into the bed and cab of our truck.
Didn’t sound like such a big deal, but once they got started, out pile
grew and grew. I threw in our emergency
evacuation tubs from our attic so we wouldn’t have to search for boxes, and we
filled up eight of them. There were two
file cabinets plus several other boxes already packed of books and folders and
pictures. Not really a problem. Then they came out with a huge cedar chest,
also filled with stuff. And then there
were the three large glass doll cases, each about the size of our stand-alone
ice-maker. And speaking of dolls, we
brought back those three that joined us in the bedroom, along with five or six
others. Chris’ Mom was quite an
accomplished doll-maker. She had the
head and appendages cast in some kind of highly breakable substance, sewed them
to a soft body, then made the clothes they wore. Quite an interesting legacy, unless of course
you have to sleep in the same room with them watching you. One of them looks eerily like Chris. Another kind of favors Cailyn. Two of them are clearly eskimos. One is an American Indian baby strapped into
a papoose that was made on site in Alaska.
Another may be that kid’s mother.
Chris knows exactly who in the family each one of them is supposed to be
given to. Meanwhile they have to live
with us. Foster parents for dolls. OK. The best part of the whole trip, though, was
that Chris and her brother were able to work together without any “negative
energy,” so to speak. That’s what we
were praying for the whole way there.
Cailyn and April stayed with Mom while we
were gone, so they helped us unload when we got back. Cailyn was very excited to see all the
babies. I just appreciated the extra
hands. We now have another pile in our
garage, not to mention the stuff in my office and in our bedroom. Today we find places for everyone to live for
the holidays. Then Chris can start the
sorting process. Can’t wait.
Psalms 48:9 says, “Within your temple, O God, we meditate on your unfailing love.”
Father, thank you for the peaceful
interchanges Chris had with her brother yesterday. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment