Wall of Honor
I like visiting people in their homes. Where and how they live provides interesting insights into what is valued and significant. Usually my friends live in homes that represent them, their beliefs, and their sense of family. I have been to homes of acquaintances that too represent their values. I suspect someone clever carefully designed the interior to match a colorful magazine article or new trend. The houses were lovely but didn’t feel like a home to me. I think how and where people live is interesting. With that perspective, I have been studying my own living quarters.
We clearly have enough books. Books in my view never let you down. I learned early, answers could be found in books. I obviously have a lot of questions. I also believe keeping all the books is important. Truth is new carpeting would be smart. But the thought of moving all those books to make room for carpet is overwhelming
Family photographs of the children, their spouses and the grandchildren smile eagerly from every available surface throughout the house. We have photographs from all ages and stages. Nobody, not visitors, friends, delivery or repair folk, ever mention our books, our photographs and our meaningful clutter. Everyone notices our wall of honor.
In the garage, an entire wall is covered with running numbers carefully stapled in position. When we moved to our present house 16 years ago, my husband transferred the old numbers to the new wall. The numbers record miles of running and buckets of sweat. Interesting too is winning happened only once. There are father/ child runs when Donaldson’s was still a department store. Everyone got shirts that said “hurrah for dads.” My daughters now grown women with children of their own, recall with such fondness finishing while holding on to their father's always supportive hands. Another number has a black ribbon stapled to it. It was a race in honor of a woman executive that was murdered in a parking lot. Another was run simultaneously with thousands of other runners around the world promoting awareness of hunger. There are too many Race for the Cure numbers to count. There are too many sheets with too many names of women who have fought cancer with valor. Marathon numbers seem comfortable next to the many 10 K runs. I remember one during which my fingers turned blue because I was so cold. Some of the races I ran with my daughters grateful for the time-shared and pleasure of hearing our footsteps on the pavement. Clearly it is not about distance but about participating. It is not about winning but showing up.
Every time I park our car, I walk into the house past our wall of honor. Saving the numbers on the garage wall is a good idea. I wish I had put the dates on them. In our travels I have visited ancient sites where cave dwellers carved their stories into the rock walls. All who visit too can view our story. Our wall is evidence of shared laughter, tears, determination and sweat.
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We clearly have enough books. Books in my view never let you down. I learned early, answers could be found in books. I obviously have a lot of questions. I also believe keeping all the books is important. Truth is new carpeting would be smart. But the thought of moving all those books to make room for carpet is overwhelming
Family photographs of the children, their spouses and the grandchildren smile eagerly from every available surface throughout the house. We have photographs from all ages and stages. Nobody, not visitors, friends, delivery or repair folk, ever mention our books, our photographs and our meaningful clutter. Everyone notices our wall of honor.
In the garage, an entire wall is covered with running numbers carefully stapled in position. When we moved to our present house 16 years ago, my husband transferred the old numbers to the new wall. The numbers record miles of running and buckets of sweat. Interesting too is winning happened only once. There are father/ child runs when Donaldson’s was still a department store. Everyone got shirts that said “hurrah for dads.” My daughters now grown women with children of their own, recall with such fondness finishing while holding on to their father's always supportive hands. Another number has a black ribbon stapled to it. It was a race in honor of a woman executive that was murdered in a parking lot. Another was run simultaneously with thousands of other runners around the world promoting awareness of hunger. There are too many Race for the Cure numbers to count. There are too many sheets with too many names of women who have fought cancer with valor. Marathon numbers seem comfortable next to the many 10 K runs. I remember one during which my fingers turned blue because I was so cold. Some of the races I ran with my daughters grateful for the time-shared and pleasure of hearing our footsteps on the pavement. Clearly it is not about distance but about participating. It is not about winning but showing up.
Every time I park our car, I walk into the house past our wall of honor. Saving the numbers on the garage wall is a good idea. I wish I had put the dates on them. In our travels I have visited ancient sites where cave dwellers carved their stories into the rock walls. All who visit too can view our story. Our wall is evidence of shared laughter, tears, determination and sweat.
A
