Several things nurture my spiritual life in my search to understand my place in the universe.
* Reading through the Gospels and focusing on the life of Jesus, His sayings, His reactions to situations around Him. How should I be different because of that?
* Looking at Nature. The complexity and interaction of everything is overwhelming. Keep thinking or give up thinking?
* Walking through the cemetery. OK, that takes a little explaining.
When I do my walking I usually end up the final approach coming back through the local cemetery. It has been here probably since the founding of the town in the 1850's. This is young when you consider the length of recorded history and how many others there are around the city, state, country, and world. Or the number of those not buried in the land of the final condo's.
On my way back I walk down the middle from the more recent section to the older section. People buried last week to people who died in 1864. There are husbands and wives buried together and sometimes with children. People with the same name scattered all over. On the headstones are long stories and on some just a name. Real flowers, no flowers, and artificial flowers. Husband died in 1956 and wife who died in 1988 next to him. A lady born about the same time as me who died in 1968 on the same headstone as father (died 1992) and mother (1930- .) Veterans of WWI, WWII, and perhaps other wars.
The cemetery is in a peaceful setting. It is well kept. And it still growing. That last part is what always gets my attention. It brings up questions.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Owen Family Reunions
Summer's almost gone. Another year past with no Owen Family Reunion like I remember.
Reunions were great memories with cousins - kick the can, hide and seek, freeze tag, badminton, some kind of baseball, wondering through the garden and picking berries, or "I'm bored, there's nothing to do." Aunt Violet and crew would always have great meals with fresh milk and cream from somewhere, fresh garden potatoes or tomatoes or green beans or . . . .
Someone would start with the firecrackers. Usually Uncle Ed but it might be Uncle Bill Ritchey to get ahead of Uncle Bill. Uncle Bernie would pick it up to get back at Uncle Ed.
Uncle Ed/Uncle Bill/Uncle Bill/Uncle Bernie used to go off to Loveland for one of two things - 2 gallons (glass) of A&W or watermelon. A&W speaks for itself.
But the watermelon! Oh, the watermelon! It always seemed to be a good. I think it was most often a Black Diamond, the dark green kind you don't see much anymore. And of course there were seeds. God had not invented seedless yet. But I don't think the Uncles would have gotten them anyway - not real. Now when I bring home less than a great taste, I sometimes doubt my heritage.
The lonesome train straining to make it's way up the grade from Loveland leaving one to wonder if it was going to make it this time. Trips out to Lone Tree Lake and half-heartedly listening to Dad tell of his adventures swimming or ice skating on the lake. (How I wish he was here now to tell me those stories - really, Dad, I'd listen.) Thunderstorms coming over Longs Peak. Going down into the Aunt Violet's musty basement (the old place) and seeing all the jars of fruit. Garages divided with sheets so several families could stay there.
Then there was the Sabbath meal and it was the big deal. While there was some coming and going, at this meal everyone who was going to be there was there. It might be at the Loveland Veterans Park or at the Powerhouse park up along the Big Thompson. You know, the one that washed away in a flash flood 35 years ago.
But mostly what I miss is the people. Uncles and aunts, cousins, of course my own family, and then extended family or family friends that would show up (remember the Snyders.) Knowing they were part of my family, my flesh and blood. Listening to the old people (anyone over 30) tell stories of when they went to Campion or Platte Valley Academy, or to Lexington or Kearney or Oconto or Lincoln. Seeing new additions - younger cousins who joined. Every one of them hold a special place in my heart that does not go away. Even though I haven't seen them for many years.
You can't go back. Past is past. It will never be the same. But I won't forget the Reunions. They are the rock that I was built on. They are a key to my understanding who I am and why I do things the way I do. And I am proud of it all. No one can have my memories.
Reunions were great memories with cousins - kick the can, hide and seek, freeze tag, badminton, some kind of baseball, wondering through the garden and picking berries, or "I'm bored, there's nothing to do." Aunt Violet and crew would always have great meals with fresh milk and cream from somewhere, fresh garden potatoes or tomatoes or green beans or . . . .
Someone would start with the firecrackers. Usually Uncle Ed but it might be Uncle Bill Ritchey to get ahead of Uncle Bill. Uncle Bernie would pick it up to get back at Uncle Ed.
Uncle Ed/Uncle Bill/Uncle Bill/Uncle Bernie used to go off to Loveland for one of two things - 2 gallons (glass) of A&W or watermelon. A&W speaks for itself.
But the watermelon! Oh, the watermelon! It always seemed to be a good. I think it was most often a Black Diamond, the dark green kind you don't see much anymore. And of course there were seeds. God had not invented seedless yet. But I don't think the Uncles would have gotten them anyway - not real. Now when I bring home less than a great taste, I sometimes doubt my heritage.
The lonesome train straining to make it's way up the grade from Loveland leaving one to wonder if it was going to make it this time. Trips out to Lone Tree Lake and half-heartedly listening to Dad tell of his adventures swimming or ice skating on the lake. (How I wish he was here now to tell me those stories - really, Dad, I'd listen.) Thunderstorms coming over Longs Peak. Going down into the Aunt Violet's musty basement (the old place) and seeing all the jars of fruit. Garages divided with sheets so several families could stay there.
Then there was the Sabbath meal and it was the big deal. While there was some coming and going, at this meal everyone who was going to be there was there. It might be at the Loveland Veterans Park or at the Powerhouse park up along the Big Thompson. You know, the one that washed away in a flash flood 35 years ago.
But mostly what I miss is the people. Uncles and aunts, cousins, of course my own family, and then extended family or family friends that would show up (remember the Snyders.) Knowing they were part of my family, my flesh and blood. Listening to the old people (anyone over 30) tell stories of when they went to Campion or Platte Valley Academy, or to Lexington or Kearney or Oconto or Lincoln. Seeing new additions - younger cousins who joined. Every one of them hold a special place in my heart that does not go away. Even though I haven't seen them for many years.
You can't go back. Past is past. It will never be the same. But I won't forget the Reunions. They are the rock that I was built on. They are a key to my understanding who I am and why I do things the way I do. And I am proud of it all. No one can have my memories.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
