By now I really should know how this works. Days pass quickly, and despite seeing wonderful things and wanting to write about small delights seen or hard things shared, I can’t seem to begin. Moments of fleeting inspiration come and go but nothing ‘sticks’ or gets translated onto a page. But then, something happens, and at what seems like the oddest moment possible, I find myself pausing, then running for the laptop to describe the latest surprise in this gift of life.
Today that moment is now, here in my kitchen, where I find myself brushing dust off an antiquated black rectangular frame that usually holds a mirror. No doubt I was lobbied hard by one of my daughters to purchase this object at (probably) the local not-quite department store that has both a little of everything and nothing you can totally count on finding on any given day. One side of the frame has raised, green leaves entwined with a faded rose and a flattened butterfly, all fashioned from pressed metal and wire. The whole mirror stands on two semi-circles of black wire, and it can tilt!
When its life with the girls was over, this mirror landed on the mantel in my bedroom. And for many years, perhaps decades, it has reflected light but not much more. I can’t remember ever peering into it.
Fast forward to last week, when our town held its annual Metal Recycling Day. I’d been busy gathering objects to take to this great occasion for several days, and when I looked twice at the mirror, my first thought was to take it apart and send it packing, too.
But Metals Recycling came, and went, and today I find myself getting ready to give this mirror another chance. I even bought some black paint to touch up the frame. I’m not sure it will ever have the allure my daughter saw in it all those years ago, but can’t everything be used for something one more time, especially by someone else?
I’ll have to wait and see how this turns out, since now the day has escaped me and the paint is still unopened. But when I do work on this small reminder of times gone by, there will be a new mix of memories: the plans I had for this morning, thoughts of my now grown girls, memories of my late ‘fix-it’ father. And perhaps through all of this, I’ll wonder whether the deepest loves we share in this life are never really changed or lost, even when we repurpose things others once held dear.
from the smallest 