PRECIOUS STONES

The tiny stones in these old glass bottles are more precious by far than any rubies, diamonds, or pearls. These old glass bottles contain tiny stones of wisdom, strength, and hope. This is their story. My grandpa would gather the eggs each day from the barn, and he would be to get each one so as not to be wasteful, and it didn't matter what nook or cranny near or far, he'd find the very last egg. He was a strong willed man, and would not admit that at his age he shouldn't be climbing. As he climbed up to the barn loft he lost his footing and fell backwards out of the loft. After awhile, realizing he couldn't make it to the house, he crawled to the fence row. Every car that passed he tried to get their attention by waving. Finally about 2 hours later a car stopped. The man ran up to the house to call an ambulance. After sometime, the paramedics finally got inside the gate to him, grandpa's horse was bucking and pawing at them. In his horse mind, he was protecting my grandpa. It turned out grandpa had a badly broken hip. In his late 70's this was a dangerous break. After surgery and a long recovery, my grandpa was back on his feet. He knew he would have to exercise and take care of himself if he was ever to gain his strength back. Years later, I found shelves overstuffed with big bottles, little bottles, fat ones and skinny ones. Each bottle filled to the top with tiny stones. There was probably up to 70 bottles or more. I asked about these bottles filled with tiny pebbles. My grandpa began to explain to me how everyday he walked the edge of the creek bed, and every step or two he'd bend to pick up two or three tiny stones. He went on to explain how that was his way of exercising, strengthening his hip and the muscles that had grown weak. It may not have seemed like such a great feat, had there not been soooo many bottles filled with so many of these tiny stones. What I seen was wisdom, strength, and hope for the future. Each one of my family members have their own bottle of precious stones. When I look at mine, I see the strong loving hands of my grandpa. The heart of a man that held on to hope. And the simple wisdom, that made all the difference.

Grandma and Grandpa

This is my grandma and grandpa. They were very young in these photos. These are two of my favorite. I was very close to my grandparents and I miss them very much. It is great to know I will see them again one day. I'll share the story about my grandmother I wrote awhile back. I know it's already on here, but I'd like to post it with her picture.

GRANDMA'S DIRTY KNEES
Grandma's porcelain skin, graced ever so softly with tiny brown speckles. Her legs are slender
but strong, her knees covered
with fresh earth. As she stood she gathered her blue trimmed apron together with one hand,
gently, so as not to bruise the
red ripe tomatoes. While in the other hand, she carried a white chipped pail of savory
strawberries. With her shoulder she
reached up to wipe the sweat from her forehead, catching it just before it ran down into her eyes
and at the same time arching
her wrist, carefully balancing the pail of berries.
I continued to play, pushing my doll carriage up and down the hill. I stopped to watch as
Grandpa stood in the shade of
the old gray barn, brushing a chestnut mare till it shined like a new penny. I busied myself with my
baby-doll in her lavender
satiny dress. My faded tin dishes, trimmed a sage green with delicate pink flowers clinked
together as I washed them like
grandma had taught me. And Grandma was busy herself.
She washed the small harvest she had just plucked from the vine, still warm in her hands
from the hot sun. She dried
her hands on her apron's skirt tail and placed a tub of water on the cook stove to heat for her daily
chores.
It was getting on in the day and I felt my tummy rumble. I could hear grandma singing from
the wash-house as she
rhythmically scrubbed back and forth and back and forth on her old scrub board, the corners slick
and shiny from so many
washings. She turned grandpa's dingy clothes a bright white.
I hurried in the back door, the old gruff screen door screeched it's welcome and then blammed
shut. There it was, sitting
where grandma left it, waiting just for me. A fresh bowl of strawberries and cream, sweetened
with a spoonful of sugar and a
prayer.
It was always the biggest treat to rush in the back door to find my bowl of berries sitting on
the table. And my
grandma's little knees, covered with the fresh earth as she knelt to pick those strawberries. And
as she knelt, she prayed.
She prayed for each of her children, grandchildren, and my grandpa. She always sought out little
niches of time as if it were
a treasure of spun gold, and never put off anything she could do today.
As the years flew by and her body became frail with age, she told me she missed being able to
kneel down on her knees to pray
and holding a handful of fresh warm soil in her hands. I wonder if she knows that I finally see the
wisdom in such humble and
simple accounts. Thank you Lord for my Grandma's dirty knees.
©Mikki Jo Howard 2007