— Even in the missteps. At some point you need to let those things go. Ah, but the stories? They remain…

I’m still polishing my way, silver spoon by silver salver to Peace in the china cupboard and in my home. I suppose I could just let all this go, or continue to let the air have its way with the silver. But the beginning to recall stories is the beginning of the healing. Perhaps I’m not yet ready to remember the wonderful trip to Alaska… oh, the pain… I can’t yet unpack the suitcase of Deb’s clothes that I took, but even though six of the original nine of us in this three story family are gone, I can, through the help of these things, begin, at least, to recall the folks on the ground floor…

So there are things and the removing of the tarnish unveils the stories. And I am restored even as the house is. And in the beautifying and putting away, I am calmed and soothed as ragged memories are no longer assaulting me from piles all over the floor, impeding my progress from room to room. I’m not sure if I’m making memories by doing this, or simply making room for memories.

I can’t imagine how thoroughly nettled my grandmother must have been. I wonder, had it been me — playing either roll, Gram or Sam — if I’d have been able to refrain from resilvering. Probably not, because I know, even as a child, when that urn sat in sullen condemnation in our cellar closet, i longed to restore it.

Hey! I’m an extrovert. I LIKE bright shiny things. And stories. I do love the stories. And many’s the day I sat with Grandma Helen, taking things out and putting things back into the china closet, to touch, revere, tell the stories of their family provenance, and then at the end, to set the table with. Even though I never cook, I still love setting a fine table. (maybe I need a great delivery service! oh and a million bucks — after all, the food should fit the plate, no?

But there was Sammy full of bright ideas… that ultimately weren’t. I’ve been there. It’s nice to know I inherited the oopsie gene. And all the hard work in the world doesn’t put the silver back on the urn. Ah well, silver to polish, blessings to count… a beautiful day in the neighborhood.