Simply and Wonderfully


As I sat on my side of the bed this morning, pulling on my bib-over-all’s, I had a sudden flash back to a day, shortly before Grandpa Bill passed away. It was the end of summer, my brother and I were playing in the field next to the house.

He was sitting in the shade of the one car garage, rocking back and forth, watching us. I can still hear that one wooden slat under his chair, squeak each time the heel of his rocker moved over it.

Grandpa was physically ugly, mauled by age, cigarettes and booze, health failing, but I didn’t know that until he died later in the year. But in my minds-eye, I can still see him that sunny day and recall how he was beautiful, simply and wonderfully beautiful.

It’s a description I still find very difficult to use for a man, even a truly beautiful man.

As I let this tiny memory tumble through my brain and tremble my heart, I issued a small prayer to be allowed more of these recollections. They’re like three-cent postcards, picture on the front and a couple of words on the back.

I want a shoe-box full of’em.

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