sentiment

  A little more than three years ago my wife's sister passed away. Joan was a wonderful lady, kind, generous and funny. A real Baltimore girl, whatever that is supposed to be, I loved her like my own sister. There are those that become your in-laws and those that just become a part of your family. Joan was a part of my family. A lady that loved to fish and loved to cook. During the days of my naval career as I moved about the country Joan and her family came to visit with us everywhere we ever went. Now that's quite a feat considering neither of our families are anywhere close to being well to do. That is to say it was a real financial burden for them to do so. But they did make that effort and we shared many a Hallmark moment with Joan and family. We shared in their joys and their sorrows over the years. We grieved together when Joan lost her husband, Fred. We rejoiced with her with the birth of her grandchildren. 

 Now we all have our memories of those we loved. I have a small slip of paper with a note written upon it that Joan gave me over thirty years ago. The note contains a few sentimental words and a thank you, nothing more but it is a treasure to me. I had it folded in my wallet for a number of years until I was changing wallets, then seeing it degrading, I placed it in a safe space along with other important documents. We all have that box, the one with our birth certificates, life insurance policies, and other important documents, and that note has taken its' rightful place in there. A memento of life. My memories of Joan are her cooking, her fishing and her garden. Joan loved to grow a garden every year, peppers, tomato's, cukes,  and more. Fact is the last time I saw Joan as I was leaving, I grabbed a cherry tomato off her plant and ate that. She was laughing about that, it was in September and the plants were blooming their last. Little did either of us realize just how final that plant was. It was later, that same day, that Joan passed. 

 You know it takes time to adjust. At first you have to realize that the person is gone, really gone. You will never be in their physical presence again. The reality of death is hard to accept at times. Then you have to get used to talking about them in the third person. Joan did this or Joan did that. That can take some time to accomplish. It's been three years already but the memory of Joan is fresh. There are times when I think the true measure of love is how long the memory remains fresh. That isn't to say, grief, not that memory, love is the memory we cling too the most. or should. My father has been gone for thirty years but is alive in my heart. I talk to him daily, I see him everywhere and I hear his voice. That is the kind of love and memory that I'm talking about. I no longer grieve my loss but enjoy the memories. And that is what takes time.

 This past Christmas Joans' granddaughter Jessica, gave her Aunt Ann a special gift. Jessica had a baby six months ago, Joans' great granddaughter. Yes there was a bit of sadness when you think about that. Joan, like most grandma's adored her grandchildren and would have been over the moon about a great grand. Being a Marylander the custom here is to call your grandmother mom-mom. Grandfathers are pop-pop. So Jessica had taken all of Joans' ( mommom) recipe cards and had them bound into a book. On every page is a copy of the handwritten card with a transcription of that recipe. Joans' penmanship could be a challenge to some I suppose, but her cursive was clear enough to me, perhaps a product of  our schooling. But this compellation took some time and effort. How could you not be thinking of Joan with each page, each letter written. So this book was given to my wife. What a heartfelt and touching tribute. If you knew Joan, you knew how much she enjoyed cooking. But it wasn't the actual process of cooking that she enjoyed as much as watching others eat that food. Joan wasn't Italian but should have been or perhaps Jewish! Joan loved to feed people and was an outstanding cook. She had a way of throwing things together that just spoke, delicious. Nothing fancy mind you, just home cooking done right. 

 Now my wife has that book and glances through it every now and again. I don't think she is reading the recipes as much as reading the memories in there. The other day he asked me to build her a shelf to put that book on display. It should be in the kitchen where she can share it with others whenever they come over. Sometimes we put things away to save them, we treasure them so much we lock them up. Sometimes the result is the treasure is forgotten about and neglected. Well this treasure is to be shared. It is what Joan would have wanted. She didn't keep secrets about her recipes, although to be honest about it, I never saw her use one either. So, I made a shelf, of sorts, out of some scrap materials I had lying about. I haven't decorated it yet but it is on the wall anyway. That book is there, on display, for everyone to see. A constant reminder of Joan, when no reminder is really needed. She would just laugh about that, call me crazy. Yeah well, houses are filled with stuff, homes are filled with sentiments. Couldn't ask for a better addition.