MEANDERINGS

In the innocence of younger days life drifted lazily like the clouds in God’s Ocean above. All was simple and the world was my playground. Day after day of joy, laughter and sometimes tears. Of a mother’s loving touch and the labor of a quiet father who seemed to be unnoticed in his simplicity and faithfulness to his family. The days of the week passed slowly and we extracted all that we could from each 24 hours and went to sleep at night with the sounds of a velvety night wafting through the windows and billowing out the multi-hued curtains. We delighted in the freshness of the evening’s perfume which like an anesthetic lulled us to sleep. Mornings, ahhh mornings, the feeling of adventure, what joys would we experience on such a newly created masterpiece? What could we add to the canvas already drying in the warmth of the early hours. Perhaps some swinging and singing behind the house, music for all within earshot, especially my mom who knew by the racket, just where her little songbird was, and what she was doing. Making mud pies on the back step, engrossed in mimicking the skills of my mother as she created tasty treats for her loved ones. Oh, the smells of her kitchen indelibly etched upon my memory. What a delight to go back in time to that rustic kitchen and see my mother, hands full of flour and the table covered with goodies and the most delectable odors tickling our noses. The round loaves of heavenly scented bread with all of us begging for the crust. She obliged us by cutting all around the loaf so we all had out hearts desire. What a giving, loving treasure she was. Her bread was pure manna and gave us life while at the same time we grew in faith and served a God who gave us all good things. He was the center of our lives and the Rosary was a nightly family prayer, prayed in the kitchen faithfully before we could go out to play. Sundays were spent in thanking and praising God in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and later in the evening we all walked to Church for Benediction. Such glorious days, where our parents rested from much of their chores, except for meals. We went swimming under the watchful eyes of our mother who periodically would join us in the cool water and it did our hearts good to see her at play. Thus our lives continued until as we grew older the strangest thing happened. Time started to speed up and soon it seemed we had to grab a hold of each day to slow it down, but alas it’s not possible and now there seems to be no time for anything. I find my life passing at an alarming rate so now I take the time to lap up all the beauty of God’s masterpiece each day and plant it in my memory for reflection and on special days I wander back to my childhood and once again drink to my fill the glories of past younger days that flood my being with happiness joy and peace.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
June 17, 2006