Me: "Who has the best seat in the house, me or daddy?"

Adam: "Well, Daddy's is nice, but yours is best. Your's is squishier."

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Tending Stardust

The door knob on the shed of the cabin property
built by Guy's grandfather Darwin Rider Holman

August 4th-7th

On Monday we made tracks north for Mack’s Inn, Idaho, to the cabin Guy’s grandfather built back in 1965.  We arrived well after dark, but squeezed in a Nerf-gun war and listening to Guy read from his grandpa’s life history before bed.  The kids had a ball running around in the cabin, and though that usually makes me nuts, I didn’t mind because for the first time in recorded history, ALL OF MY CHILDREN WERE PLAYING TOGETHER.  Well, Natalie was happy to watch, but seriously, I wanted to call CNN or Guinness or somebody.  I think the magic here was that Ellie didn’t like being hit by the darts, so she played a very good Sweden, collecting and returning darts to whomever needed them.  Jonah’s laughter was like bubbles, and Ethan and Adam played very nicely for the big brutes that they are.

Window art - Artist Unknown

Next day we woke to rain, and the cabin felt cozy and warm.  We got settled and then drove back to Rexburg to have lunch with dear friends Heidi and Mike.  We drove then, to the tiny rural cemetery where my mother is buried beside her grandfather in his family plot.  I have only been there three times, including the day she was buried, and all three (though two have been in summer) were blustery and cold. 

Mom's grave

Now, here I must tangent a bit.  Last week I was watching a documentary about the formation of the universe, and it poetically spoke of how every atom in each of us was once a part of a star.  That we are all made of stardust.  I thought about those words as I left flowers from my dad on mom’s grave.  About how strange it is that we tend and fuss over tiny parcels of land with headstones and grass and flowers, when the person, the actual soul that we loved and lost, is no longer anywhere near.  Just the specks of stardust that they once occupied remain tucked away in the earth; dust to dust, literally.  Their spirit, their soul, the part of them we most miss, is then perhaps mingled with the stars, or wherever it is that spirits go.  Still, even knowing she wasn’t there, it felt strange to leave, to get into the car and drive away from that little hill under the heavy clouded sky, leaving her stardust behind.

Sure do miss her.

Storm clouds hide the Grand Tetons

Our scoreboard keeping track of animal sightings

We shared our apples with the horses in the next field.

1 comment:

Jackie said...

Oh Laine. I love the thoughts. Made me tear up. Love the star dust. Miss your Mom too.