A sense of connection
It was about 8:30 or so.
I was getting ready to leave for my volunteer job at St. Joe’s, tidying up the kitchen, turning off the coffee pot and gathering my smock, badge and such for the day’s work.
The TV was on, babbling in the background when my eye and ear caught a bit of the dialog from a movie that had just begun.
Starring Jane Wyman and Howard Keel, it was what I categorize as an instant stress reliever.
I stopped mid dishwasher loading and focused on the tiny kitchen TV.
I could feel the stress of the morning slip away. There, on the screen, were people who wore clothes that I wore once.
The suit that Jane’s character was wearing looked just like one I had when I was a freshman in college, as did the hat.
The movie was not great art, a piece of fluff that would probably annoy the heck out of humorless feminists, but it had that something that connects with that part of me that finds comfort in things familiar.
And it’s not just movies that do this for me.
Music, especially music from what is known s the Great American Song book as well as a few rock and roll oldies have the magical power of peace.
I am comfortable with these songs, these melodies.
They seem like “forever” music, music that had roots, roots that I share.
Then to there are other “things” in my life that have that special comfort, that settle the situation and give me strength, or something that I can’t really describe.
Right now I am wearing a very old, quite ratty Irish knit sweater that I retrieved from a box of donated clothing almost 30 years ago.
The garment was in bad repair then.
It spoke to me then and I quickly exchanged it for the newer sweater that I was wearing, a sweater in far better condition.
Now, I have washed this sweater many times, but I must confess that the buttons missing thirty years ago are still missing and the raveled edges of the sleeves are slightly more raveled.
But it’s so warm and so easy to throw on.
It and the gray sweater that my mother gave me are treasures, items that bring me something beyond serenity.
Maybe the word I am looking for is security?
I am also wearing a pair of exceptionally shabby shoes that I bought more than 10 years ago.
They are so far from fashionable that you can’t see it from here.
They are slides that lift my feet about an inch off the ground on some kind of truck tire like treads.
The tops are a waterproof suede-like material that is warm, toasty even.
They have served as boots in the snow, clogs in the garden and an all around footwear when I have to dash to the store.
They cost under $30 and I would pay twice that amount if I could find another pair like them.
These are all things, inanimate objects that have a connection to some part of me that gives me, if not pleasure, a sense of connection, and in times when everything changes so fast, they are anchors, hold fasts to parts of me that I cherish.
