It is daylight, nearly 7:00 AM. The garbage truck has banged its way up and down the street, leaving containers tossed along the curb, or nearly into the middle of the street. It is Thursday morning. On Tuesday, Lydia had tea here with Darci, our daughter-in-law, and Gabby, our new granddaughter. It was reminiscent of high tea at The Empress, with cookies, and savory sandwiches, and four kinds of tea. Lydia had set out her favorite teacups so Gabby could choose one. Each cup had a story about its origin and a goodly part of the tea conversation was about the different cups and how they came to be part of our lives.

I could hear the conversation from our study as Lyd described the history of the Depression glass cup and why she only had the one, the rest having been thrown into the garbage by her father during spring cleaning years ago. As I listened, I knew that Lyd was instinctively bringing Gabby and Darci into our family, making a new family. Our history was becoming part of theirs and some day down the road, Gabby would talk about the cups she got from Grandma Beebe and the day Grandma told her stories over tea.

Just the day before, I had been in an email conversation with members of my banjo community regarding a new, to me, pair of singers, who also shared stories through their songs using shadow puppets. I was excited and wanted to share the find. I had tried to explain my interest without going into a long winded, pedantic monologue and, eventually just chose to say they were really good to listen to.

I believe in the power of stories to teach and connect. I taught my entire teaching career through story telling. Once a week I would pull out a favorite child’s book and read to my seventh graders. Like small children, they would sneak up to sit by my chair to listen. For a few minutes, those chaotic masses of adrenaline and hormones, became kids again. It was powerful and magic for all of us.

Tuesday afternoon, as I sat listening from a distance to my wife sharing stories, I realized how truly special that moment was. It is one thing to open a book and share another person’s story; it is a wonderful thing, but it is altogether on a higher plane to have someone open their heart and share a story in person. I can always go back and read a story again. I won’t ever hear her tell it in the same way, with the same voice.

So, I sat back in my office, ate a cookie, and listened as my wife built bridges from her heart and welcomed two people into our lives.

Blessings

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