In the half light of almost dawn, rain spattered on the pavement, rhododendron leaves shivered under the impact of heavy drops, quietly. No bird song. The steady background thrum of rain on leaves and sidewalk. Dark grey clouds over the eastern mountains split and revealed a just -rising sun, transforming dawn to day. A silent segue. A quiet surprise.

We’ve been going through the rest of the moving boxes in the garage, which puts us back in the decision mode – what to keep, what to find homes for, and what to toss. The shelves in the house are full already, so the ‘keepers’ need to have a special value to earn a place inside. Often, they are packed in clusters by author or topic because that is how they stood on the shelves prior to packing, which complicates the decision process. I hate to break them up. Some are Weekly Reader books I bought in grade school, biographies of Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt, or “We Were There” books about the Pony Express or D-Day. Their true value is sentiment only, old friends that were meaningful possessions once.

We have a lot of those, books of sentimental value that is. They made the first cut and thus were hauled to this garage. I’m not sure they will pass the second valuation. My efforts to hand them on to my children and grandchildren are politely declined. The veneer of politeness seems to be wearing thin and I am reluctant to press them. I want to save one spot for that last book that simply must be saved. This round of scrutiny has been more time consuming. We look at the books, more closely, appraising their value. We find more quiet surprises: pictures, pages, or phrases with intrinsic connection to the past. The choices are difficult.

Most of the “keepers” are on bookshelves marshaled along the living room walls. To Lyd and I, their presence has changed the room. Now it feels like home.

Blessings

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