HORN OF PLENTY
We had a Fall-motif cornucopia on our Thanksgiving Day dinner table – the main one – this year. Two tables, because we are a large family and a growing one, too.
Our daughter, Elizabeth, had fashioned it out of dried leaves of many colors and changing hues, a sprig or two of “Dusty Miller”, I think it was, some holly berries with clumps of those sticky, pointed leaves, some dried flowers in brighter clusters and half a dozen, pencil-sized pussy willow sticks poking up in the air as if by chance. It was all most impressive.
Now, since I am the only octo-aged member of our family, it has become more or less accepted procedure that I be the one to ask The Lord's blessing upon our food. When I saw that centerpiece, I was inspired to do a bit of rehearsal considering what I might actually say when asked to do so. The piece was a paradox, It was dead ... used ...spent, and yet we were to realize that within it were the seeds which were the promise of tomorrow and renewed beauty and life. I drifted a bit and found myself wondering what I would say when the moment came to do so.
It did. The moment, that is. That voice which is to be obeyed said: “Quiet! Everyone! Quiet, please! It is time for the Blessing.” There was sudden hush, as if someone had turned a faucet off, and I glanced up for the nod which was my cue to begin. There was no nod. Instead, two of the youngest grandsons burst into a joyous song of Thanksgiving! It was the old “Friar Jacques” melody with suitable words, and I heard several adult “Amen's” of praise and appreciation when they had finished their song. I don't think anyone saw me dab the corner of my eyes with the over sized napkin waiting at my place at the table.
It is a great and rewarding moment when Age finds itself upstaged by Youth.
It can be a moment of attainment for older folks when we see the youngster taking upon themselves eagerly and enthusiasm whose routine which are suddenly ours no more. I had been through the same thing years before when I came from work on evening and my wife told me I could forget about fixing the electric iron I'd been promising to repair for months, because our not-quite-teen boy had fixed it for her.
We need to mark such occasions in our lives. After all, that's what we have been “bringing them up” to do, isn't it? There comes a time when what we have been doing logically falls to someone else. If they do so, and do it well, we know we have done a passable job.
A.L.M. December 5, 2002 [c475wds]
