A Quiet Day in Monterey

There is a mystical element in remembering family members long since gone.  It is akin to the Christian concept of the Eucharist, Holy Communion, the memorializing of the Last Supper.  In the sharing of the bread and the cup, Christians celebrate a mystical union with their Lord and Master.  They become, as the Apostle Paul writes, “members of His body” and at the same time are called to recognize that they are “members one of another” and that they cannot really be whole unless each member of the Body has a proper place in the scheme of things.  When I ponder the lives of those who have been significant in my own life and journey, I sense this kind of mystical re-membering.  Without them I would not be.  They are part of me and I am a part of them.  We are members of the same body, so to speak, connected by a thread that weaves us together.  

My Granddad Milhoan was one of the many significant persons, who for a brief time played an important role on the stage of my life.  I can remember in vague ways the sound of his voice.  I am conscious sometimes of the distinct smell of his body.  I can recall sitting with him in the basement of his home and listening to his stories about steam threshers, trains, Model T’s and Model A’s, mail routes he covered, and the new inventions of the day.  He had a keen and robust mind.  I recall his letters that came in the mail acknowledging me and which always included a little drawing of a pig with a wiggly tail.  I remember consciously trying to mimic his handwriting and still do.  

I have a number of things to remind me of my Granddad.  My mother gave me his high top “baby” shoes and his razor and shaving mug.  I built a shadow box to hold these treasures.  Each morning when I am at home and see those shoes, I re-member with my Grandad.  He is a part of me; I am a part of him. Even here on a quiet day in Monterey I am  re-membering with him.

These are not Grandad's Shoes, but I like the painting.