Recycling
“You never know when you might need it,” my
grandfather said, finger-nails cracking red-
waxed parcel string. Bright sealing wax rained down
on the tablecloth, covering it with hard,
scarlet chips. Wax cracked, tight knots emerged.
One by one, my grandfather first loosened
them, then sought the string’s free end, following
it along its snaking way from knot to
knot. Like Theseus following his twine
through the labyrinth below the palace, my
grandfather mused, hesitated, followed
the clues given him by the knotter’s mind.
Set free from its parceled knots and lashings,
he looped the string around his fingers and
tied the twine into a tight bow that he
stowed away for future use. Reef knots, slip
knots, sheep-shanks, bowlines, bowlines-on-the-bight,
he showed me how to tie them all. He taught
me too how to never tie granny knots.
“Never cut string with a knife: untie knots,”
strict his advice. I follow it today.
Commentary:
The photo shows my grandfather’s chair sitting before my basement desk where I write and store my books. I used to climb up the back of this chair when I was a tiny child, and blow on the bald spot on his head while he was asleep. Such memories nesting in the attic corner of the dormant mind. One day, I will write about that. Oh: I just did.
Excellent, Roger. Amazing the things we pull up from the ‘basement or attic files’ when we see, hear or smell something that triggers it!
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Thanks, Meg. Ties into all your WWI memories too. I have his “mentioned in dispatches” letter from Winston Churchill too. And his Oak Leaves.
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That’s fantastic, Roger. Gems of personal history!
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I love this. What a beautiful imagery of your grandfather and the lingering lessons he taught you. And he smiles down…
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Thanks, Tanya. I am working on a book with the central theme of All About Ageing. I am amazed at the memories, most of them good, that are suddenly flooding back.
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That sounds like something I would enjoy reading. I will look forward to it!
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I’ll send you a copy when it’s done, Tanya.
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I would love that!
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We all get recycled Roger, even the few atoms of Shakespeare, Stalin, or Genghis Khan in all of us.
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The great washing machine of life, John. Somewhere, in the universal computer our files live on.
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Ooh! I like that!
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As my other grandfather used to sing (WWI) “and still I live in hopes to see / Swansea Town once more.” And he did.
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That is a relief!
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