Uncle Dunkel skipped rocks:
he scalloped the sweltering air with a stone.
The man was mythic. He clambered up trees after cats,
strode along ridgepoles,
re-shingled roofs like an urban card shark armed with a royal flush.
Hands that were mostly bruises, blisters, and nicotine stains
hammered and drilled until,
cellar to roof, he built you a house.
Come Sundays, Uncle Dunkel folded his lanky frame,
like a daddy long legs, into our corner nook.
I poured pop from a teapot the size of my fist,
he cradled a tiny rose-sprigged cup.
And never spilled.
How fully engaged with nature, tools, and progress he was—and one small niece.
Did I take Uncle Dunkel’s gentle presence for granted? Sometimes. He didn’t live much beyond my 12th birthday. Given the chance to relive a single day, what might he have longed to witness, one last time?
In Thornton Wilder’s famous play, Our Town, Emily Webb, a young mother who died in childbirth, is allowed to relive one day on earth. Watching the replay of her 12th birthday, she’s overwhelmed by each small moment now incandescent with meaning, each friend and family member suffused with the light of promise.
I can’t bear it, she cries. They’re so young and beautiful.
Emily Webb laments how they take each other for granted, never truly see one another.
I love you all, everything! I can’t look at everything hard enough.
So often what we take for granted, writes Tom Perrota, indicates what it’s like to be alive in our times, in our particular culture.
Granted, there are givens—lots of them—never meant to be taken for granted. I can’t list them for Uncle Dunkel or Emily Webb.
So I start my own list:
- God
- relationships
- food & shelter
- power & plumbing
and the list grows …
- maps
- transportation
- agility
- banks
as well as …
- libraries
- doctors
- clocks
- lungs
- gravity
and then, unexpectedly …
- fenders
- Novocaine
- sanity
- soap
- choices
I admire choice words, too, like recherché, for its primary meaning: “sought out with care, unusual, rare, choice.”
How can I better re-cherish what is hourly granted, be it commonplace or recherché?
Where might re-cherishing begin for you?
You might also enjoy: Gratitude: develop, break free, generate life
custom engraved plaque by JWL: johnwilliamlindsay.com
tea cup shared with Uncle Dunkel 60 years ago
My husband’s Uncle Dave was always “Uncle Dakel.” Funny how families rename their kin.
Thank you for the reminder to ‘recherche’ life–My five years studying French has provided a rich source of words to love….I appreciate a new take on this one.
And Emily Webb–wow!
Uncle Dakel—I love that! I’m grinning over our similar terms of endearment.
I struggled through two years of French in college, never mastered the accent, butchered the vowels. Next time we’re together perhaps you’ll grace my ear with some French . . .
Glad you enjoyed E. W. 🙂
Your lists of single-word blessings speak volumes of God’s blessings hourly granted. Inspiring! I started a new journal in March 2017, titled, “A Celebration of Small Things.” In it I note one special moment for each day. The discipline has indeed stretched me to re-cherish the commonplace and rechere. (And thank you for that glorious word, Laurie!)
Nancy, what a cool idea. That book of yours is already a trove of goodness.
Dreamer and I watched the Ken Burns Lewis and Clark documentary last night. Despite unthinkable hardships and perils, over 2 1/2 years, several of the men journaled nightly, by firelight. Even in the final months, the expedition still abounded in 4 resources: guns, powder, ink and paper.
Those last two — ink and paper—move me exceedingly.
Again, you touched my soul. My current issues ( dad, 96, is slowly leaving us) reminds me to cherish his love and memories we share and shared.
Oh Patti, hard hard days, this saying goodby——seemingly by inches as well as years. I know that journey and stand alongside you today. May those memories and the shared history of love and presence encompass and ease you both.
Laurie all that you listed , and our town ,, Oconomowoc.
Yes, yes Oconomowoc!—a small town I love, not unlike Grover’s Corners in Our Town. I’m sure looking forward to the fall reunion!
Thanks, as ever, for reading along and being part of the online community here, Larry. You encourage me more than you’ll ever know. 🙂
I just drafted a blog post about a simple kindness shone to me by the man who works at the dump. Not a place you’d think to cherish. But this man’s kindness turned my day around, Laurie. This post of yours if the cherry on the top. An invitation to slow down and notice what’s here that we’ve stopped truly seeing.
Thank you, dear friend.
Kathleen, you are so welcome. I’m arrested by your recent act of cherishing at the dump. What an unexpected yet ideal setting for a grace sighting—quietly awaiting the harried, unsuspecting spirit amid everyday-driving-around-get-it-done days. I will look forward (as always) to reading your post.
ps It reminds me a little of this Walter Wangerin story: https://www.csh.rit.edu/~ding/ragman_by_walter_wangerin_jr1.htm
This was lovely, Laurie. Also, thanks for posting the great clip from my favorite play.
Dana, thank you. Our Town is a quiet marvel, and I like knowing it’s your favorite play. I watched a number of clips on youtube and especially loved that version. There’s an ongoing Broadway version I’d love to see performed live. And there are so many interesting discussions about the play online. I listened to one panel discussion where Wilder’s nephew reads from his uncle’s letter following the first opening night. Did you know it’s the most produced play in the history of theater, translated into 30 languages, and that every day of the week it’s being performed somewhere in the world?
Ahhh, you got me, girl! This “names” the state of mind I’ve been noodlin’ and fingering, and trying to name. So right on for where we are as earth-dwellers, as wanderers and wonderers. Thanks, gifted friend. You’ve named the heartache, the tenderness of it. And the way forward….
Judith, what a gift to this writer’s heart to learn that I’ve helped name something for you today. Thank you for telling me, dear friend.