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Friday, November 18, 2011

View Through a Window

I looked outside this morning through the narrow window at the foot of the stairs in our 91 year old, story-and-a-half, four-square house. The window is a bit narrower than it is tall and the old frame used to divide it vertically into three separate panes of glass. This used to be my favorite window in the house, but the vertical pieces have had to be removed because of water damage over the years; they just became too weak to hold the glass. The window doesn't open, but gives a view of the north side of our yard and neighborhood, more sparsely populated now, since they took out most of the homes across from us to build a small university. The window is now decorated with a "leaded-glass" appliqué that Angela applied this past summer. We're avid fans of leaded glass and the design lends well with the age of the house and brings some character back to the once favored window.

Outside the window to the right is our White oak tree, planted in its present location some 13 years ago after it was found growing beneath the chain link fence. It grows near the stump of the old flowering Dogwood that it was intended to replace. The little tree was the only one on the lot when we moved in. Its stump is a tribute to the strength and persistence of the old Dogwood which, when we believed it to be dead, flowered for an additional six years past it's erroneous demise. On its last remnant of a branch the stump now holds a small yellow finch house that my grandfather made. The stump was the winter headquarters of a small wild-bee colony last year that we cautiously watched moving in and out by means of a small passage burrowed through the wild violets that grow around its base. It was only after Jenni and Angela were each stung by a bee that we realized they had moved in. We never saw them move out, but they're gone.

Sitting beneath the White oak is a round, metal patio table that we picked up on the side of Interstate 70 in Wentzville, Missouri while attending Michael's Special Olympics State Basketball Tournament in 2009. A large white rocking chair that TJ salvaged from a neighbor's curbside trash pile keeps the small table company, like two long-lost friends. Beneath the huge canopy that has been created by the oak I could savor a cup of coffee in the cool of this fall morning, but instead I'm here at the computer tapping away at the keys trying to rebuild my view and feelings with mere words.

A large wooden swing set frame is just to the left of the oak. In the center is a yellow plastic slide that extends from a small deck accessible by a ladder. This small stretch of yard slopes down toward the sidewalk on this side of the house. The slope makes the slide angle more sharply increasing the speed at which one travels, and has been known to cause the inattentive rider to collide with the chain link fence. The left-most end of the frame is dedicated to the failures of tomato growing. It seems as if this practice in horticultural horror has become a tradition with us. We plant and ignore, plant and ignore... most likely a genetic trait that has been passed down from our dirt-farming ancestors. Nevertheless, each year it gives us reason to gripe and procrastinate, and we celebrate at the appearance of the first tiny green orb that appears within its neglected mass of tangled branches. We consider each miserable harvest to be justification to repeat the pattern the next year.

The opposite side of the frame is its most important. Here is where the swing is. At first it held swings and a glider for our kids, much later it held a toddler swing where we enjoyed the expressions on the faces of our two grandkids as they experienced the momentary sensations of weightlessness that came at each rise of the swing's travel. It was determined that a single swing was inadequate to provide for their desire to "whing." Based on ensuing battles over who would be first and their disappointment at having to wait for the other to finish a turn, we were prompted to hang a porch swing there instead. This swing allows us to ride along as the two of them, seated one on each side, absorb this single view of the world from grandma's house.




Just in front of the window is a tray-style birdfeeder mounted on a metal pole. TJ and I fill it each week with wild bird seed and oiled sunflower seeds to attract the color and activity of the little feathered creatures in order to fulfill our own selfish delight in them. We have a resident Cardinal who often scorns the other visitors from above, perched within a huge Mimosa that we transplanted from my grandparent's home when we bought this one. Blue jays frequent the feeder, giving away their presence with a constant cry that sounds as if they're warning of a "thief,... thief,... thief!" Sparrows come and go nearly unnoticed, this due to their abundance more than their silence. They're nervous little things with varying shades of brown, some speckled along their bodies, some striped and banded along their face and head, some with small white tufts of fuzz around their legs resembling the edges of small lacy bloomers. They remind me of the passages in the Bible that promise us, "...yet, not a single sparrow falls to the ground that God is not aware."

The Mimosa I mentioned was actually one of a small group of three seedlings that I transplanted from the front yard of my grandparents' home. We lived there right after my separation from the U.S. Air Force because my income didn't allow us to afford rent in another property. My grandfather was unable to live unassisted leaving the house unoccupied, my mom needed someone to keep an eye on the place, so we moved in. We were there for a little more than two years and Mimosa seedlings were never present in that yard until the year we moved out, suggesting that there was some divine intention that we should collect one as a memento of that place, which was eventually sold, had its house and garage torn down and now stands empty. The last remaining seedling survives beside our driveway providing an enormous green umbrella, thick with the sweet perfume from its delicate pink blooms all summer long.

In Spring during the thunderstorm season, the kids and I would watch the lightning flash across the sky through this frame on the world, safe from the inevitable harm that we knew could befall anyone who was foolish enough to view the spectacle from the outside. We could also watch the water rise above the curb at the end of our driveway and jokingly observe the occasional trash-can, toy, or tire as it was driven past by the strong flow of rain water. In hindsight, I realize that very strong relationships were built within the few precious inches around that window. With their faces reflected on the glass with each flash of light from passing storms or cars, I watched our kids grow up, less afraid now of what they live with on the outside of that window, because then they were temporarily protected from the uncertainty of it while inside.

What made me notice the view on this bright morning was the way the leaves on the oak tree all pointed and shook in a single direction, driven by a long gust from the southeast wind. The leaves are the same shade of brown along the outer edges of each branch, becoming more colored with hints of yellow and red deeper into the tree, as if the cold air of the fall hasn't quite reached all the way in toward the trunk, creating the illusion of warmth in its center. Looking out, I'm reminded of my strong desire to return to my watercolor paints, in order to repeat my efforts here by using the more colorful medium to explain the beauty that has been placed right at our doorsteps and windowsills by a great and brilliant Creator. This simple view is presented to me each day in varying differences of light and color, motion and fluidity, time and mood, yet always featuring the same constant characters scattered across this man-made framing of the world that comes through the window at the bottom of my stairs.

2 comments:

  1. Hi
    My name is Jenna and I came across your site. Your kids and grandkids are a precious miracle special gift, handsome prince's, beautiful princesses and a earthly angel. They are all a smilen champ, inspirational hero, courageous fighter, and a brave warrior.
    I was born with a rare life threatening disease, developmental delays, 14 medical conditions.
    http://www.miraclechamp.webs.com

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  2. I’m completely moved by your post, Tim. Windows are staple house fixtures but sometimes, people don’t seem to see past that. It’s amazing how you’ve had so many memories from the view outside the window alone. I know the scenery and the window has changed over the years, but I hope you continue to share memories with it and with the whole house as well.

    Terry Arnold

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