Hi friends! Keep reading…I promise you this is not a downer post even though this is not the cheeriest nor clear-iest of photos.
It’s 3 PM as I write this. Taking a break after spending several hours on the floor surrounded by masses of paperwork that need sorting and filing. Pretty much every body part I have aches right now, but, oh well. Sat down with a thud of sorts feeling every one of my sixty years and wondered. Wondered about how I had spent the last ten hours of my life -making my body ache over paperwork. Felt dull and blah.
Surfed my way over to Ida’s blog, Wishes, Dreams and Other Things, and saw she had linked up with Kathy from You’ll Shoot You’re Eye Out. Apparently, every Tuesday Kathy hosts this thing she calls SONG-OGRAPHY. She provides a snippet of song for a prompt, and you come up with a photo -your interpretation of said snippet. Or at least that’s one way of looking at it. There are others.
Today Kathy provided the snippet from Pink Floyd’s song TIME as follows:
“Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way…”
Immediately recalled what I had thought when I had eased my aching bones into the chair to take a break not five minutes prior: what a dull day, a wasted day, really. Really? The photo I would used if I linked up immediately came to mind.
The man, Kenneth J. Mount, referred to on the card in the photo, was my son-in-law’s father. A police detective in life. A quiet man of observation; the father of five children. He died on Easter Sunday this year. As a detective -and as a father- he said it was the little things you had to look for.
Before this gets too long: I took the photo to remember the little white flower. My seven year old grandson gave it to me at the funeral so I could keep it, “Forever and ever.” I stuck the memorial card in so I could remember why I took the photo of the white flower in the first place. I’m glad I stuck the card in because as I wondered about the waste of dull hours today, in my mind’s eye I saw Mr. Mount -a man who lived a good life in a small town, quietly attending to what seemed like the little things, even when his bones ached.