Sundays start slow and when we're lucky they stay that way. They're a time in my mind to decompress then recollect and prepare for the week ahead. Lots of sitting, some cleaning, errands if we have to...
This morning I played a game of Life with the kids then excused myself to clean up. I saw the dirty skillet on the stove top, now having been there two days too many, and decided dishes were the way to go. I soaped it up and scrubbed with the sponge to no avail.
Remembering the box of Brillo pads I always have on hand but rarely ever use I reached under the sink and pulled one out.
Circular motions of the pad began to remove the grime from the skillet and simultaneously release stories from my memory. Instantaneously feeling as if I was back in my grandparents' kitchen on the Colorado prairie helping my Grandad with dishes.
Wash then scrub then polish always. The copper bottomed cookware in his kitchen always gleamed as if fresh from the box. The same type of Brillo pad now in my hand always the tool of choice for scrubbing.
One memory leads to the next... Dancing, waltz or polka in the living room as music played from the enormous wooden radio. Cow horns and kielbasa. Pounding nails for a penny a piece on the two wooden decks. A dead driftwood looking tree that stood forever that we climbed every time we could. The armoire from Germany with a wooden corner hit so hard that it compressed in to the piece itself and the scar I still bear on my noggin. Polish toast(it's better than French he would say) on Saturday morning and huge egg scrambles each Sunday.
A towering man from Poland who was a stickler for details and carried pride in all that he did. A grandfather who worked tirelessly to impart some of these same values to his grandchildren. A person whom I haven't had specific memories of for far too long...
Circular motions of the Brillo removed the grime from the skillet and released the stories from my memory.
I stared down the the blue skillet now clean in my hands, noticed the circular shape, and smiled. Everything is somehow always connected. Sometimes we just need slow Sunday mornings or other practices to realize how.
Connection, to self, others, our stories themselves; Just part of what we explore in Story Circles starting June 21st.