Tag: family

Spiderman and Red Cellophane

Rachel Henry1 Comment

My dad has always been my most faithful valentine.

He and I share certain challenges with punctuality and housekeeping, which gives me the handy excuse of genetics. He sometimes calls on my birthday to say, “I’ll stick your present in the mail tomorrow” or leaves an envelope under the Christmas tree describing a gift that has yet to arrive.

heart-shaped box of chocolatesBut when it comes to Valentine’s Day, he is always on time. Every year of my life, I have received a red, heart-shaped box of chocolates. The Russell Stover my sister and I looked forward to as children came wrapped in this fabulous cellophane that turned the whole world red when you looked through it. The invention of the Internet gave Dad instant access to See’s, a serious improvement in chocolate quality if not in packaging.

The card in the box of See’s says the same thing every year, “Happy Valentine’s Day. Love, Dad.” I love the consistency. Some might call it repetitive or unimaginative, but I find it reliable and comforting.

As happens to many chronically single people, my attitude toward Valentine’s Day fluctuates. Some years, such as this one, I get in the spirit and hand out Spiderman pencils at work just for fun. Other years I sequester myself away from the adoring couples whose faces might end up buried in their shared pasta dishes were I allowed out in public. If forced to confront this romantic bliss, single people often recover by watching the beginning of Oliver Twist over and over again, the part filled with misery and endless, dreary, gray days.

During those ill-disposed years especially, the box delivered to my doorstep saves me. Inside awaits a pound of chocolate that speaks of solid, unwavering, male love, not the kind splashed across the store aisles and television ads, but one I know will abide, year after year.

Thanks, Dad. I love you. Many unsuspecting, pasta-sharing lovebirds thank you, too.

Get Your Gratitude On

Rachel Henry2 Comments

To get us all in the mood for the holiday, here is a brief selection from the long list of things I’m grateful for.

CornucopiaThe sense-able: the sun’s warmth on a cold day, the contour of a rock pressing through the sole of my shoe, my sister’s laugh, the impossible whir of hummingbird wings, the oboe playing out over the rest of the orchestra, cat purrs, the smell of freshly-baked bread, the scent of the air after a good rain, the way a warm chocolate chip cookie melts around your tongue, the taste of fried squash blossoms or a perfect peach, the clarity of the milky way on a cloudless mountain night.

The less tangible: early morning silences, the lift of my spirit when a hawk circles, the way a wildflower or sunlight through fall leaves calls me back to the present, the impatience of tree buds ready to burst into life, the satisfaction of a well-placed word or well-struck soccer ball, the way a line of poetry can grab me somewhere between my heart and my bones, the anticipation of leaving on a journey, the comfort of returning home, the moments of feeling all is right in my pocket of the world.

The often overlooked: running water, hot running water, cleaning machines of all kinds, well-maintained roads, airplanes, laughter, peaceful sleep, dentists, antibiotics.

The essentials: so much food I have never once worried about going hungry, clean drinking water, shelter, heat, work, freedom to relate to God as I choose, time to create and the freedom to decide the form of that creation.

The even more essentials, a.k.a. family, friends, and blog readers: your encouragement, your support, your humor, your patience, your forgiveness, your generosity, your love, you.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Joyful feasting.

Happy to Inherit

Rachel Henry4 Comments

Newsflash: your parents were once children. Some of you may have figured this out before I did, but the corollary may surprise you: your aunts and uncles were, too.

Last weekend my dad, a couple of his siblings, their respective spouses, and I gathered for an incomplete but very enjoyable family reunion. It has only recently occurred to me that these people—spouses excepted—have spent all or most of their lives together. They know each other in a variety of contexts: childhood, adolescence, newlyweds. They know the stupid choices, the heartbreaks, the brilliant successes, the unexpected joys.

They hold all these versions of each other within their memories and yet miraculously manage not to hold each other to those versions. Forgiving and forgetting even the small things can be difficult—the broken toy, the gloves thrown in the snowbank (sorry, little sister)—and history between siblings is not always comprised of only small things. This willingness to let go is a big chunk of what it means to be an adult, and it is rare.

I appreciate this group’s ability to laugh—kindly—at the way we are utterly and predictably ourselves. My uncle will always pause mid-conversation to find the source of the unusual airplane motor the rest of us don’t even notice. My dad will always search out mayonnaise packets, oblivious to my other uncle’s impatience to get where we’re going. But by and large, everyone chooses to be entertained rather than annoyed by each other’s idiosyncrasies.

After my grandmother died, the entire family gathered at a beach house with an astonishing collection of food and drink. Toward the end of the week, my dad and his brother and sisters sequestered themselves in one of the bedrooms for a few hours. When they emerged, all my grandma’s assets had been bloodlessly divided up, the only item of contention a CD/tape player that may have been worth $100 at the time. They flipped a coin. No hard feelings. No lawyers. Everyone not only still talking to each other but also still enjoying each other.

And that, perhaps, is the older generation of Henrys greatest legacy to my generation: the lived conviction that enjoying each other is more valuable than whatever else might happen.