This morning as I was walking with my girlfriends, we started to discuss how sentimental we’ve all become. As we age, we’ve discovered that keepsakes actually matter more to us than they did in our youth.
One friend was explaining this fact by sharing a story with us. She said she went through a lot of work and effort to make small quilts that she gave as presents to her children or grandchildren. After they were used for their initial purpose and as the years went by, they were eventually used in some other constructive way. The other way she noticed was that they ended up at the bottom of the dog kennel. By the pained expression on her face, it seemed to me that she would prefer her children were more sentimental. She had hoped they would cherish these homemade quilts in much the same way that they were created.
I also shared a story with my friends about my hammer. In the above picture, my hammer is the first one on the left. Many years ago when I was a preschooler, I used to work in the garage with my Dad. He was a self taught carpenter as well as a general handy man. I loved to spend time with him in whatever way possible. At that time, he gave me a small hammer to call my own. Over the years after I became a teenager, I didn’t think too much about that hammer but when I got married and left home, my Dad gave it to me.
A couple of months ago, one of my granddaughters phoned and asked if she could spend the day with us. Her dad was on the way out and he promptly dropped her off at our house. Grandpa was busy hanging pictures using my trusty hammer so I asked our granddaughter to hand the hammer to Grandpa when he needed it. I then explained to my six year old granddaughter that I used this very hammer when I was about her age. She looked at me with that quizzical look of hers and asked “really”. I’m sure she wondered if I was ever really that young.
I proceeded to tell her how precious this hammer was to me because it was a gift from my father and one day I would love to give it to her but I wanted to wait until she could realize the importance of it. I want to pass my hammer along, but as simple and as old as this gift may be, I want her to keep it and do the same. Now isn’t that silly? Well not “really”, at least not to me. My hammer signifies a lovely memory and a cherished part of my life. The words that I write have much the same meaning. My words are my hammer. It’s why I write. I want my words to be passed along down the line to all those who are willing to read them. I have a message. My message means an awful lot to me. Does yours? If so, please join me in song and pass your hammer along.
If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morrrning, I’d hammer in the eeevening…..all over this town!
Author of “I’m Not Perfect And It’s Okay”
Website - www.doloresayotte.com
Blog Site – http://doloresayotte.wordpress.com