Gardening gloves displayed on the porch soiled by years of digging up weeds or trimming the shrubbery or potting pretty pink flowers into the soil. The gloves are always on display, for years they have been draped over the rod…old and faded but pretty in a way. Some of the fingertips on a few pairs of gloves are worn through, yet there they are waiting to be used again and again. The rusted looking sparrow ornament hanging from the porch manages to still sparkle in the sun year after year after year.  Rhythm. Just a glimpse into my husband’s childhood home that has become a rhythm of cluttered memories.

We visited his folks recently. The clutter used to bother me, but this time I was soothed by the peaceful rhythm of good times remembered. The nik-naks have been sitting on the table in the same place for as long as I can remember. There are things my children made in grade school. Treasured memories.

There’s an old stuffed tiger that has lost both eyes and the tail has been stitched back on a dozen times or more. The tiger is still on the twin bed thirty years later. I think every grandchild slept with that old stuffed tiger. There is a silly wooden turkey decoration with lots of holes drilled for colorful lollipops to be stuck in because a turkey must have colorful tail feathers. When my children were young, they were delighted to pick out their favorite flavored lollipop from that wooden turkey decoration. For years that wooden craft has been perched on the kitchen counter, in the same place…without the colorful tail feathers.

There is a lovely rhythm of maintaining each piece of cluttered memory. She–the one who loves the memories–dusts and cleans and puts everything back in the same place. This time when I visited the folks, I stopped and pondered the clutter and was pulled into the rhythm of memories.

Linking up with everyone for Five Minute Friday, where a remarkably encouraging and lively community gathers to write for five minutes. This week’s prompt is: Rhythm.