A quote: “Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. It is far better take things as they come along with patience and equanimity.” ~~ Carl Jung
I’ll start with a story …
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Lily was a shock. Kathleen and James had lost track of their daughter years ago. Their daughter, the wild child, the defiant child, the one who packed a bag at 18 and left.
Now the same judicial system that told them it wouldn’t help them locate an adult who didn’t want to be found presents them with a six-year-old granddaughter they didn’t know existed.
Lily is as tiny as a 4-year-old, with eyes that look too old. Lily, who won’t walk across an open floor; walks the perimeter, always as close to the walls as possible, keeping track of where the doors are.
James and Kathleen look at each other. Can we handle this?
Months of patience, months of looking for the key to reach Lily.
Kathleen is unloading the dishwasher and realizes she’s short some forks and spoons. She looks for Lily, finds her under the dining table, playing with them. She has shown no interest in the toys they have bought for her but …
Kathleen goes to the basement and pulls out her grandmother’s silverplate. She wraps up a place setting and presents it to Lily, who is wary.
“Yes, this is now yours. Yours alone.”
Lily carefully unwraps the silver, picks out one gleaming spoon to hold to the light.
“Mine.”
“Yes, yours. I show you how to set your place at the table, too.”
It’s a key. A tiny key. But Lily smiles.
Maybe, maybe.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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.featured image cropped Adobe stock standard license
A knife, a fork, and a spoon. They arrived today, in a little manila envelope, and I knew Great-grandma was gone.
I’m astonished that they could be shipped all these light-years to a newly-settled world. There’s a war on, don’t ya know, and spacelift is needed for the Fleet.
But the Chongu are a mercantile people, and to them, contracts are at the heart of civilization. It’s your mating contract that makes your marriage binding under Imperial law, and a will is a contract with future generations. So when Great-grandma willed each of her great-grandchildren a place setting of the old family silver, it had to be delivered.
So here I stand in the kitchen of our new home, holding these well-worn pieces and remembering being six years old and helping to set the table for Thanksgiving dinner at Great-grandma’s place. We have our own flatware for everyday purposes, so these three pieces can be given a place of honor, alongside the unity cup from our wedding and the other small treasures we brought from our old life on Earth.
Cameron says: Four utensils and nothing else in the package other than a return address and the words “Please find him.” Good. I don’t want any explanation or context that could throw me off the trail.
I touch the cold metal and reach out. I see the utensils being brought out for a special occasion. I’m looking through the sender’s eyes and seeing his son sitting across from him. The family dinner goes well at first but then the tone changes. The son is apparently leaving college and going into carpentry. The father is outraged and he’s treating him as a failure.
I jump from the father’s eyes to the son when I touch the other spoon. I can feel his pain and frustration. He sets the spoon down but I can still follow him since he was in sight of his father. He reaches for his cell phone and I can see the number on the display for a second.
Ten minutes later, I’m on the phone. The son is wary about me when I explain why I’m reaching out to him. The only thing I can say is that his father regrets his words and can he please call him.
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