Barneyisfat

When at a yardsale, one always buys one item more than necessary. At least one item more than is necessary. I dropped by a church yard sale to buy a picture frame for my grandparent’s Christmas gift. (It’s okay. They’re not reading this. I promise.)

I was shifting through the myriad of frames and pictures when I came across the most unusual item. When I saw the picture, my heart sank in response to the visceral sadness. I loved it at the same time.

The picture is a framed 7X5 of a beloved pet cat. The cat is entirely out of focus. Everything else is crisp and sharp. The artifacts of a strict post-WWII household are clearly visible in the back hallway. The cat looks neither amused, nor interested in the photographic apparatus.

“Who frames pictures of blurry cats?” you ask. “Someone who doesn’t have the opportunity to take a better picture.” I postulate. Today I sit in my kitchen with my cat playfully toying at my toes. But I know this too shall pass. No one will love my Vassya as much as I do. I can’t quite get him to understand that I’m leaving soon. That I’m leaving him behind.

I don’t think my kids, from work and church, understand that I’m leaving them. I’ve lived by my values: Do all the good you can. John Wesley said it before me. I pray that Jim keeps on reading like I taught him and stays out of Juvey. I hope that Logan never loses his ability to confront with truth for the sake of the Gospel – kids have it but we adults tend to lose it.

And my house. My beautiful house at 80 Schaefer Ct.. I begin to tell people my address in Pennsylvania when they ask. My red kitchen and chocolate bedroom. Colors I didn’t choose, but the colors I would have chosen. The open door policy, coming home to a house-full of guests.

My train. I will miss my train. For three years it has reminded me at all hours of the day and night that there are places other than here. When persecution of the fringe escalated and kids were kicked out of TFC for whatever reasons, my home became the underground railroad for them.

I have so many pictures of out-of-focus cats. Fading memories of people I loved whose names elude me. Reading Mrs. Dalloway on grandma Alma’s dock as it bobbed in the river. Waking up and not being alone. Papers and whole classes that wouldn’t even make the footnotes of my life story. These things that I loved, that I never really appreciated as I should. I can’t appreciate them any more, so I hang them on my wall.

I don’t mind that they’re blurry. I’m just happy they happened.