Sweet Remembrances

Husband and I spent part of our snow day going through the Dennis the Menace closet that was in my office, which is now going to be the nursery. Ever since we moved in, I have been stuffing pictures into this closet in boxes and loose, then when we put a dresser in the closet, I started stuffing the drawers. Pictures are so hard...what do you do with all of them? I don't scrapbook, but even if I did, there is absolutely no way that all of these photos could be accounted for! So - we went through all of the loose photos and I arranged them in photo boxes chronologically. It was nice having Husband to help me with this most dreaded task. The only problem? When we got all done, I looked over to see a small box next to him that had photos just stacked in it. I asked him what it was, and he said, "Random pictures." Great. I thought they were all "random". I didn't have the energy to sort through all of those, so one box remains that is neatly labeled RANDOM.

We found some really fun pictures and spent a couple of hours reminiscing. It's amazing how many memories we've made in our almost 8 years of marriage. We also ran across some interesting newspaper clippings and odds and ends that I must have stuffed into the drawers at one point or another, not knowing what to do with them. One of my most delightful finds was this poem, which was written by the son of my all-time favorite music professor in college; the director of the concert chorale I sang in for four years:

This poem is for you.
It is to be carried into battle and kept
close to your heart.

It is to be forgotten, remembered,
and with each remembrance,
uncovered, allowed to
breathe and see the sunlight.

This poem is me.
Let it love you in its way.

Professor Weiss' son Christopher wrote that poem for him and he carried it in his pocket for years before he commissioned a composer friend to set it, and several of Christopher's other poems to music. We performed these pieces at the end of my freshman year, with Christopher in the audience, completely shocked by what his father had done for him, and Professor Weiss tearfully conducting the orchestra and our choir. What a beautiful relationship these two men shared (still share, I'm sure). I've come across this poem on and off in the 16 years since I first heard it, and it still touches me every time. It is amazing how one can completely forget something, yet when remembered and given time to breathe, the memory is so sweet and comforting.

I think there may be two or three others reading this who may remember singing this poem - and how about Daffodils? Aren't we blessed to have our thoughts and memories shaped by the music we experience? And to not only "experience" that music, but to be a part of the fabric of the music?