Misty Garrison » Gathered Fragments

This is the story of a guitar – yes, a guitar and a little boy “helping” his Daddy bring it back to life.

Steven’s paternal grandfather gave the guitar to his church a very long time ago. He has been gone for some time now, long before I joined the family. After his passing, the guitar had been living with Steven’s Uncle Ted whom we lost a few years ago. When his parents made a trip to California this summer to visit his grandmother for her birthday, they brought the guitar back home with them. Finally, it was in the “hands” of our brother-in-law, Jason, who just so happens to be a gifted musician.

While we were waiting for our nephew Joshua’s birthday to begin on Saturday afternoon, I watched as the following event unfolded before my eyes and I felt compelled to capture the moment as best I could.

As Jason attempted with much care to return the guitar to playing condition by replacing the tuners and strings, his son, Joshua was only too willing to offer his “assistance.” Despite much encouragement otherwise, Joshua just could not keep his little hands from touching his Daddy’s tools, turning the old knobs, and stroking the new strings.

As I listened to the Holly Dunn song, Daddy’s Hands, playing over and over in my mind, I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I was in the midst of a real life music video for that song.

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Blame it on the fact that my parents are getting older. Blame it on the fact that I am finally a parent myself. Blame it on blogging/scrapbooking. Blame it on my new obsession with photography. Blame it on the rain (excuse the 90’s reference and good luck getting that song out of your head now). I don’t care what you blame it on, the fact remains that I have become very nostalgic and increasingly aware of my people and the little, everyday things in life that define who they are to me. I have an overwhelming desire to celebrate each of their persons by focusing on and capturing (in words and, when possible, pictures) all the silly quirks that express their individuality.

You know, the stuff that breeds love and positive angst (I know, oxymoron – but the irritating things can sometimes bring the greatest joy and the most laughter) toward the people in your life.

People are amazing (and a little crazy, as the song says). A blessing worth celebrating. I have really already started with Nicky, Uncle Cha Cha and Eebel – but now instead of entire stories or lists, I want to start focusing on a nitty gritty detail of life. Zoom in, blow it up, and relish the precious gift of “knowing” and “being known.” And, yes, I plan to include myself in this little project. After all, I have plenty of “dirt” on me, not to mention how much my family just loves to use me as the brunt of their jokes.

And who better to begin with than my precious Steven.

You may be wondering, how on earth a stack of books could possibly be a “picture” of Steven Garrison. Let me explain. Steven usually reads only one book at a time; however, on most occasions there will be no less than five and up to twelve books resting on his bedside table.

I can hear you start to defend him already. You say, “But, Misty, you have downsized into a duplex and surely do not have the room for bookcases and such luxuries.” True, very true. But this phenomenon took place even when we lived in the “big” house and had plenty of bookcases. Actually, it was much worse.

Periodically, I would tire of dusting the infamous stack of books, but not knowing which ones belonged or which ones could be “re-shelved” I would attempt to store them in the drawers of his bedside table. But upon opening said drawers, I would find them completely filled with….wait for it, wait for it…more BOOKS!

The man has a problem. I’m just sayin’. But you know I wouldn’t trade that stack of books for anything in this world, because it means my Steven is here with me.

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  • EGG's Dad - Good thing too, such an awesome photo! No book tower, no awesome photo (of a book tower).

    Can’t wait for the RB picture…ReplyCancel

  • Uncle ChaCha - Catherine Coulter? I am disappointed…oh those are Misty’s books on top…I get it.ReplyCancel

  • EGG's Dad - Misty doesn’t read FBI Thrillers…

    Get over your chauvinistic (sorry Charlie, I meant showvanistic)self.

    Just because it’s written by a girl, shame on you Charlie Brown!ReplyCancel

Experimenting with the camera again. Desperate enough to use any subject. Cute little guy, isn’t he? I believe his name is Bradley. Hmmm. That has a nice ring to it. Bradley, the Bokeh Bunny. They call that alliteration, people. I will include the English lesson for free. Because, frankly, you aren’t listening to me any more than my students used to. Some things never change. But let’s get back to Bradley.

Peek-a-boo, Bradley, I see you in the midst of all the yummy fuzziness.

Bokeh. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. (name the author of that poem)

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She won’t. Not she can’t. But she won’t.

That is the official word from the pediatrician today at Emmylou’s 18 month appointment. After answering countless questions regarding her developmental abilities and careful examination of her body when she was standing (holding tightly onto me), the doctor confirmed what everyone in the family has know all along. There is absolutely nothing physically wrong with this child. The obstinate cuss just refuses to walk (and for the record, I DO NOT carry her around all day – just through parking lots because it seems kinda inappropriate to have her trailing behind me on all fours, not to mention the tarmac is really hot in the summer).

What is a person supposed to do with that?

I am sure we will all be laughing about this when I drop her off to kindergarten and she walks into her classroom like a big girl, but for now I have decided to start telling people that she is 15 months old. Hopefully, their amazement at her prodigy verbal skills will distract them from the fact that she is still crawling and her overly callused knees. Leather, I tell ya, they’re like leather.

Humility – gotta love it no matter what form God chooses for you.

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  • EGG's Dad - I refuse to say “like mother, like daughter”. I rufuse, I won’t say it. Really.

    Too much like me.ReplyCancel

Isabel climbing the rock wall at Hafer Park this weekend. She is all arms and legs; no meat on those bones, whatsoever. But don’t let that fool ya. That chick is freakishly strong. Must be all the pull ups and flips she does on her mama’s kitchen island. Don’t ask.

On top of the world. Not really, Mom. It couldn’t have been more than 10 ft.

In case there was any doubt, looks like this one is free of the vertigo that plagues her Grandpa and Mimi M.

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