If you look closer at the bottom right framed picture, you’ll see small photographs of my maternal grandparents. That’s Grandpa Gould on the top, William Wesley Gould. He went by Billie. And sometimes “Grandpa Cow” to us grandkids, because he could make great mooing sounds. He lived to be 98 — he’s 93 in the photo. That’s Grandma Gould below his photo, Fern Janet Gould (formerly Brown). Most of us called her “Grannie.” She was sweet. She was firm. She had a great wink. She lived to be 95 — she’s celebrating her 90th birthday in the photo.
I’ve set up new office over the last several weeks. All part of a move. A move that has me resorting some of the old things to bring along, some of the things to let go of, and some of the new to make room for.
When the dust settles, two of the people that I like having near are Billie and Fern, Grandpa and Grannie. Because they center me. Because they anchor belonging. In what has been the past — values of kindness, hope, perseverance. In what is the present — movement, transition, courage. In what is the future — unfolding, thickening, surprise.
Sometimes the people that come with us are important family folk — grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, daughters, sons, dogs, cats, and goldfish. Sometimes the people that come with us are old friends and colleagues — mentors, fellow dreamers, fellow schemers, people we’ve learned life with, people who’ve helped make us who we are. Sometimes the people that come with are new loves — the simple gifts of people and path that awaken the heart of it all.
I’m glad for a new space. I’m glad for people that come with, no matter what. For the centering. For the reminder of belonging. Sometimes found in a few winks, and sometimes in the distant sounds of a few cows.
Food for thought — who comes with you?