It’s all about getting down to the sheers.
Lindsey Richards Barnes
I think I understand now. My grandmother used to talk about being “close to the source.” Honestly, I did not get it for years and years but now I think I do. Let me explain.
When a child or an elderly person would say things that didn’t make sense, Grandma would say that we couldn’t understand because they were closer to the source than we and what they experienced daily was different than what we went through.
My grandmother fervently believed in miracles, miracles of all sizes, and her favorites were the little everyday miracles that make up life if you’re paying attention. A cardinal at the window was a soul who has left us just dropping by to say howdy and make sure we are okay. She talked to cardinals all the time. She welcomed them like family, pretty much because she was convinced they were family. A black cat surprising you on your path wasn’t unlucky but a messenger telling you that your recent decision or path was a poor choice and to rethink. Right cat, wrong path.
She believed that lost things appeared out of nowhere if you asked Saint Anthony to look around. We weren’t big on saints in my family not being Catholic, but if one could find the cellar door key, then good on them. Useful saints were encouraged to help out.
Animals also had their say at Grandma’s house. If the dog told you not to go down the path to the river, you listened. The dog knew about the copperhead nest you’d never noticed and was looking out for you. If you were a busy person, just focused on what you were doing, you’d miss all this guidance and information. Your life would be harder. You could get bit by a copperhead. My grandmother watched for signals and took them onboard, thanking the messenger and following their lead. She led a life close to nature, not only to center and succeed herself, but to honor everyone and everything she felt was trying to help her.
So when the elderly started talking to a long-lost relative or friend, Grandma would make a pot of tea and take it to them with two mugs, because it would be rude not to include the visitor from “elsewhere.” When toddlers talk to invisible friends, Grandma would believe them. My sister often spoke to Jessie, her invisible buddy, and she would play with her for hours. A tiny bit of research let us know that Jessie was the nickname of Jessica Butler, who had lived in the neighbor’s house 100 years before and had died of smallpox at the age of four.
To teach me the lessons of a world bigger than your eyes tell you, Grandma took my first hula hoop, which honestly I never mastered for its intended purpose, and threw it into the yard. Where it landed it stayed until I thoroughly examined everything that was within the hoop’s circle. Entire worlds of activity were happening right under my nose and toes, and I never knew. Ants putting up food for hard times, beetles looking for water, mole holes, animal tracks, tiny plants, petite flowers, so much activity that I never saw. They didn’t know about my world and I didn’t know about theirs, but both existed. Both were real. Both were everything to their inhabitants. That hula hoop opened my eyes to how wonderful and magical the world can be.
If I never noticed that world, what else was I missing? The middle of our lives is spent on a treadmill of to-do lists and activities. We are so important that we over-busy ourselves until we’re about to drop. Why is that period of our life so frenetic? Why are we afraid to stop and smell the roses? I certainly can’t figure out why being busy is important to us as if being busy is a virtue. Maybe because we no longer get report cards to tell us how we’re doing, we lean into productivity as our standard. How many completed tasks does it take to earn an A+? Are we grading on a curve? Am I on the honor roll yet?
The elderly and the very young are close to the source, close to that from which they came. The new to life and the end of life have ties to a world of wonder that we just can’t experience. They can see and hear things we can’t. Grandma said those people were “down to their sheers.” It means that the heavy curtains between worlds were drawn back and there was just a set of sheer curtains between for those people. That sounds exciting to me.
We need the weight of responsible adulthood lifted from us to participate. You can do that by refusing to participate, which is very hard, or aging into that quiet place where you can see all the miracles happening around you. My grandmother taught me to welcome the strange and different, to appreciate it. I will always choose to live a life with the possibility of magic, of kindly animal visitors, of happy ghost playmates, rather than whatever adult life is as defined by current societal standards.
I will always stop and talk to dragonflies, cardinals, cats, dogs and ravens. I will try to recognize little miracles in my life. I look forward to the days when I can have conversations with long lost friends and family again. Just bring me a pot of tea and multiple mugs. I’m throwing a party over here.
The story above first appeared in our May / June 2024 issue. For more like it subscribe today or log in with your active BRC+ Membership. Thank you for your support!