Small measure

11/11/09 Measuring cup, given away

Mom and Dad drove over today to deliver a load of wood. I'm a fantastic wood scavenger, having paid for firewood only once in six years at our house. More than a few of our fires have come courtesy of old trees on my parents' property.

We enjoyed a fabulous quiche for lunch (thanks to Joanna) and great conversation (thanks to all of us) before they had to leave. Of course, I also insisted that they take something, as fair payment for all of the wood.

In the end, Mom took an old plastic (yeah, one less piece of plastic in our house!) measuring cup that she said she'd use in her art class. And she actually acted like I'd done her a favor. It was a small token, to be sure, but certainly emblematic of my whole history with my folks. They give so much, and I seem to give so little in return.

It reminds me of my favorite Billy Collins poem, The Lanyard, in which he writes of his mother:

She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.

If you've never heard him recite it, you've got to check it out here. So true, so true.