Things

Wind chimes

I have always loved wind chimes. Years ago X made a set of wind chimes out of varying lengths of copper pipe. They had a lovely, mellow tone in a gentle breeze. They spoke to me of place, of home, and served as a locator. But when the wind got to whipping them around, they clanged like the proverbial “clanging cymbal”, clanging, bashing, clattering, crashing together. I can’t remember what happened to them. I got a set of bamboo chimes—they clicked peacefully in a breeze and got totally tangled in a wind. When I moved here, people gave me wind chimes-the theme was clear—I’d need them to find my way home. I got a tiny, tinkly set from #2’s in-laws, and a somewhat larger set from a fellow at work. I got a tranquil, pleasant set of bamboo from #6, and I got a set of copper chimes from my daddy. Right now the copper chimes are ringing the weather, announcing that the wind is from the southeast, bringing rain. They have a deep, mellow, homey sound, a tink, or a melody on a D seventh chord. I love them.

Treasure the tiny joys, the little tinkling pleasures, the beautiful in a familiar sound, the just-right touch of the keys, the glint of light on a windowpane. Notice, and love, each in its turn.

The Pump Lamp

The pump lamp sat on a lamp table on the west wall of the living room when I was growing up. It was one of those so familiar objects, part of the room, part of the world. It has a brass cylinder for a base, very neatly wrapped and tacked around something else cylindrical. At the bottom is a little spigot with a tiny bucket hanging on it, and at the top of the base is a pump handle which pulls the chain that turns the light on and off. It was always the pump lamp. I knew its name before I really understood the significance of the pump handle and the bucket and the spigot. It just was. It was made by my Uncle Charlie, the real grandfather figure in my childhood. I always loved it, and this Sunday my mother gave it to me. The shade I remember is gone, cracked and broken through years of use. It needs a new one—one like the old one, with horses and wagons forever circling the light. I need to find it a shade. And a place to stand proud and reminiscent. Sentimental—I guess so. It’s good to have things that connect memories to places and people, and to love.