What do I do with my time? Well, that’s a GOOD question! I’m supposed to be doing my devotions, but as I sit here in my living room, newly rearranged after the tree was put away, I sit here facing my grandmother’s rocking chair, sitting in its new home in the corner of the living room.
I’m sentimental. I keep things! And this chair holds so many memories for me. I always remember it sitting in my grandmother’s dining room, which I thought was an odd place. It seemed squished in there between the table and the window, but later I came to realize it was a wonderful place for Nany to sit and crochet and look out across the lawn.
I always wanted the rocker but thought it highly doubtful it would ever end up in my possession. Nany had six children, fifteen grandchildren, and I don’t know how many greats. But it came to my mom and now to me. It’s a treasure. So, here’s a little poem, mostly for my family, but I hope others can enjoy it too. Remember the past. Live in the present. Hope for the future.
Wanda MacAvoy
She sits like a ghost in the corner,
Rocking, Rocking,
Keeping her secrets and thoughts.
I wonder what all she could tell us,
If only a rocker could speak.
Six generations of rocking.
Three different houses to mind.
Babies and mothers, fathers, and teens—
All rocking, rocking, rocking.
Purchased to keep baby quiet?
Every new mom needs to rock.
Eighteen hundred and ninety-eight
Began the rocking, rocking, rock.
Rock through the Great War while waiting,
Waiting for loved ones so far away.
Rock when the money is so very low,
And the bills are too high to pay.
Rock when another war steals away loves.
Rock as they tell of their battles.
Rock as the children all leave home behind—
Starting homes with rockers of their own.
Now, the first babe is eighty, then ninety,
Then, oh, sad day, she is gone.
But the rocker stays put with the child
Who stayed and rocked, rocked alone.
Stay in my corner. Listen as you rock.
Hear all the stories of the children,
And grand children, and great-great-great…
And keep on rocking,
Rocking, rocking, rocking.
And bringing comfort to all who know,
Of the memories you hold.
Psalm 90:12
“So teach un to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”
Beyond Common Sense 
How lovely. ❤
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