You know those little corners, where perhaps the hardwood meets the carpet to the side of the threshold, or in the bathroom where hairspray drifts and dust evades the dust mop, and they stick together tighter than the suction of the vacuum…well, I do. Sitting to take off my boots, I took a good look at one such corner, and found myself remembering the days of brand new. A brand new house, no matter how humble, is something you expect to stay new, until it doesn’t. In spite of diligence to take care of it, living happens. Dents and dings, cracks and crevices seem to crawl over the surface like the evening shadows. But it doesn’t happen while we are sleeping; oh no, we are quite awake – living. Living takes its toll. Every imperfection, flaw and failure tell a beautiful story; we are living. Winning some, losing some, we get to keep trying again. Fallen soup cans dent the kitchen hardwood (probably not the wisest decision we made) and little gaps in the weatherstripping made by fur-friends, join the hole in the patio screen door where sweet little fingers missed the too small handle (what was the manufacturer thinking?). Those and more, prove life was happening.

As I stared into the corner where threshold carpet flattens into the land of sprayed down dust, I pictured my mama, down on her knees, scraping yellowed wax from the crevices of patterned linoleum. I would like to go back to that time, lift her gently by her elbow, up from the floor and into the yard for a picnic. Maybe just sit down and invite her opinion, about anything. But I believe she was clearing away what she could, of life’s ills, and right then it was old yellowed wax. Shiny floors back then meant you had paid a high price, and it wasn’t in dollars and cents. But this is about old and new, so I will get back on track now. I couldn’t imagine that house, or that woman, being new or young; any more than she could imagine my being old. Thank goodness we were too busy living to give it much thought then. As I sat today, for a moment, old enough to have earned a few minutes of meditation, the following came from that forgotten corner.

WHEN OLD WAS NEW

I remember when all of this was new. 

Those corners there, the carpet too – 

Fresh and clean, and the doors didn’t squeak – 

I remember when all of this was new. 

It had a fresh-start feel when it all was new. 

I recall the paint was a different hue. 

Those dents in the floor were once flawless boards, 

Before the living, when it all was new. 

The garage had space, the attic did too. 

And the shingles stayed put when a strong wind blew. 

The screen is torn and the weather stripping worn, 

Yes, it looked a little different when it all was new. 

Everything old was at one time new. 

And we’re no different, we were too. 

Ills back then were swift to mend, and 

moving was easy when it all was new. 

So stand on my shoulders for a better view 

For I’ve been there, done that, and saw that too. 

But when I’m out of gas and stall in your path, 

Wait – there’ll come a day when you were more new. 

Well, I’m not gonna let it make me blue, 

When I feel the changes in what was new. 

I’ll just wait for the call for my overhaul 

And this old house will be better than new! 

Until that time when the old is made new 

And we each can do what the others do too, 

I’ll fix what I can, lend others a hand, 

And remember with fondness when it all was new. Trisha