Patience

All the studies and reports are right: my generation has no patience. Blame it on the video games. Blame it on the TV. Whatever the reason, I don't have the strength of mind to apply myself for extended periods of time.















These three objects are physical symbols of patience from a past generation. The purple flower on the left is actually a button made out of cantaloupe seeds and small shells. The two turtles on the right are carved pieces of wood. My grandma made these objects.

These crafts astound me every time I see them. But it's not the art that amazes me. It is the patience. I can barely save money let alone cantaloupe seeds. I couldn't carve intricate turtles--I cut myself making dinner. And these objects weren't made in one day. My grandma had to sit and come back to these activities with a determination like a runner in the 26th mile.

Grandma sifted through the Utah sands searching for shells like a gold miner. She protected the perfect pieces of wood from barbed wire fences. She sat calmly making these crafts and waited patiently for release. It's hard to imagine the patience or honor required to sit in the face of such a harsh climate.

I asked my grandma about these objects. She looked at them factually. "These are cantaloupe seeds. These are shells. And these are pieces of wood I found in the remnants pile." No stories about how much she hated life those days. No tears for her abandoned dog Skippy. Just an echo from the 1940s inside her eyes.

She doesn't begrudge the small turtles, the melon-seed brooch, or the situation that created them. She keeps them all in an old cookie box stored in the dining room teak hutch. These small trinkets remind me that she can make it out of tough times. She may be small in stature, and may be dying from radiation and cancer, but she has a patience and a determination forged in the desert winds of Topaz.