I Cried Over Matches

The title of this post is "I Cried Over Matches" -- I actually did.

The one truth about me is I'm selective in my crying - and I can't even figure out the rhyme or reason, sort of. I cry when I pray for mission works and missionaries in persecuted countries. I cried when we had to leave the Romanian orphans at the orphange in Targu Mures, I cry when my mom cries because its hardly ever (she's English - and I guess I am too... as Daphne Phelps in "A House in Sicily" says of having her uncle's house in Italy being left to her -- ""I was speechless. We were both very English and frightened of emotion, so we changed the subject!").

So, since dad passed away, I like to take note of all the crazy little things that make me have little 10 second cries about dad not being around anymore.

Tonight - it was about matches.

You see, dad loved his matches.... Not in a weird pyro kind of way, but he liked to think of himself as some kind of farmer/homesteader and so he would always have matches in his pocket when he worked outside so he could set the bundle of sticks he collected on fire or burn all of our "burnable" trash or - whatever needed to be burned.

Mom is slowly weeding through dad's things and dispensing them to who they need to go to. We've been trying to figure out his clothes. Most of my family doesn't wear his size or need anything that he has so they've passed over almost everything, but tonight, I found one of his favorite outdoor winter jackets. He'd snowblow the drive or put up Christmas lights, or burn the Christmas tree (in the appropriate burning place in the backyard :).

I found this favorite jacket of dad's, that would incidentally fit one of my brothers, and I washed it. I thought I had checked the pockets, but when I pulled it out to put it in the dryer, a little book of washed matches fell out and - I cried. That was SO dad... those matches. It was a good and quick cry... Not heart-wrenching or mournful :) Didn't have any major hurt or grief... But it was a little sentimental and made me remember something more about dad.

Isn't it silly the things that make us cry? Or maybe its just nice to have something to make us cry now and again. I'll take it as a good thing that I cried over matches because it really meant that I was remembering someone who was there to make a mark on my life with silly things like a little book of forgotten matches.