Sweet Memorial

I periodically pretend to clean out the basement, throwing out or giving away things I've held onto long enough – old clothes and toys, storage containers, empty boxes - rearranging the remaining objects to look like there is less stuff down there than there actually is. On my last decluttering adventure to the basement, I found an old metal can that I had held onto for so long that I don't really know how old it is – more than thirty years, perhaps? I thought about getting rid of it, but it only got as far as the garage, where it eventually ended up in a photo shoot on the front seat of my car.

The can had at one time contained Tavener's hard candy, a fruit-flavored jewel-like sweet in bright colors of green, red, orange and yellow. I don't remember how or why I got the can of candy, but I do remember why I've kept it for so long.

Sweet memorial...

When I was a child, my grandfather had a metal can of Tavener's on the front seat of his car. Always. I do remember the original candy in the can, and it is possible he had more than one can over the life of his cars, but that familiar Tavener's can was a permanent fixture on the front seat, just to his right when he sat in the car. And we kids all knew it was there – me, my brother, my cousins. We knew that where Grandpa was, there was candy. The original candies were just a classic hard candy, ranging from bright red (yummy cherry) to bright green (yucky lime – my least favorite...). When the original candy ran out, Grandpa would refill the can with a random assortment of other sweets. The candy in the can was not often what it said on the outside of the can, but candy of some sort was always in the Taverner's can on the front seat.

My brother and I spent a lot of time in the car with Grandpa growing up. He took us fishing and crabbing, out to nearby lakes to feed the ducks. He drove my Grandma to the store, to doctor appointments, and more often than not, my brother and I were left in the car with Grandpa to let my grandmother run her errands unemcumbered by two small children. We were good at entertaining ourselves, but we knew if things got a little frenetic in the back seat, there was always a bribe sitting on the front seat in a little metal can. “Want a piece of candy?” Grandpa would say, and quiet would reign again – at least for the length of time it would take for my brother and I to finish sucking on whatever we had chosen out of the can.

Objects tied to memories are precious...and biblical.

In the book of Exodus, God gives Moses specific instructions about making an ephod and a breastpiece, overgarments to be worn by the high priest when entering the Holy Place. They both contained jewels, as colorful as Tavener's candy, to represent the sons of Israel – objects, but associated with people, the purpose being a reminder, a memorial before the Lord:

Take two onyx stones and engrave on them the names of the sons of Israel in the order of their birth—six names on one stone and the remaining six on the other. Engrave the names of the sons of Israel on the two stones the way a gem cutter engraves a seal. Then mount the stones in gold filigree settings and fasten them on the shoulder pieces of the ephod as memorial stones for the sons of Israel. Aaron is to bear the names on his shoulders as a memorial before the Lord. (Exodus 28:9-12)

Then mount four rows of precious stones on it. The first row shall be carnelian, chrysolite and beryl; the second row shall be turquoise, lapis lazuli and emerald; the third row shall be jacinth, agate and amethyst; the fourth row shall be topaz, onyx and jasper. Mount them in gold filigree settings. There are to be twelve stones, one for each of the names of the sons of Israel, each engraved like a seal with the name of one of the twelve tribes...Whenever Aaron enters the Holy Place, he will bear the names of the sons of Israel over his heart on the breastpiece of decision as a continuing memorial before the Lord. (Exodus 28: 17-21, 29)

After crossing the Jordan River, Joshua also directs the making of a memorial. This one is made with stones from the river itself, to remind the people of God Himself, of His power and loving deliverance toward the people of Israel: 

 

So Joshua called together the twelve men he had appointed from the Israelites, one from each tribe, and said to them, “Go over before the ark of the Lord your God into the middle of the Jordan. Each of you is to take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the Israelites, to serve as a sign among you. In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever. (Joshua 4:4-7)

We are all surrounded by tangible memorials to God's goodness – family, homes, jobs, experiences - that most of us acknowledge in some way the fourth Thursday of each November. I acknowledge an additional November memorial, a remembrance – November 30, the feast of St. Andrew. In the eastern European culture where my grandfather grew up, name days were celebrated more than birthdays. As children, my brother and I were coached by Mom and Grandma to wish Grandpa, his name being Andrew, a happy “Andrej” - an acknowledgment of his name day.* So I suppose it is timely I came across that old Taverner's can in the basement recently. No, it's not the original can, the candy tin that Grandpa actually had on his front seat – but it is the same kind of can, same size, same old Tavener's graphic – and when I see it, it reminds me of Grandpa. The can serves as a memorial of the times spent in the car with him, the presence he was in my life for so many years, the only in-house father figure I knew as a little girl.

Needless to say, the can didn't get any farther than the garage. And somehow, the basement doesn't seem to be the appropriate place for it anymore. When it made its trip upstairs and into my memories, it demanded a more prominent place in my living space. Memorials are like that...

*My brother and I were taught the abbreviated version of a long Slovak saying that was traditionally said to the person celebrating his name day. Roughly translated, it went something like this: “I'm wishing you, I'm wishing you and I'm not going to stop wishing you until you give me something...” This usually earned a quarter for each of us from Grandpa.

One day, you’ll be just a memory for some people. Do your best to be a good one. - Unknown