Just out of curiosity today, being that I was out of the country, I wanted to do a name search on myself to see what came up… The ‘almost’ top story was in my (married) name. I had escaped from the Day – Release program and was a wanted woman… for not returning as required. I was wanted for obstruction of justice and abuse of a minor. Ouch, that’s not very nice! Fortunately for me, I am in another country at this very moment, and these “wanted” warnings were from 2-years ago. Who knows if my shared namesake has since been arrested, or obstructing justice in another part of the world!!! But it makes you think, in our age of identity theft, who are we really, and how protected are we from identity fraud? Even the dead are not absent from this kind of theft. Actually, the dead are even more ‘available’ to be stolen.
No, I’m not a fugitive from justice, just from myself, my life, my family, my world as I know it…I guess that’s what brings me to this third world country in search of peace, comfort, justification and salvation… of course I already know in my heart all of these come with perfection through the Savior of my life. But my rebellious nature and personhood keep me from that fulfillment. And for those of you who ultimately understand this verbiage, you know the peace that transcends all understanding only comes from one place.
Why “living with the dead”… in case you wondered…
First – what is ‘the dead”? Sure, there is the no brainer answer – when you die, fool!
But I’m seeking, searching, asking for something deeper, richer and more challenging from you. Mr./Ms. Reader… do you know what I mean when I say I’m “living with the dead?”
I just moved… and when I say “Just” …I mean 3 days ago. Well, in all honesty, it was from a very small house from one side of town to the opposite side of town, but now I’m extremely secluded and outside of the ‘town’. There is a small stream running next to my home, so I enjoy the sound of running, often rushing water on a constant flow. It is a highlight and a delight that continuously brings smiles to my fullness.
So in all things considered, moving a fairly short distance does not generate too much contemplation… but where I am at this very moment has it’s extreme challenges. Probably for me the most is that I do not speak the language. “HELLO, yes, no, I’d like a wine / beer / water”…. Of course I know how to say the very important things…”Where is the bathroom?” I’m not stupid… just ridiculously in love with the sound of running water, stillness of the mountains, and living with the dead in this far and distant, secluded mountaintop village.
When I peruse my surroundings inside this little abode I now call “home”, I smile and reflect on all the death that is inside these chilling, concrete walls. Please don’t misunderstand, this is not some morbid reflection on all those who have “gone and will not be forgotten”…because lets be honest…most of the people in our lives who have left us months, years ago – they are now still in our heart and soul, and they’re memorialized in many ways, but we don’t’ necessarily think of them constantly, like when they first passed. For me, today, living with the dead was and is more about what those in our lives mean and who we carry them with us today.
As I reestablished myself here, I want to share with those who are dead and gone, but still living with me – and some of them – I never even knew…
First, let me tell you about this very simple, Danish teak table. It’s been hand crafted in the finest wood (please forgive me but my Danish heritage makes me lean toward all things TEAK). Not one nail, all pieced together in amazing perfection, and handcrafted with obvious precision of wood making skill and respect for the wood. My friend’s father-in-law created this simple, yet perfect table. He was a Jewish man who enjoyed creating things in his spare time. His family history was that of Nazi Germany and escaping to USA, South America and avoiding death like so few of his family.
This craftsman deserves volumes of recognition in numerous ways. His son was a friend, he married my highschool girlfriend…their history is part of mine. And now their life is further entwined with mine because their father/in-law lives with me in the form of a beautifully crafted teak table that transported from one continent to another successfully. The irony now today is that my table crafted by the father-in-law came into my possession after the death of the son… Living with the Dead.
So for me now, the meaning as I sit, utilize, admire and contemplate the origin of this simple tool for living space, it holds a vast panorama of meaning as the place where conversations can be globally expansive beyond my own understanding solely because of where and how this table was created. I am living with the dead while I admire this simple piece of furniture.
Cooking with the Dead – To Be Continued….
lisa nester 