They only reflect, they do not accurately inform. They may be flawed, warped, narrow. They are two-dimensional. They do not accurately portray who we are. They only use what is before them, the light, the image, the backdrop. Yet we are so much more than what we see in a mirror.

I’ve never paid much attention to mirrors. I have them, in the bathrooms, over my dresser, in my dining room, one just inside the front door in the foyer. They are only there to let me know whether or not my sweater is buttoned right, or my hair is combed. I do not let them tell me I look too tired, or got too much sun or gained a few pounds. They merely provide me with technical information so to speak, not personal.

Now Murphy, my little dog who recently crossed the Rainbow Bridge understood more of what mirrors could do. If he was ready to get up for the day he would use the mirror to look into the next room, in case I happened by. Then he would catch my eye, his head would bob up and his ears would perk. He would turn to look away from the mirror at me, and I would know he wanted or needed something. So I would go get him. If he watched for me and did not happen to catch my eye and wanted something he would bark, and I would then see he was up and ready for the day.

For him mirrors were very personal. They helped him function in his daily life. And they helped me be more of whatever it was he wanted or needed.

Oh, Christmas Tree, updated

So I have since learned that there are many uses for Christmas trees once they are restored to their natural, unadorned state. They are used in lakes, ponds and streams as havens and habitat for fish and aquatic life; they are collected and shredded for mulch which is then recycled into nourishment for public and private land; one person told of using them as fodder for his goatherd; a local tiger sanctuary in NC collects them for toys the tigers love to play with; and yet another neighbor showed how her children stand the tree in their backyard after Christmas and re-decorate it with pine cones rolled in suet or peanut butter, then rolled in birdseed and watch the birds enjoy their treats through the winter.

I guess my concern was more toward the attitude with which we so casually cast off this thing of beauty that we admired for so short a time. I guess it’s all a part of moving forward, forgetting that which is behind.

But could we not cast off the things of our past a little more gently, if not find a way to keep them in some fashion still useful? We are all a part of where we have been, aren’t we?