As I look at the two picture shelves above my dining room table, I can't help but smile. They're wonky and I'll never straighten them. It's not that I can't -- although I do have my doubts -- but because being far-from-straight means so much more.
It all started when my parents came to visit me, and my octogenarian father wanted to do what he does best: look after me. A DIY whizz, he'd devoted his life to fixing everything -- including broken hearts -- for all of his eight children.
His bunch of keys is a testament to this. In fact they can't fit in his pocket as they hold a key to all of his children's homes.
Over the decades he's popped in and out of our hectic households to lend a helping hand when radiators have needed replacing, kitchens fitting, or just to change an electric socket -- I say "just," but I couldn't do that even if I'd watched him a hundred times.
But now, at the tender age of 83 he can no longer put his strength into major renovation projects. Crouching down to chase wires through walls is too much of a tall order. And I can see his frustration. He needs to be needed. And here's where my shelves come in to play.
When my parents came to visit me in Paris (they live in England) I'd tried to prepare a few vital jobs for him to do. Jobs I knew wouldn't be too physically taxing. But jobs I knew he'd feel were worthwhile. From changing door handles, to fiddling with faucets, I'd got some essentials ready. However, my mother also had plans.
A man on a mission
She knew I'd wanted to put up some shelves -- the not too heavy narrow ones from Ikea that are perfect for propping up pictures and photo frames. And, just like my father, my mother is a determined woman!
While I was at work the pair had popped off to a local Ikea -- already an impressive feat for people in their 80s. My triumphant mother came home with two shelves and the inevitable freezer bags and paper napkins. She knew where I needed them. Dad was given instructions and by the time I'd got back home they were up.
I looked at them delighted and so touched that they'd spent the day on this very pressing project. My mother quietly pointed out that they were not quite perfectly aligned. I'd seen that, but I hadn't cared one bit. In fact I cherished the little error in alignment. For every time I would look at them I would see that my elderly father had put himself out for me. He wanted everything in my life to be perfect. And just like that, these two shelves are perfect.
Months after they were put up I still look at them. I smile. I do have the occasional urge to straighten them, but then I remember that for years to come, long after my father will have passed, I'll always look at these shelves and feel so incredibly loved. To me love is not about perfection. It's the thought that goes into every little thing we do for someone, without expecting anything in return.
