A Sheeny at Heart; or, the Story of How I Came to Be Me
My grandfather was from “the old country”. He was a sheeny. He died before I was born, but when I was growing up, a “sheeny man” would travel up and down the alleys of Scranton picking up discarded junk. Sometimes he was called “the rag man”. Sheeny is a derogatory term, but I was proud of this grandpa I never knew. I became a sheeny when I was two. Mom would throw things in the garbage; I would pick them out. I’m still a garbage picker and our home is full of things both my husband and I have “rescued”.
Both of my grandmothers were gardeners, so I imagine that my love of gardening has also been inherited. My interest began when I was around 8, but I started my first real garden when I was 16. I read Postage Stamp Gardening and began in earnest. I dug my family’s entire (small) back yard and planted every inch of it. I’m still gardening and still learning.
And from my Heavenly Father, I have inherited, among other things, my love of Creation. I never tire of a glorious sunset, a gorgeous view I’ve seen a hundred times, or the breathtaking beauty of foxglove growing in my yard. They point me to God who is the Maker of all things. “For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made.” Romans 1:20.