| View Blog
|
|
|
A liquid memorie passes through soap and water.
My grandmothers bathroom.
As a small child I remember,
An old spice taupe tapered jar with a metal top octagon in shape, with sails that rose high, calligraphic lettering in blue.
i would open it secretly and smell it's contents.
it belonged to my grandfather who passed exactly 5 months prior to my very own birth.
he's time away was remembered by my existance.
She kept it there as he never had left.
a pink powder puff along side on the shelf sat among the talcom powder for which it was used, this a more familiar scent the scent of my gramma, cooking and whistling teaching me my alphabet through blue fabric marker and stitches, which she later made into a quilt.
a tin candle with a dark hue painting of woman sitting at the piano with a billowing gown, from dana perfume where my mother worked, i loved the way she wrote her cursive "d"
a plastic container of shaped and colored soaps likely given at a shower, never open, and dusty.
a tin secrets container sat in a basket in a drawer, it housed grammas bobby pins, the basket contained handfuls of dana perfume lipstick that when amy and i used them our gramma knew by the stain that was left behind for days. i remember it making my lips dry and the colors were all too red.
my gramma never wore make-up besides lipstick, a house coat over her hand made dresses, her sweaters that i would on more then one occasion take comfort in, my favorate was the mauve one with the large buttons she would keep in the bottom drawer of "uncle roy's" room even though the other uncle was last to go. even now as she's since passed i keep that sweater, with the dolls she's made me. and a pack of cards with worn edges from playing solitare in the morning while her coffee brewed. she loved tomatos, and bread, which she made herself, and the color blue. She was magnificent at my sisters wedding, she loved her periwinkle blue dress and her wedding band the only jewelry ever worn. There was an open door policy, everyone friends or family would walk right in, she had wonderful stories if you could get her to tell them and she always gave everything she had to anyone who needed. Anice cookies on christmas, with icing some without, giant tins full, the entire family waiting for me ( i had visitation with my dad) she had already given me my card a week before "don't tell the others" she would tell me "and don't be sad when you don't get one on christmas" she would put 20 in there for me.. i would argue... she would insist. my sister says it was because we were the underdogs, we came from a broken home, but i always felt very fortunate, never slighted. even the card i keep today holds the imprint of the twenty of the fresh ink from the crisp new bill that laid inside it. I recieved that card when i lived in shreveport, it was a "just because i love you" card. I would call her, she was quick on the phone, never liked the thing much but i would ask her about stains or ants to get instructions so i could hear her voice longer. i moved home i saw her every day, fridays my mother and my aunt and i would sit around her table they would drink beer and laugh about the past, tell me stories i've heard a thousand times before and loved more and more each time. and eat jalapeno potato chips (gramma liked things spicey, tabasco sauce on her eggs). that's really the last moment i remember of her alive, laughing, in her rocking chair, arguing at midnight that she has nothing to do tomorrow so the dishes could wait. me giving her a kiss and going home to sleep. It wasn't the last time i'm sure, but it's all i can remember.
My mother told me today that if we don't forget they never die, how could i ever forget her, she was the love and strength of an entire family and god i miss her.
as i showered today and saw dave's old spice soap it hit me hard, and i dared myself to remember, and even though i cry as i sit here i couldn't be happier for it.
to the woman that burned the chairs,
to the woman who taught me through actions and words
to the woman who was so damn sharp she'd have you laughing for days
to the woman who raised eight children of her own
and continued to shape the lives of her grandchildren and her great grandchildren
to the woman i call my gramma who will forever be the greatest person i will ever have known.
i love you gramma, i miss you, but you believed and so shall i. |
|
Posted by Diaphonous_Me on 2008-03-01 15:08:31 | Rating: | Views: 59
|
| |
|
|
| Blog Comments
|
|
|
|
|
memories ,the one way we all will live forever. Great post DM glad to see some action here, been missing you around thoughts
|
|
Posted by tonyrayhutchison
on 2008-04-03 19:57:16
|
|
|
|
|
sorry I hadn't been by to see it sooner, thought you left with everyone else. thats what I get for thinking aint it?! ;):p
|
|
Posted by tonyrayhutchison
on 2008-04-03 19:58:16
|
|
|
|
Your Grandma really touched your life, no one can tell you to forget she is a part of you and she always will be
and i bet she is very proud of you
hugs hon, good to see you writing again xx
|
|
Posted by missmarie
on 2008-04-04 07:09:11
|
|
|
|
|
|
