The loom, the threads, the colorful bottles, the sheets and summer weight blankets all will stick with me as I remember your beautiful writing about a treasured person in a treasured place. When I recently visited my grandmother’s home decades after her death I went looking for the mint and lilies of the valley that always grew outside her kitchen window, I was looking for something that not changed since she lived there. Sadly, they were done. Violets still bloomed. That gave comfort. That you saw the rose bush blooming was such a beautiful reminder that reminders of your grandmother live on.
All those details...you had your own. My grandma grew pansies under the shade of the shrubs so they would last a bit longer in the heat of summer. She'd press them in books and use the pressed blooms to make cards and bookmarks. It was a 1970s thing, I think, but I think of it as a grandma-thing. I'm glad the violets were still there...they are sweet and small, yet strong.
I love the way your memory of your grandmother and her house sparks my memory of my grandmother and being at her house. I’d love to take time to write down some of these memories. Thanks for sharing yours!
I enjoyed your invitation to your grandmother's house, enjoyed it through every sense. Like your other readers who commented, the writing woke memories of my own grandparent's home and the saga of stories lived out in their three-story victorian house. Many of my dreams also feature the house, but my grandparents made the house the important setting that it was in my life. I wish I could tell them about their influence on me. Maybe I will have the opportunity after death of this life. I hope my grandchildren will feel the same about me.
Why do grandmas know how to make beds best? I remember my grandma's guest bed sheets tight and wrinkle-free, yet so cozy and comforting. Thanks for sharing these memories!
This is a glorious question! But you made me laugh...I'm not a grandma yet, but if I ever become one, I don't think this conversation will be happening with the grandkids when they're adults. Mine will have a puzzled look on their face. "What are you talking about? Grandmas don't make beds well at ALL."
Oh Ann, you took us there, walking through those rooms with you both as you are now, and as the little girl who woke up feeling so safe at your grandmother’s (the sheets pulled taut, the coloured glass bottles ... all of it). So sorry to hear what happened, but oh what a beautiful way you’ve immortalised her home with your words. This: “During those few moments of remembering my grandmother’s house, the old and the young, the past and the present, the living and the dead, joined and lived.” ... so good! Have you read James K A Smith’s How to inhabit time? I think you’d love it, too.
Thank you, Jenni, for all of this. There's so much more I could have described. Everyone in my extended family can describe Grandma's house, from the dusty attic featherbed to the musty, cobwebby basement. And I have not read that book—thank you for the recommendation!
The loom, the threads, the colorful bottles, the sheets and summer weight blankets all will stick with me as I remember your beautiful writing about a treasured person in a treasured place. When I recently visited my grandmother’s home decades after her death I went looking for the mint and lilies of the valley that always grew outside her kitchen window, I was looking for something that not changed since she lived there. Sadly, they were done. Violets still bloomed. That gave comfort. That you saw the rose bush blooming was such a beautiful reminder that reminders of your grandmother live on.
All those details...you had your own. My grandma grew pansies under the shade of the shrubs so they would last a bit longer in the heat of summer. She'd press them in books and use the pressed blooms to make cards and bookmarks. It was a 1970s thing, I think, but I think of it as a grandma-thing. I'm glad the violets were still there...they are sweet and small, yet strong.
I love the way your memory of your grandmother and her house sparks my memory of my grandmother and being at her house. I’d love to take time to write down some of these memories. Thanks for sharing yours!
Do it! It's a wonderful legacy exercise, and a sweet, poignant reflection for our own growth. The key is specificity. Try to remember specifics.
I enjoyed your invitation to your grandmother's house, enjoyed it through every sense. Like your other readers who commented, the writing woke memories of my own grandparent's home and the saga of stories lived out in their three-story victorian house. Many of my dreams also feature the house, but my grandparents made the house the important setting that it was in my life. I wish I could tell them about their influence on me. Maybe I will have the opportunity after death of this life. I hope my grandchildren will feel the same about me.
I'm so glad this took you back to your own special space and people. Thank you for sharing it with us here, Suzanne.
Why do grandmas know how to make beds best? I remember my grandma's guest bed sheets tight and wrinkle-free, yet so cozy and comforting. Thanks for sharing these memories!
This is a glorious question! But you made me laugh...I'm not a grandma yet, but if I ever become one, I don't think this conversation will be happening with the grandkids when they're adults. Mine will have a puzzled look on their face. "What are you talking about? Grandmas don't make beds well at ALL."
Wrinkle-free beds will not be my legacy, either! 🤣 Maybe it ends with the Greatest Generation.
Sounds, sensations and tastes coming alive!
Love each little memory described!
I listen with you “to the soft coo of the mourning doves that perch on the telephone lines that droop across every yard”
Thank you!
Thank you for this! Summer and the sound of mourning doves whisks me back in time.
You take us there, Ann. Thank you!
Thank you for this, Megan...for reading and encouraging.
Gorgeous piece, Ann. Glad you went back there and took us along with you.
I would serve you some Grandma Cookies (as we called her sugar cookies) if you were here.
Thank you!
Oh Ann, you took us there, walking through those rooms with you both as you are now, and as the little girl who woke up feeling so safe at your grandmother’s (the sheets pulled taut, the coloured glass bottles ... all of it). So sorry to hear what happened, but oh what a beautiful way you’ve immortalised her home with your words. This: “During those few moments of remembering my grandmother’s house, the old and the young, the past and the present, the living and the dead, joined and lived.” ... so good! Have you read James K A Smith’s How to inhabit time? I think you’d love it, too.
Thank you, Jenni, for all of this. There's so much more I could have described. Everyone in my extended family can describe Grandma's house, from the dusty attic featherbed to the musty, cobwebby basement. And I have not read that book—thank you for the recommendation!
That’s so atmospheric. And I’d love to hear what you think if you read the Smith book! 🙌
Such a beautiful post, Ann. That rose bush! 🌹
Thank you for taking time to read...and respond.
I wish I lived closer growing up but I can go there in my mind any time at all.
Thank you so much for taking time to read this, Christine. And for sitting with me in my safe and happy place.