Such a wonderful piece. Somehow I missed it before. The last two paragraphs...
"My mind might be unreliable and wiggly, but the hard seed of the past split open and memory poured forth in every direction, bringing back to me a beloved, safe place and person: my gentle grandmother, who sits at her loom wearing a simple cotton dress, her thin white hair pulled up in vintage combs, smiling." Thank you for sharing your safe place.
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.
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!
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.
Such a wonderful piece. Somehow I missed it before. The last two paragraphs...
"My mind might be unreliable and wiggly, but the hard seed of the past split open and memory poured forth in every direction, bringing back to me a beloved, safe place and person: my gentle grandmother, who sits at her loom wearing a simple cotton dress, her thin white hair pulled up in vintage combs, smiling." Thank you for sharing your safe place.
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.
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!
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!
You take us there, Ann. Thank you!
Gorgeous piece, Ann. Glad you went back there and took us along with 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.
Such a beautiful post, Ann. That rose bush! 🌹