I woke up early this morning…very early. It was one of those mornings where you can only sleep for snatches at a time. Each time I woke up, my dog was staring at me. Must have been something in the air (but it didn’t seem to be affecting my husband).
I woke up thinking about 6:05 a.m. I could hear her in my head telling me it was almost time. Not quite but almost. My special day wouldn’t start until then.
I woke up thinking about her waffles and the homemade strawberry sauce/syrup/yummy stuff she used to cover them with. She pulled out her waffle maker on special occasions…today would have been one of those days.
I woke up thinking about my momma on my birthday.
I woke up thinking about my grandmother, too. I had dreamed about her during those snatches of sleep. Doris was back to well and feisty and spirited. She was driving a car (Lord help us…she didn’t learn to drive until she was in her sixties and my papa passed away), and she was driving fast. She was speeding toward the nursing home with a car load of family but she quickly told us she didn’t have to stay there anymore. We all knew it was true…she was too well to stay there.
I woke up feeling melancholy as I thought about these women I’ve lost… but then I smiled. I smiled because they were with me today. They came into my mind and heart strongly, more so than usual. They came to say hello.
Best birthday present ever.
My 9th birthday. I got a red purse with my name stitched in white. My name was in cursive, and I’d only begun to write in cursive myself. One of my most cherished gifts ever.
Let me tell you about my grandmother. Picture a petite, five foot tall woman with tiny, size five feet. Imagine short gray hair and sky blue eyes. Can you see her walking fast, shuffling along much faster than a short woman should? I can. And her mind…it was sharp, so very smart. That is the woman I lost in the wee hours of the morning. This feisty, witty, loving woman. She was my grandmother, and now there’s this hole in my heart. I had my grandmother for 44 years…for that I’m grateful.
This past summer I posted about geraniums, my favorite flower. I wrote a paragraph about grandmother and thought I’d post it again. Thank you, grandmother, for passing along your love of flowers and for loving us they way you did.
Geraniums were a staple of my youth…well, at least a staple of my youth at my grandmother’s house. Every spring, her concrete pots would suddenly sprout a set of matching red geraniums. They became a symbol of my grandmother…along with her fruit-filled jello salad, scrumptious vegetables she grew in her own enormous garden, and her sparkling blue eyes. Grandmother was smart, sometimes sharp-tongued, but always nothing more, nothing less than my loving grandmother. She passed her love of geraniums on to me, and never has there been a summer season without their blossoms gracing my yard.
…Maybe it’s the geranium’s heartiness – a quality we all strive for, or maybe it’s their unique fragrance – different from so many others, which echoes my very being. Whatever the reason, I adore them. I will smile each time I see them, thinking of my grandmother, thinking of what she taught us, what she shared. And I will smile as I remember.