Pictures of My Grandmother Holding Fish

(Notice the last one she labeled “Bums & fish”.)

I’m left with cloudy memories of porch swings, wind chimes, picking strawberries, handmade quilts, The Best Rolls Ever, and your chickens.  Oh lord, your chickens.  But somehow all of those things stuck and they make up who I am, who we all are, those that came after you.  I wish I’d had the chance to talk to you more, but I was young.  I do want to thank you for raising four fantastic boys and marrying one heckuva fella (Oh boy, I miss him dearly too).  If only I’d appreciated the beauty of a simple life back then, but you understand.  I was young. 

I want to thank you for keeping our family together.  Not only for the Easters and the birthdays and the Christmases, but for every day in-between.  Your home was a refuge, a sanctuary full of family traditions and Things You Just Do.  We may not have that as much these days, but I still love those crazy people.  Those memories are a gift no one can take away.

I also want to thank you for passing down “the look”.  That evocative eye that says so much with just a stare.  I don’t ever recall my father having to yell at me (though I’m sure he did).  All he had to do was call upon that look and you knew.

I look at these pictures, and all the others that are new to me, and I want to talk to you about them, want to know more about your life before me, before us.  So wherever you are, hold me a place on the porch swing and maybe we’ll talk someday.  Or we can just float, and listen to the wind chimes.

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