Coming back to this place grounds me. It reminds me of where I started my love for color, glass and good music. It reminds me of why I adore chippy paint, National Geographics, and Norman Rockwell. My eccentric taste begins to makes sense, and I feel as though I am a part of a very special club started generations ago. My children experience my deja vu. I walk them through the garden and have them taste the fuzzy comfrey leaves that I ate in ponytails and flip flops, "doesn't it kind of taste like cucumbers?" We sample the fragrant herbs that are growing out of the same earth that I pulled them out of thirty years ago. We wonder over grandma's collections of rocks, canes, and trinkets that have special places on her crowded shelves. Some things have changed... the garden is smaller, the deck smells of fresh stain, but the feelings of love are constant. The food she magically creates is hearty and flavorful. Tools are well worn from decades of labor in the rocky wasatch soil. The seating is plentiful; a cozy place for everyone. Storytelling is an art, and poems or bye-o bye-o lullabies are sweetly sung on the rocking chair. Grandma greets you with snappy kisses on your cheek and doesn't want you to leave...
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6 comments:
Oh, Sara, how beautiful. All of my grandparents are dead, and I so wish I could have shared them with my children. Count your sweet blessings (I know you already do).
priceless.
What a beautiful place. I love the wall of fun trinkets and collections. You are so beautiful by the way.
There is absolutely nothing better than Grandma's house, food, garden, and loves. God bless America!
that speaks to my soul and indulges my senses! I enjoyed the 5 senses with you...I was back at grandmas house! i love it there...
Your post made me start to cry...I took my girls to my Grandma's house this summer and loved sharing with them my memories of days gone by.
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