Today was a bright October day. Crisp and clear, with cotton ball clouds in the sky and snow on the mountain peaks. A perfect day for washing windows, cutting down holly-hocks and living life.
In the back of my mind, I knew today was the anniversary of my grandma's death. But it wasn't until I was applying a heavy duty lotion to my hands that it hit me. The cream I was using smelled just like some hair detangler my grandma had in a jar under the bathroom sink.
Instantly, it brought back memories of being at her house. Staying there for a week with my brother, when one of my sisters was born. Holidays with the whole family. Her blue gingham plates. The green wallpaper in the kitchen. Picking strawberries and asparagus. Nails painted red. Aunt Sharon's cigarettes and the ash-tray she carried in her purse. Staying overnight with the cousins. Too many sleeping bags in the living room and the boys sleeping under the dining room table. Arguing. There was always arguing at grandma's house, as ideas where discussed in depth -- except on the Fourth of July, when there would be peonies floating in water on the kitchen table, smelling like a fresh can of Copenhagen. It is amazing to me how that smell can keep people calm. Is it any wonder peonies are my favorite flower?
Speaking of flowers, the hand lotion also brought back memories of the passive-aggressive relationship my grandmother and I always had. We rarely saw eye to eye on anything, which resulted in her labeling me 'a thorny child'.
My dad, who usually had similar ideas to grandma (though he was the son-in-law), picked up where grandma left off and told me I was a prickly pear cactus. "Beautiful to look at, dangerous to handle." He told me they were prettier and hardier than roses, reminding me how mowing them over only helped to multiply them.
That was my family. Honest. Real. Loud. In your face. And grandma was easily the center of it, telling everyone, but me, where to go and what to do. She claimed, time and again, she was leaving me for God to deal with. It always made me smile, though I knew it was her way of throwing in the towel. I never meant to be difficult, but I always refused to roll my eyes behind someones back, when I could say something to their face. (And I wonder where my kids get it from...)
Last year, when she died, my husband had just taken leave of work for a shoulder injury. What was suppose to take three weeks of rest to heal resulted in eight months of therapy and a surgery before he was able to return. These last four months, he has been running his own business, and doing well. So, of course, all of that came flooding back this afternoon... How far we have come. How far we have to go. The time my grandmother came to visit us, and the arguments we had then. I still have to laugh when I remember how pissed she got at one daycare child when he wouldn't listen to her. The first few days she was here, she was blinded by his cuteness... but eventually his stubborn streak got to her.
And then the trip to her funeral. Driving the ten hours to my sisters. Sleeping on the floor of her old house, touring the yard, checking out the foot prints left by the bob cat and the cougar that live on their few acres. Then the drive to the funeral with my sister, listening to Death Magnetic the entire way and wondering if we were being sacrilegious... but we knew grandma wouldn't care.
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| Cuggles, climbing. |
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| I'm wearing blue jeans, my sister, who I stayed with is in the purple dress and my brother is in the white shirt. |
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And on a side note, this is something I really want to make!
The idea is to gather a variety of sky colored yarns and then knit a row or two every day of the year, in colors that reflect the sky that day.
I love the simple stripes, but I don't care for flat scarves, so I would probably use a rib stitch to work it up. I'm thinking it would be best made out of either wool or silk. Probably wool, since sock yarn is plenty available. Now, I just need to get to a yarn store before grey days set in.
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