So, just a peek into the "window into my life" that my sidebar profile promises is there: My grandmother is dying. Her birthday is tomorrow....mine is Thursday. We are very close. We have always tried to celebrate our birthdays together.....usually with daffodils present.
She is like me. We love flowers....we are both taken up with beautiful things. Her home, when I was a child, was like a museum made for little girls. There were cast-iron birds hovering over glass vases in her living room. There were little dwarves carved from wood hiding on the mantlepiece. There were cinnamon graham crackers in a special drawer that she showed me when my mom wasn't looking. "You know where they are, now" she said. She had a magnificent sheepskin rug in her bedroom that we used to lie on in wonderment at the luxury.....after naptime. Her bedroom had sliding glass doors out onto a patio that overlooked, not a yard, but the woods. Her woods were quiet, mystical, scented, and if you stepped carefully, you might find precious moss, or lenten roses, or pixies.
Birds flocked to her feeders in the picture window. Her home was magical...it had windows in all the right places, letting in just the right light, and displaying exactly what you wanted to see.
The deck in the back smelled of cantaloupe rind, and promised picnics and sunshine and Breyer's vanilla ice cream.
Grandma is the most kind, gracious, gentle, smiling, and beautiful woman I have ever known. I never once in my life saw her become angry. She was very wise. She used to send us money at Christmas and our birthdays.....but when we became old enough to understand, she sent her money to foreign countries to buy goats and heifers for the impoverished people there, sending us the notifications in the mail instead. We were disappointed, slightly, but we understood....and we respected her.
....there was a forest of camellia bushes in her yard/woods. She would take us there and wander about, seeing which one was about to divulge its blooms. There was no grass at Grandma's house. She lived in the woods. With the lillies and the birds.
I grieve as she wanes.....for though I know it's impossible, I had the silly hope that one day my daughters would have her, too. I want her for them. There is no other Grandma like her. Precious lady.
*sigh* I didn't start out wanting to write about her, since I know there are not enough words to tell who she was and what she meant to me. Dear, dear lady. But, that is the way of fingers that type and words and thoughts, I guess.....
More tomorrow. Not so melancholy.