- Every Christmas, I tell anyone who'll listen the story about me finding the Christmas presents in the back bedroom upstairs at your house. It was the year you got me and Lisa matching baby dolls. The dolls had pale blond hair and light blue-green dresses, and I thought they were wonderful. You nonchalantly told me those were for some other little girls. . . and was I happily surprised when they did show up under the tree for Lisa and me.
- The giant rocking chair in the front bedroom upstairs is my gold standard for rocking chairs. The upholstered, padded seat and back are vague in my mind's eye, but the tactile memory of rocking in that chair is still here.
- Another memory that dims when I try to focus it is of sitting with you at the end of the dining room table. You are telling me about Sam Greer, telling me a story about when you met him. Try as I might, I can't remember the story itself or focus on your face, BUT the feeling of being loved and trusted with a special story is here.
- You and Grandpa came to our other Grandma and Granddaddy's one time when we were there. I can close my eyes and be back on that great big, shady front porch. Susie and William are there. Mother and Pop and Grandma and Granddaddy are close by in the yard or maybe inside the house with the screens open. You are swinging on the front porch swing with us. To make this flashback perfect, I am taking the liberty of mixing timelines to suit my imagination-- you are wearing that lilac doubleknit pantsuit, and Granny had to have been wearing her green checked doubleknit pants with the orange doubleknit shirt :-)
- You know those old-fashioned roses that grew beside your house? Mother, the plant whisperer, still grows those. Hands down, my very favorite flower ever.
- Gretchen. Another memory. That weinerdog is sprawled across the tile of the dining room floor, and I'm scratching her belly. Blackie was okay, but he wasn't Gretchen.
See, I told you the memories seem pretty vague and wishywashywithtime. Hope you don't mind that I can't capture in words all the feelings that cloud around the memories. Maybe if you come visit in a dream, I'll try to put them into words.
Happy Birthday, Grandma