Heart and hands, warm and gentle

Sitting with warm tea and thoughts of staying strong reminds me of when I would go see my grandmother on my mothers side. She was always a strong person to me, not real big, never loud or bossy to others (was firm only when I needed it) Like walking into a brick wall when you got out of line. She was one to be gentle and always warm hands. I knew she loved me even when it seemed impossable to get anything past her.
"bu' gramma, I want that" I'd say in hopes of appealing to her generouse side. She'd look in my eyes and say "Does it hurt you to 'want' that?" "Yes, it does, gramma, I REALLY want that" I'd reply (not knowing it was the set up for a turn around) "Well, then you best quit wanting it, if it hurts that bad" she'd say in a very concerned way. (That didn't work, how about if we turn it around again) 'Well, bu' gramma, its just that I'd like to HAVE it. It don't hurt to want it, just would like to have it." Then she'd say "Well, then, you can want it all the more and longer, I am not getting it for you." GEEMANEE.......was there no getting around that! That is what made it so special when we did get something from her, especially if we did want it.
Later years I'd laugh at the silly notion of trying to outwit gramma, as I didn't realize at so young an age that she raised my own Mother, for goodness sakes. That was harder to get around but possable, but not gramma.
Grandma should be a good role modle, no matter the times, the traditions but always a soft place to land, anytime.
Wisdom in all its own, warm heart, gentle hands.
Until then,
Lorrie

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
March is coming in like a lion. Will she go out like a lamb? I hope things will settle down now here and I can start leading a normal life where I can heal from longsuffering. It is not easy and life has its pain and its sorrow, but I would like to pick up and go on. A new spring on its way. I'd like to bloom anew.
Read more

Home

Home is where the heart is. Home is where the Hearth is. For me, I want to imagine a warm little cabin in the midst of a small clearing in a big woods. Inside are rocking chairs, goosedown feather beds/comforters, fresh milk still warm from the cow, and bright red skivvies with the hatch in the back. Reading outloud to my granddaughter, now 1, about the old tales of long ago. Where has story telling gone? Sitting by the homefire, telling stories. When grandpa stole the bobcat cub and wrapped it in his coat. The mother bobcat caught the scent and chased him on his cob pony all the way home. The bulldog set up a ruckus when he heard them coming and as the old mother cat let out a squall, the pony leaped up on the back porch and jumped into the kitchen and the bulldog went under the porch. His mother heard it all and cought the pony before it took the cook stove out. Grandpa was a great rider, but with the cub in his coat, he fell of as they went through the door and he slammed the d
Read more