Category: Jeanne’s Barefoot Heart (Page 97 of 99)

last night found me at hippiefest with hubbie, daughter, daughter’s friend, and a friend of my own from long ago. as we trekked down memory lane, remembering through familiar songs sung by men who sang them back in the day – the names and the tunes familiar if not the aged voices.

i remembered a girl who not only loved to stitch and sew, embellish plain closet doors with collages of photos of things that captured her attention, repaint furniture to suit . . . i remembered a girl who loved to wear pretty clothes (and on whom clothes looked pretty)

(sorry for fuzzy picture – i’m auditioning new cameras, and this one is obviously not The One.)

i remembered a girl who read everything she could get her hands on, a girl who collected words and copied sentences she liked and wrote stories.

i remembered a girl for whom music was a jet plane, taking her wherever she needed . . . or wanted . . . to go in a mere measure or two, music that also provided an escape hatch, allowing her to vacate moods and memories that she wanted to leave. a girl who played colorful tunes on the piano like her grandmother before her.

i remembered falling in deep, instantaneous love with a man who has never once asked me to be more than who i am, accepting (if not understanding) that who i am is subject to frequent change, even while who i really am remains the same.

and then somewhere in the night, i found myself looking forward, thinking and wondering about the future, knowing i did not have to/would not leave the future up to chance. that’s when i decided to do what so many others have done before me: make a list of things i still want to do. so today i got out pen and paper and started My The List.

i was on fire – jotting things like this was my only chance, and in the end, i came up with a list of 3 things.

count them: 3.

oh, i actually came up with many, many more – it’s just that i got all hung up on what’s a real desire worthy of going on My The List and what’s merely a to do and what’s something i feel like i ought to put on My The List because it seems like it’s something i ought to to want to do.

maybe it’s the brownies from last night.

(i’ll explain the pose tomorrow.) (or the next day.)

laughter. that’s the language we spoke today. not just those silly giggles, but good old-fashioned bely laughs. the infectious kind of laughs to which no one is immune.

it’s been a day filled with moments i wish i could just freeze and capture – put in a jar somehow so i could pull them out on the days when i need a good laugh, a good memory. (maybe there’s an iphone app for that?)

there are 3 generations here, the idea is for my mother to enjoy a week with her 3 grandchildren with me along as . . . for . . . well, i’m just here. we’re one day into the plan, and so far, so good.

on the day spent with my cousin last week, it was memories of grandmother that segued from one topic to another. our favorite shared memory is how grandmother leapt out of her reserved demeanor every new year’s day. she’s sit in that god-awful piece of furniture under the telephone (i swear, it looked like some cheap souvenir one of the kids picked up for her at a roadside stuckey’s and brought home to prove to her they were, too, thinking about her while on vacation), going down the list of children and grandchildren:

she dialed.
ring-ring. ring-ring.
“hello?” answered the callee on the other end.
“is this 1-9-8-2? (or whatever the year was)” she’d ask, barely able to squelch her laughter before committing the unpardonable sin of hanging up without even saying bye.

it’s become one of our favorite shared annual rituals now, my cousin and i racing to see who can call the other one first thing on new year’s day, wishing we could be like her in more ways than this.

a friend once revealed that she wanted to adopt her granddaughter, and even though she didn’t ask my opinion or even my thoughts on the matter, i put on my best maxine-self and blurted ahead anyway about what a dang fool thing that would be, depriving that adorable child of an invaluable resource: her grandmother.

grandmothers play such an important role in a grandchild’s life. grandmothers don’t need glasses to see the best in each grandchild. grandmothers don’t need letters after their names to teach their grandchildren the most important things in life.

it was my paternal great-grandmother who taught me to like potatoes and cornbread. mimi lived in the cutest, most adorable house-for-one built especially for her by my daddy and his brother, gene. mimi took in sewing to create grocery and pin money. one of my most treasured possessions is the doll dress she made for one of my babies, all of it stitched by hand.

my maternal grandmother made quilts – one for each child and grandchild. these were everyday quilts – we used them for picnicking on the beach, for protecting precious cargo during moves, and mostly for comforting us when sick. several years ago, i held a family reunion and asked that everybody bring their quilts made by grandmother. my backyard was filled with boisterous relatives, and when the first quilt was taken to the edge of the woods and held up by its owners, a hushed awe filled the air. “she really was an artist,” someone said as we all took in the quilts – one by one – from afar.

distance is important to perspective – there’s no doubt about that. this week we’ve reduced the geographical distance, coming together to laugh the days away. we’ll spend the week creating memories that will grow soft around the edges with time, while comforting and warming us for a long, long time. it’s what i call a dream vacation.

(especially if we all come out of it alive.) (i’m just sayin’ . . .)