Simply Beautiful

Friday, January 6, 2012

THE GRANDMOTHERS’ GIFT

          Mornings are special for me, especially on Sundays. This is my day to reflect and give thanks for the gifts that I have received during the week, but one particular Sunday, I found myself giving homage to my grandmothers.
            It began as most with a quiet morning of tea at my kitchen table, and then a second cup outside.  From a wrought iron rocking chair, I have full view of my sparkling pool, and an aviary filled with Lovebirds that begin their day splashing about in soft bubbling waters.  This day, a treasure among most, continued in usual spirit and routine as Bevva, a chow-poodle mix, rested her chin on my robe covered knee; it was time to meander indoors, and out of the biting cold air.
            When entering, and before meditation, I noticed a plant in need of much water, so without thought, I reached for a pitcher. I have two: one is a small light green ceramic. The other is stoneware, grey with a crest of blue wildflowers, and each, once belonged to a great-great grandmother.
            In routine, I filled the smaller container and began to water each plant with care; it required several refills in order to nourish all plants living throughout the house.   For the larger plants, I chose the grey crock. Satisfied that all planters were filled, I dried each pitcher, inside and out, but with particular care when drying the smaller pitcher. You see, this particular piece required special care to dab softly when drying its base because my paternal grandmother, in her wisdom, placed numbered stickers on all family heirlooms.  With each number there is a matching code listed inside a notebook with a written explanation of who owned what and how it was used.
Like so many times before, I was careful to keep in place the number 345, but that day for some reason, I grew more curious about it. I knew the pitcher belonged to a grandmother, and on my dad’s side of the family, but that is all I knew, so the search was on… Where was the notebook?
The matching number was easily located and included a written history: “My grandmother’s. A wedding gift from her cousin, my mother’s side, ‘Drake’. Used for milk at breakfast or water at dinner. Given to my mother when mom and dad moved into their own home. Given to me by my step-mother, Birdie Low, when I was a teenager.” (My grandmother’s mom died when she was only child.)  Displayed lovingly in the Guest room.”
After discovering its history, I couldn’t help but wonder about the women who used it before me. What were they like? What dreams did they dream? Do their spirits live on in me, or do they feel my touch when I embrace the handle their hands once clutched? I wondered with a gracious chuckle, if when my great-great grandmother gifted her wedding present to her daughter, did it ever occur to her that 100 years later, her great-great grand-daughter would use it to water house plants? Probably not.
I spent the better part of that day researching dishes, quilts, and trinkets, and when I reached for the last antique, I found myself on the phone to learn about Mom's family, and the women whose jewelry I wear.
            Turning into bed that night and reflecting once more, I took great comfort in adding my day’s work to my Gift Journal: Spent the day with six amazing, strong, life changing women: My Grandmothers’.



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