Wednesday, May 27, 2009

What are we made of?

What are we made of? How do we become the people we are today? Do we develop into our selves by what we choose to become or is it those life experiences that get thrown at us that shape us? Or is it the upbringing we receive? Or is it the people we meet and are influenced by? Or is it what we choose to believe about life that forms our person? Or perhaps the places we've been? Or maybe where we want to be? I don't know.



My grandmother passed away on the 25th. I'm not sad. I don't think anybody is if they really thought about what it would mean for her if she was still suffering on this planet. She was a beautiful innocent creature whose fingers created beauty wherever they went. When I was a little girl I got to go to grandma's house every summer and winter. Her house magically transformed depending on which season I visited. In the summer, her garden was a fanciful forest of trees and flowers and berries and pathways with a babbling brook placed in the middle. Breakfast time was busy as she bustled around the kitchen making "Mr. Macadew's" breakfast of rolled oats mixed with an assortment of bottled fruit from their garden. Never were there unpleasantries when she was around unless Mr. Macadew's realistic feel on life penetrated her bubble of happiness. She had a coral pink bathroom, tiles, tub, sink, toilet, and all and it had my Grandma's smell. It was hers. It was always there every time I arrived in the summer. She'd instigate the process of homemade ice cream out the back door. When she got older and bed ridden her spirits would brighten if someone would make her popcorn with butter and Vegit.




"Over the river and throught the woods to Grandmother's house we go!" In the wintertime that was her house. You really did have to drive over a stream of water and through some woods to get to her house, and sometimes there was snow. When I was young and she walked, the house was always decorated up for Christmas before we arrived. I could go on and on about the things her fingers created.




How much of her has affected my life? There is so much I don't know about her. But just being in her home and seeing the late afternoon sun reflect through her collection of prisms on her sitting room wall, the feel of my toes walking on her quiet carpet, and seeing her dusty piles of cards and letters on her writing table tells me that she was there and whether I know it or not, I have parts of her in me.


Meanwhile, as I prepare for another small move to go to her funeral in Utah, the boys and I are enjoying ourselves in this blessed country.

6 comments:

Gayle said...

Christine - So sorry to hear about your grandma - please give love and hugs to your Mom and family from me. I love you guys - Gayle

Aimee said...

What a beautiful tribute, Christine. I'm so sorry for your family's loss, albeit temporary. You'll be together again someday. I'll remember you all in my prayers.

Any word yet on if you'll be returning to us?

Mama Nut said...

I am sorry to read about your loss. But it sounds like she lived a great life!

I popped in from MMB to say Hi.

I wish you a safe journey to Utah (we're having great weather right now). Take care!

Marcelo D2 said...

Grandma Donna was an angel. She always had that nice smile on her face. I know she's much better now, and she taking care of us...

Strawberry Girl said...

What a beautiful tribute to your Grandmother. :0)

Reminds me of my own Grandma with the coral pink bathroom. :D

Sonja said...

What a beautiful tribute. I think my grandma also has a coral pink bathroom!

Your pictures are so fun! I especially like the one of Cinci running from the waves. Gosh! Look how big he is!