I’m feeling tired and I’m reflecting on memories of my Grandma, she died when I was 9 and I remember standing by her casket and sobbing, sobbing with my cousin and even now almost 30 years later I cry when I think about that day, and I remember the sticks of Doublemint gum and the $5 bills in the birthday cards, and the brown bag full of small gifts when we’d arrive on the farm, and I remember her setting out pie tins full of kitchen scraps for the wild cats who wouldn’t come near until you were peeking from behind the screen door, and I remember she saved the bacon grease, solidified, on the stove and how she loved the lilacs out the window, and I remember the raspberries & milk and the jam downstairs in the cellar with the paraffin seal, and I remember her jewelry box and how she’d let me wear the earrings, and I remember sitting by her on the brown nubby couch, her legs propped up, she was patiently teaching me how to crochet and I made the world’s longest crochet chain, it stretched for miles and miles and that crochet chain is still stretching from me to her, stretching and helping me remember.
Art of Dina Wakley
Art, classes, goofiness
