Granma said when you come on something good, first thing to do is share it with whoever you can find; that way, the good spreads out where no tellin it will go. Which is right.
Although not a direct quote from my Granma and Auntie; no truer words could have been spoken from the legacy of their lives. Share. Give. Spread. Cause at the end of the day, you know what life is all about? Others. They lived it. They showed me. They spread it. And thus, no tellin where it will go.It's one of those days. Maybe it has been one of those weeks. I probably should have seen it coming. Maybe one of those seasons. I just can't seem to get it right. And when one of those days (or weeks or seasons) seems to creep her doubt into my life, I wonder if I will ever quite recover. And if I do, will I forget the lesson - yet again. I want comfort. I want to be where things just fit. So, I take myself to the place where that is -- to the place I can only go in my mind, cause when I travel there now it has all changed. And I cry. I cry cause it's gone. I cry cause she's gone. I cry cause sometimes change is more than I can bear. I cry cause as much as the newness excites me, the legacy tears me back to the comfort of where I come from. I would have liked to live that life forever, to have made that time stand still. But I can't. So hopefully, the roots ground me back to what made me ... well, me.
This is where I grew up. The farm. Just seeing it makes my heart swell -- and my eyes too. I can smell it. This is where I was raised, formed, molded -- this is where I grew. I seems like I was born with a pride for my family. It was between the 22nd and 23rd chromosomes: green eyes, brown hair, attached lobes, love for the farm. It's one of those mutations. I think it was from the well water. And so when I need a place of peace, this is where I go. (you can click to see bigger)
I take myself back to the summers. When we slept with our windows open. We didn't have air-conditioning and the crickets lulled me to sleep and the rooster really did wake me up - along with mom's lawn mower or Granpa's tractor. Or the possibility of a litter of kittens or hatching chicks. I lived in the same 10' x 10' bedroom for 20 years. This is the room I was brought home from the hospital in. The room I spent the night before my wedding. And everything in between: tooth fairies, Christmas Eves, Cabbage Patch tea parties, boyfriend conversations, proms, break-ups, graduation, college breaks - life. My life. It was safe, consistent ... and well, wonderful. My Great Grandma and her daughter, my Great Aunt, lived right next door in a 19th century farmhouse. Granma had lived there since her weddin day -- just look how happy they were....Granma and Auntie loved me. Raised me. Accepted me. Made me - me. Somehow, me and Auntie had an understanding that most folks just didn't know. I got her. I didn't pity her -- I honored her. I understood. She not only had my compassion, but my pride. To me, she was brave even as she stayed on the farm from fear. She was, well - My Auntie. Auntie loved animals. Loved them. We spent many spring days in they hay barn with another litter of kittens being born. Life seemed so exciting, fresh, simple, and well -- precious. Auntie taught me everyone deserves a second chance. That once you understand someone you can then grow to love them. Cause the root of all love is understanding. Granpa would take me out on the corn picker in the falls. Never talked. But he didn't have to. Granpa taught me when you understand and love someone, sometimes words can just mess it all up.
I miss it. I miss them. Maybe I miss the me I was. Maybe I just have to remember to hold on to the lessons.