Little Me

This week has been so full of reminiscing. I'm tired of reminiscing, in a way. But it's kind of fun. The back of this painting has my grandmother's inscription. I am 16 months here. This was painted at the beginning of her career as an artist.

I am blessed that my ex-husband found a box full of her well-kept diaries when we were cleaning out the house after both she and my grandfather had passed away. I read them all with heartfelt enthusiasm, and I know her better now than ever before.

I think that in some ways, too, I know her better than anyone else in my family - even my dad (though he would surely disagree). Her diaries were a treasure trove of insight into the dynamics of my lineage, and they revealed all kinds of things that I always wanted to know. I passed on a portion of them to my sisters, but neither have read them. I don't understand why. Don't they want to know why we are the way we are? Why our dad is the way he is? What his youth was like? What our grandmother saw in our grandfather? How much love there was between all of them? How hard it was for her to cope sometimes? I want to know everything, and I appreciate how truthful she was. Even in her most guarded entries, she still revealed her soul.

I'm seeing a theme this month: real life is a perfectly imperfect gem. Appreciate each facet, however flawed, because it makes up the gorgeous whole.

Of note: Life is ALWAYS difficult. Accept that, and see the beauty in it. That's what my grandmother painted for, I think. She extracted the beauty from a life clouded intermittently with darkness. She learned her craft late in life, and maybe it would have soothed her heart to have learned it earlier - but at least she learned it at all. And she left us with these beautiful, tangible, very real gems.

Grab a camera.
Write a poem.
Scrawl your thoughts in a diary.
Love this moment for what it is.
Live this life.
See the beauty.