Grandmother's Things

These breath-taking sparkily beauties have watched me for a long time. They remember our introduction, long ago when I was a teenage bride. Then I was told to appreciate them, but mostly I just loved the boy whose grandmother had received these glass pretties as a young bride in Milwaukee.

The grandmother, as a newlywed, transported these precious things when her young husband moved her to California. Grandma was already gone, near ten years, when I became the newest bride to accept the same last name.

The lemonade at our backyard wedding reception was served from the well of that punchbowl, with a large glacier of sherbet floating lazily on the tangy thirst-quenching beverage. I had no idea how full that bowl would become with the memories of our lives.

The teapots and the oval oak table have been quiet spectators as gatherings of girls have spent stolen moments during busy days to share from their lives the things that make their hearts beat and the things that make them stop.

Beyond the table and the shiny cut-glass, the mural began as a scene on a greeting card that took me to places I'd never been. Then we found an artist who sat at the oak table and imagined with us the wall becoming a pathway to another place . . . a place of water and wind and wishing. Within several weeks the artist had sketched and then painted the miracle of another world on our wall. More than a dozen years later, in silent moments it still carries us to far off places.

These lovely things have watched us live . . . they've watched me dance through the door, full of a day I can hardly contain . . . they've watched as my man comes through the door with a handful of mail from the box out on the curb . . . they've watched as I've opened the door to welcome people to parties . . . they've watched as the furry blonde dog attached to the leather leash takes one or both of us out the door to the world beyond the porch . . . they've watched as I've sat quietly among them to enjoy their presence while reading, while writing, while considering life.

These breath-taking sparkily beauties have watched us day and night. Today I still love the boy who became the man whose grandmother originally owned these beautiful things.

Good night from Southern California.
Rosie (& Mr. Fun), aka Carol

P.S. The photo from one year ago is one of my favorite blips. Honestly, most of them are my favorites. I love blipping.