Valentines Day: 32 Life Moments to Love and a Marriage Reflection

Valentines day comes with mixed emotions for me. It used to be my favourite holiday as a teen. The cheesy mushiness of it mixed with pink and reds was my optimal experience. Plus, it involved happy, innocent crushes and wonderful gifts. I had a protected princess sort of experience in most of my teen hood...and whenever I didn't, I created imaginations in my mind. My inner character is sort of similar to Sara, the main character in the book 'A Little Princess' though I am not as kind. I often imagined the way I wanted life to go and if it was awful, I pretended most of it away. In sensory experiences, I made up a different scenario in my mind. Life was magical because I wished it to be in most regards.

As I grew up and have spent almost fourteen years in a marriage, I have realized that love comes in many stages. There have been Valentines that have broken my heart or when my husband and I had only feelings of apathy towards each other, but there have also been breathless highs full of euphoria and bliss together. 

We don't usually plan for Valentines anymore and if we do something, we usually throw it together last minute. Not because we don't celebrate love, but because, to us, love is in the ordinary, and we try to celebrate it every day.

There are many forms of love. Thus, I wanted to list a few of my loves to hopefully inspire lists of your own, to view life in gratitude, even if tomorrow is spent alone or unmarked. I am picking 32 simply because that is the amount of time I have been alive...I think...(I will have to call my mother.)

32 VALENTINES of LOVE: A List of Soulful Beauty

1. Spicy cinnamon topped on a latte or steamer in the form of a heart. Suck out the spice in life.

2. Books. Glossy covered, worn paperback, tattered and cornered. A symbol of wisdom.

3. Words. Saturating our being. I have a ebullience for eloquence. A dalliance everyday into the assemblage of dulcet lyricism. 

4. Petrichor. The smell of the earth after rain.

5. Garlic. A heady fragrance of vitality and bursting taste.

6. Colour. Aureolin, Azure, Lavender, Burgandy, Capri, Cerulean Blue, Chartreuse Yellow, Chocolate brown, Classic Rose, Ecru, Gray, Harvest Gold, Indigo, Jade, Magenta, Onyx, Razzmatazz, Saffron, Slate blue, Tea Green, Vanilla, Cinnamon red, and deep purple... the sex of the eyes.

7. Song. ' Here comes the Sun' through the Music. 'Footloose' and ' Fishin' in the Dark' these songs are 'Taking a chance on love' with ' Toxic' 'Fireworks.' 'I can't help Falling in Love' with 'Blue Skies' and ' 'Silly Love songs'. 'What a wonderful World' with an "Orange Coloured Sky' and a ' Total eclipse of the Heart'.' Please Don't stop the Music.' ' Enter Sandman.' With ' Sweet Dreams' the music of life echoes Journey's refrain; 'Don't stop believing.' (Yea I realized I am being completely cheesy making up sentences with song titles...I wish I could go on because I have at least a few hundred favourite songs. Songs change my essence while keeping my self grounded.)

8. Down filled blankets on top of Egyptian cotton sheets. Pure ecstasy.

9. Sounds of friendship. Laughter bubbling from the next table, quiet introspection of a comfortable union, chatty excitement, awkward new beginnings and the solace of wiping the tears.

10. Yugort oat muffins with peanut butter and jelly. Pickled preserves and deep rooted beets. Cheese and fruit. Salted dark chocolate. Light Curry and Basmati rice. Smoothies and salted popcorn.

11. The pop of kindling under the reds and oranges of fire. Add an Inglenook. (A cozy nook by the hearth.)

12. Muscles burning from a successful work out/ or making love. You pick.

13. The largest working organ in the body. Full of supple squishy reds and zipping neurones. (A healthy brain.)

14. Psychologists and self help articles or personality discoveries. Unlocking the keys to the brain and life in general.

15. Eye kohl. Even the name invokes mystery and enhancement.

16. Paper. Feathery, crumpled, fresh or stained with time.

17. Hands. Oh the things we can do.

18. Vitamin D. A substitute for sunshine. Loving those happy thoughts.

19. Water. Trickling, Susurrous, rippling, murmurous, labyrinthine,  effervescent, desultory, stagnant, fresh, twinkling, murky or dripping.

20. Laughter. At yourself is the best kind.

21. Creating. From the perfect sandwich to the Mona Lisa. Just do it.

22. Films. From Audrey exploring Rome on a Holiday to Robert Downey Jr. re- creating the moment in 'Only You'. From 'Singing in the Rain' to quippy lines in the 'Philadelphia Story'...'P.S I love you' and woah 'Pretty Woman' or 'Little Women' or perhaps 'Oceans Twelve' or 'Bourne'. Each weaves a tale of delight. 

23. Hope and Imagination. Because life CAN get better, even if it is just in your imagination. There is wonder. Spin in your own creations. Defy expectations. Defy gravity. Be who you need to be. Say what you need to say.

24. Chocolate melting on the tongue.

25. Children twirling in the moment.

26. Lists. Chore Lists and Gratitude Lists and Life Love Lists...and lists to make to break.

27. Pinterest. The world's collective creativity along with your own sparkling individuality. Pin to create. Pin to find yourself. Pin to feast your eyes starvingly upon the world's beauty or all that is good.

28. Sensuality.  "Are you captivated by the breeze from the subway; the luscious whipped cream on your latte, and the velvety texture of your favourite jacket? Sensuality is the ability to enjoy- even more, to luxuriate in- the tantalizing vibes from all of the senses."

29. Fabrics. Damask to Chenille to Wool to Plaid throws...delight in your cozy clothes or burrow into your blankets and pillows.

30. Innocence. Children laughing, savouring a simple moment with simple honesty, allowing the door to open to a moment of connective beauty. I am not speaking of chastity or purity but perhaps more of a childlike pondering of the world. Unlearn some of the crap you have taken in. 

31. Boundaries. The type from Henry Cloud's Necessary Endings. 

32. Weather. Drizzled rain, frosty cold, foggy melancholy, sunny bursts, and windy songs.

Bonus 33. Decor. Colour and dazzle the home or comfort and cocoon it. Surround yourself with only things you believe to be useful or beautiful. Do not care what others think of your home or decor but do what you love because your life and home should be a reflection of who you are, what makes you beautiful and happy, and infused with love.

My Husband is my first love. "Day after day, I must face a world of strangers, where I don’t belong, I’m not that strong. It’s nice to know that there’s someone I can turn to who will always care, you’re always there. When there's no getting over that rainbow. And my smallest of dreams won't come true. I can take all the madness the world has to give but I won't last a day without you...Touch me and I end up singing, troubles seem to up and disappear. Touch me with the love your bringing. I can't really lose when your near my love...one look at you and I know that I can learn to live without the rest, I've found the best."*

My husband has helped carve out a home on this alien planet for me. He taught me that I should not be convincing anyone other than myself that I am fabulous. My compliments often sound like insults but he belly laughs anyway and I feel less alone. He doesn't often take offense because he knows often I do not mean offense. When it's 3 a.m. and my insomnia is out of hand and I start to feel panicky he hears my voice whimper, "Could you please hold me?" His snores stop and he re- adjusts his body to fit mine, tucking his arm around my chest and murmuring in my ear, "Go to sleep Baby. I'm here." It doesn't matter how tired he is or comfortable, he turns. We found love right where we are.

I watch those adorable smile crinkles deepen and hear his hearty laugh. The misunderstood places in my heart whoosh away with the sound of his voice. We are together yet separate on this journey but I could not have found a better travelling companion. I adore him even when I hate him. And I do hate him sometimes...part of being so passionate I suppose. No one else comes close. My husband is talented, wise, strong, peaceful, loving, gentle, kind, humorous, smart, genuine, and full of heart. If even a few see the beauty of his soul like I do, they would feel sunshine and gratitude. Happy Valentines Day my Love! ( Because tomorrow we will be busy even if it is just building our fireplace mantel and staying in our sweatpants:) Darling, I will love you way past seventy...hopefully we live a little longer.

To the rest of you readers...no matter how you spend your days, try to remember the ever green of your soul. That you are worthy of love because you exist. Life is short and long at once. Perhaps with the acknowledgement of love, ordinary moments and blissful imagination, we can make the short days longer and the long days more bearable. Happy Valentines. Find love right where you are.

 

Songs: Thinking out Loud- Ed Sheeran, *Won't last a Day without You- Keren Carpenter, Golden Leaves- Passenger, Once in a Lifetime- Michael Bolton

Side Note: As an early Valentines day surprise my husband travelled to the city and brought me home this!:

Roots: Grandma N: Fresh Springtime, Senses of Comfort and the Simple Life

*This is part three of my Roots series*

(First pic: Grandma and I. Second pic: Grandma's friend and I.)

Travelling in my mind to Grandma N's home, a province away, I am transported back to a time when worries were few. Fresh childhood smells like her house; rose petals, bread, warm carpet, bound books, and burnt metal from an electrical Westinghouse furnace. I would sit in front of that silver box in her kitchen, with a chair pulled up right in front, on cold nights in my slippers and PJs breathing in the furnace's dusty heat. Sometimes older basements contain that musty "old" odour but grandma's house has a freshness I can't seem to replicate. Maybe it was her many plants? A tradition I am now carrying. After years of unsuccessful attempts at keeping greens alive, eighty-two plants now thrive in our home. 

I was inspired by Grandma. She sent succulents in the mail. In front of my home sits a beautiful wild rose bush that she sent to me after my miscarriage. I can still remember opening the brown paper at the mail office and being slightly confused as wet dirt in a plastic bag came out with a thorny stem. Her note with her scrawled handwriting, quick remarks and looped signature warmed my heart. All I have to see is my Grandma's handwriting and I feel more grounded. When the wild rose blooms in the summer, I walk out my front door and breathe in memories. The fragrant rose begets my grandmother's bubbly laugh. Last summer when I was quite sick I would sit beside that rose bush and feel the comfort that happens to me each time I walk into grandma's house.

My Grandmother has never been old to me. Perhaps it's her spry energy that surpasses my own? I can only assume (after watering all her plants) that the two hours of lifting the watering pot and weeding out the nasties has kept her trim. Or maybe her youth comes from the fact that she sees movies like Star Wars or The Hunger Games before we do? Amidst the classics in her library are Lemony Snickets, Harry Potter, and all the new popular choices. I love talking with grandma because we can talk about all the current shows and books. We can nerd out on everything I am passionate about. She thinks I am quirky but secretly, I think that aspect of my persona I inherited from her.

Grandma is known for her blunt statements. She doesn't cushion her delivery but she also doesn't have any intention of hurting anyone. She simply tells it like she sees it, if she's asked. A trait I share. Upon seeing my husband's picture in the paper, my husband asked what she thought, and she unexpectedly remarked, "Wellllll, it's not your best picture." We cracked up. My husband came up to me later and whispered, "Now I know where you get it from and it's a brilliantly funny trait."

In her basement there is a red Radio Flyer wagon crammed and overflowing with Little Golden books in original mint condition. Her washer is a 1979 Inglis and the dryer's label is completely worn off. My Grandmother is modern but not encumbered by modernity. She may have a computer area upstairs but she also has a brown 1964 built in Moffet stove. I love that about her. How she seems to flow seamlessly between tradition and the current now. I can't place her in any time...she just IS. I obtain a great sense of BEING from Grandma.

My daughter noticed how Grandma often hoots at something I will say and chuckles, "Oh (insert my birth name here)." It's said in a endearing sort of way and I feel six again (but in a good way.) My children only get to see Grandma about once every year or two, but this statement has been memorable enough to stick in my twelve year old's heart.

On my children's birthday's Grandma often sends a classic book with a hand scrawled note or a bit of cash. At Christmas time the note was simply, "To P and K and children three. Grandma." The kids love spending time discussing the latest books with her or having her read a story. The last time she visited, she read them a book she often read to me as a child called, "Caps for Sale." In the same reading voice she used on me at night, when I lived with her as a child, she read to them. I was struck with nostalgia. I choked up and had to leave the room because I was overwhelmed with the beauty of the past and the present encompassed in Grandma's voice.

 (Caption: Grandma N and my daughter carrying on tradition. Below: Grandma reading in her basement with my three kids.)

Grandma N is trendy and a collector of beautiful things. She is a skilled garage sale enthusiast and has taught me to be thrifty. I can not pay over a certain amount for anything. She taught me how to make beautiful gifts out of re purposed items. Half of my house is furnished with vintage or thrift finds. She loved her crystal collections and tea cups. On many of my birthdays she would send me a very breakable crystal item bubble wrapped in the mail. It's always a delight to discover that these items were one of the many I took out to dust or admire in her Dinning Room cabinet. Washing dishes was a sacred event at Grandma's. Through her window one can gaze on lovely juniper, rose and fern arrangements and trees complete with fairy tale doors. Grandma is a gifted gardener and her yard is a stunning work of art in an unexpected place. I have memories of  washing dishes while the sudsy bubbles crept up my arms and my fingers caressed delicate flower shaped bowls, crystal china, and mismatched tea sets. Her eclectic collection dried in the rack and brightened the room with bold, creamy colours, birded coffee cups, and deep blue hues. My eldest son says blue reminds him of Grandma. Yes, deep calming blue and fun whimsical light blue all beget my Grandmother. After dinner I anticipated the dishes with great excitement because of the sensory appeal...something that doesn't happen in my own home.

(Caption: Above my three children in a part of grandma's garden. Below; A corner of blue in grandma's house.)

Her house is steeped in memories and sentimentality. There are so many artifacts in her house that I want and cherish. I have committed many of her items to memory because to me they are not just items...they are pieces of Grandma. Bits of her soul infused into aspects of home that carry her beauty and my childhood to me.

Grandma's husband died when my father was 17. Grandma birthed five children while serving as a pastor's wife. In those days that role demanded way more than it does today ( and that is saying a lot) and often she would have to come up with meals for company when she could barely feed her own kids. Grandma's meals are often distinctly Romanian. I can picture her cinnamon rolls, pies, meats, sausages and peroggies and borscht. They had an interesting life and I never tire of my father and his sibling's legendary stories.

I lived in Grandma's basement in my formative years while my dad tree planted. I had a little room in the corner with a hammock of stuffies above my head and a stack of books beside my bed. Grandma would often tuck me in and read to me story after story. She started my love affair with books.

(Caption: My sister and I with my cousin, grandma and brother)

After  my birth family  moved to the prairies, we made the trek through the Rockies during the summers. Recently, to the relief of her five children and to my horror she ripped out her speckled shag carpet. I loved that carpet. I asked for a corner of it when they tore it out. The carpet was cozy and warm, a luxury experience for the feet when we did not happen upon sewing needles first. Her carpet downstairs is soft velvet and the rec room boasts a sandpaper silk feel. The stairs gave an air bubble squeak that emanated feelings of homeyness. I was overwhelmed with pure delight with just the ordinary task of walking on that carpet. I have yet to visit her home with the new carpet but I am sure it will shock and sadden me a tad.

A few years ago, my daughter walked through Grandma's home and garden and declared the same things I have said since I was two: "I want to live here forever," "Oh I love this room," "Oh how beautiful." She sensed the mystical background that encompasses the property, she felt the memories press up against her and her little mind was already picking up the sacredness of tradition. The sensory experience grounds me but it also gives me courage to LIVE. No other place casts it's spell so effectively. If I could move this place next door to my home I would in a heartbeat.

(Caption: my daughter, mother, sister, husband and I with my cousin on the end...basically my other sister. I have a cousin on each side that is an only child and both of them practically grew up with us and my children call them aunties.)

Grandma N is in her seventies. She regularly gardens and she is more up to date on current trends then I am. She loves her life. She is spry, she is grey, and she is classy. Her style is distinct. I wish I could pull off that look so beautifully. She often wears turtle necks or button up collared shirts with fantastic jewelry. I can often hear her bracelets clink as she walks. I can visualize her strong yet soft fingers run down the chain on her neck as she adjusts the latest charm she is wearing or her patting her silver hair down gently as it stylishly curves around her chin. I can hear the soft fabrics of her clothes as she moves and sometimes the cracking of her knees from her years of gardening. Her jewelery choices are often classy gold or silver pieces chosen specifically for each outfit. When I was a child she often sewed me outfits for Christmas. I felt so special in all of them and I loved her button collection. I would often ask to look at her sewing stuff to see all the sparkles and shiny thimbles. She made a Paddington shirt with metal Paddington buttons for my brother and she often would sew little Barbie outfits for me. I have one beautiful silk blue cloak for a barbie with silver edging that she created. I felt like my Barbie's were so unique and stylish because of her contributions. We could not afford a lot of Barbie clothes when I was little and Grandma supplied me with a huge bag of outfits I adored.

When I asked each of my children to say what they think of when I mention Grandma N my eldest son replied with; "Tea, blue, roses and her laugh."  My youngest smiled and said, "Funny!"  My daughter replied, "You and your quirkiness. Her laugh is my favourite... sewing, books, fluffy carpets and trees." Grandma is like Springtime to me. She is fresh, vibrant and brings feelings of hope and creativity with her. I recall moments when I was little of sitting in her bathtub and studying the brown and pink tile patterns surrounded by bubbles. Afterwards, my three year old self would be wrapped snuggly in a towel and would be plopped in front of the warm fire in the living room. It was fantastic.

Grandma is young at heart and she passes on that youthful spirit to myself and my children. She is truly alive and gave me a head start in the embracing life department. She makes me feel like spring has sprung. "Every time I see her face I'm such a happy individual."

"Remember is a place from long ago.  Remember, filled with everything you know. Remember, when you're sad and feeling down. Remember life is just a memory. Remember close your eyes and you can see. Remember, think of all that life can be. Remember."*

 I simply have to visualize Grandma's laugh or home or hear her voice in my mind when I am feeling low and once again the beauty of the simple life becomes mine. What memories of yours bring youth and comfort?

Songs that remind me of Grandma N: *Remember by Harry Nilsson, Young at Heart- Michael Buble, You Make Me Feel So Young- Frank Sinatra, Give me the Simple Life- Steve Tyrell.

Roots; Grandma T: Coffee, Cinnamon, Vinegar and Pickling Spice

*This is part two of my Roots series* As of 2018 my grandparents have been married 59 years. As of 2020 my grandma passed away .

There is an aspect of home that can only be found in a smell. I am lucky that my memories associated with this are pleasant ones. The aroma of brewed coffee says, "You're safe, you're home, breath it in." The sharp tang of vinegar carries reminders of pickled beets canning and the changing season of fall. Cinnamon speaks of Thanksgiving and Comfort. Onions tell a tale of richness, satisfying nutrients, and a hearty hearth begging the question of what is under the silver lid. Since I have been five, Grandma T's house has always been less than a few blocks away. Currently, she lives in the front suite of my parents home. Each time I walk to that house I can smell the rich taste of home from the driveway tempting me to stop in and see what is cooking or baking, even if I can not eat it due to dietary needs, the smells alone are divine and a comfort to me. It takes a few minutes in her home to feel balanced again. I just need to breathe the air, say a quick hi to grandma, and go out the door feeling lighter than I was before.

(My mom painted the cowboy on my grandma's bottom shelf- amazing hey?)

My children spend massive amounts of time over at my grandparents suite. My grandparents are still vital and babysit...the benefit of generations marrying young. When my eldest son was seven years old, he sniffed the air outside my grandma T's home and chirped, "It smells like Christmas...you know? That smell of coziness, and the sound of grandma's old country music, and grandma's stove beeping." I was so pleased that he noticed in detail what I have treasured my whole life. Grandma was canning pickled beets. Pickling spice smells like Autumn. Every fall she loads up boxes of beets, pickles, peaches, pears and salsa ingredients and sets to work for days of boiling and mixing. I tried to learn a few times but it never took. I was an epic fail due to Dyspraxia.

(My paternal grandma, hubby and I, Grandpa and Grandma T, my two eldest and my little sister about a decade ago.)

Grandma T is the epitome of the 1950's housewife. Each supper, after slaving away to make a detailed meal that always consists of either potatoes or rice, a canned or frozen vegetable, salad, buns or bread, the main dish, and of course some sort of dessert, she serves my grandpa. I can not remember a time when she does not say, "I need to dish out your grandfather. I know what he likes." Then she TAKES it to him while he sits in his favourite spot waiting. My husband will never receive that level of service from the kitchen!:)

Before one jumps to the conclusion that my grandpa is a chauvinist I need to say that despite some old fashioned ways, he is often the best advocate of women's choice. The 1950's interaction is just their way and grandma LOVES it. If she didn't - I would have a problem with it- but her acts of love revolve around serving and kitchen. She gets depressed if she can not help others in this way. She is amazing and Grandpa is lucky. Grandpa likes to take care of everything else like the garbages, shovelling ect. They have been doing this dance for fifty plus years. Time has had no pull on their roles because they both love what they do on most days.

Cabbage Rolls, grandma's recipe, are the epitome of comfort. My grandmother feeds our family on average once a week. When we were younger and didn't have the healthy food groove we have now, grandma's was usually the only time we would have a full warm meal. Her simple english type comfort food is full of roots and stability. Not only did my children need her meals but it became a welcome respite for a young mom. My eldest son often sighs, "Oh how I love grandma's meals. They are my most favourite." There was a sense of stability and routine that we are unable to give ourselves. It's a different sort of magic than the self discovery and enhancement that went on in our home. In the early years our home smelled like books, paper, bounce, crayons and lavender. Now I can add the smells of nutritious baking from the children and I, and my husband's wonderful cooking, but grandma supplemented until we could slowly find our own foundations.

Grandma would host many of my friends for sleepovers growing up. We loved being doted on by her and watching oldies and musicals and chatting about the "olden days." All my friends growing up called them "Grandma and Grandpa T." We had sleepovers, meals and conversations. As my friends aged, despite their strong faith, my grandparents never pressured them with bible studies or god speak. Instead they teased, accepted, aided, and comforted. Their form of faith often went unspoken. Because of that, teenagers flocked to their home to hear grandpa's old trucker stories and bar brawls and to stare at the wrinkled almost naked woman tattoo on his forearm (from pre grandma days.) They came to be fed comfort food and be clucked over by grandma continually filling their glasses and offering another piece of home made pie. It was a place of acceptance yet the verses on the wall and the bible with the glasses set upon it also told their story too.  

Grandma has a distinct style that I have not seen replicated. Like all women from her time era Grandma has a china cabinet full of treasured glass knick knacks and tea cups, but what most women do not own from that era is moose dolls and Indian statues. Their home is full of Native symbolism, backwoods decor, and memorabilia of their rustic homes. They were always really poor, living in shanty homes and struggling to get by. This last year we surprised them while they were spending the summer in the Okanagan and painted the walls, re decorated and built them a shed.

 Before: Stark white walls                                     After: Coloured walls (it's tough to tell in the light but the paint is a golden creme colour)

Grandma cried. When decorating I tried to honour her country roots and keep the essence of her and all of her many knick knacks showcased in various ways around the room. I can not see a Moose without thinking of my grandparents. Grandma values history, connections and gifts. Her love languages are acts of service and gifting through meals, baking and pretty things. Christmas is her favourite holiday and she treasures every gift she receives. She places gifts under her tree for weeks or sets them on her couch to show all of us what she received and from whom. Going out of her way and budget, she tries to find the perfect gift for all of those she loves. She helped bring magic into my life. Every time they came back from a trip to BC they brought me a gift...she still does even though I am over thirty...and she carries that tradition with my children. Tinseled 1940's trees remind me of grandma and the breakable hand painted decor. Grandma IS christmas. 1940's crooners also bring up my fond Christmas memories revolving around my parents and grandparents. Nat King Cole crooning "The Christmas Song" feels like a deep part of my soul.

Grandma T has struggled with damaging health issues her entire life, spending weeks in the hospital yet she is one of the strongest, toughest people I know. She lives with pain everyday but that pain does not stop her from serving others, being active and investing in those she loves. If a person she knows is sick grandma is the first person to offer a meal, a hand at chores or her presence...even if she is also sick herself. I often joke to my husband that my grandma in her seventies has more strength and energy than I do. Actually, it's not a joke... she does. She is made of stronger stuff than I am and my LAST talent is acts of service. I am not that girl. But I hope that a bit of her has rubbed off on me in varied ways in that department in ways that I can manifest. Her hair has never been dyed but it has yet to grey, due to the medications she was on in the seventies...horrid, damaging stuff but I guess it left her with one benefit. I misunderstood when I was younger and I thought that greying was an optional part of growing old.

Grandma grew up dirt poor. One Christmas her sisters and her were in their cabin on a snowy night with nothing to eat. They had just finished the last of the lard a couple days prior. Her uncle showed up at the door in his long underwear, soaked from travelling across the river to get to them, with little stockings full of nuts and oranges and a mint candy. Grandma said it felt like he saved her life. She felt like nothing was ever as beautiful as the taste of that delicious orange.

Grandma's stories are heartbreaking. Sometimes I had to tune out because I could not take the pain of what she must have felt. As a child of the eighties, I never really experienced the lack grandma had. While we were poor ourselves in my younger years we did have food...even if it was oatmeal three times a day for awhile or cereal without milk. We had a community that did well around us and shared their wealth. In her younger days, grandma did not always have those resources as everyone around her was struggling. I think she still carries that with her because she panics when her fridge and pantry are not stocked or when food prices go up. She makes sure my fridge always has the essentials and she has supplied our children with food and clothes at times when we did not have the resources to do much. Now we have a lot, more than enough, but grandma built the foundation for much of the goodness we experience now.

Due to unknown Dyspraxia as a young adult and Autism I was not gifted in running a home at first. I have learned my own tricks but there were many Saturdays when grandma would show up. My grandmother used to come to our prairie shack to find dishes moulding in the sink and laundry decomposing in our back entry. She showed me how to throw the mess quickly into the tub, oven and laundry baskets for unexpected company. She would throw out the towels that were un-salvageable and proceed to scour the rooms. My house was a disaster zone for the first four years of marriage. I think cleaning needs time to learn the tricks of the trade. And it needs to be shown. I also needed to know my own limits. Today, my kids are also an active part of the cleaning so I no longer have to attempt it all on my own, plus I know what works for me and what doesn't. 

Many of the beautiful things in my home are from grandma. She loves to walk into my home and study all my stuff. She often will call and ask if she can show my house to some strangers or distant relatives. I try to say yes more often then no. It may seem a little odd to give a tour of my home to my grandma's constant company, but I feel that because she did not get what I have, it feels like an extension of her. She is proud of how I have set up our home. A part of her, deep down, wishes she would have had the opportunity I had, I think...and how can I say no to sharing what she feels is also a piece of her? Sometimes it is a little awkward and sometimes I get insecure about how many people I do not know, are aware of the layout of my home and where I live, yet most people she knows I trust. At other times, it's actually quite fantastic. For some reason people are blown away by the inside of my home...they think they are stepping into another world, and the comments that often follow are a boost to the ego. Plus, from time to time we hear stories and make connections that are just a one time event but are memorable. It's stretching but sometimes it's beautiful and I would not have these moments without my grandmother.

Below: Grandma's Pantry

With my therapist, I get choked up if we speak about grandma being gone and I can't finish. I switch topics because if I think of what she gives to me, being taken away, I don't know HOW I will keep going on. She is one of my anchor's in life winds. I have had a bit of a princess life in regards to tragedy. I have had my fair share of heartache and emotional and physical pain, but I have YET to experience death of anyone close to me. Grandma is a part of my life routine. I depend on her comforts, her food that heals, and her generosity. She is an aspect of stability I have enjoyed since babyhood. I feel special and loved just by being in her home. Her home smells of protected childhood yet has also allowed for growth. Apparently, smell is the strongest sense to bring a memory yet, I do not experience that aspect much but I do with my grandparents. Smells that beget them are fresh early morning air that reminds me of mountain trips, light cigarette smoke (most of their vehicles smelled of this even though they did not smoke), coffee percolating, garlic, sugar, cinnamon and vinegar and pickling spice. 

Grandma is a fighter for me and will come to my defence quicker than anyone I know, despite the fact that I remain a bit of a difficult mystery. When she leaves to go to B.C. each summer (they still travel), I feel a tad insecure after a month or so. I am always relieved and excited when their car pulls into the driveway. I try to make sure our family is always at my mom's for supper so we can be home when they arrive. I get swept away by nostalgia and also awed by the present. This is still my life and I still get to enjoy my grandmother's being. All my family jokes that I can not bear to have grandma gone too long if my husband is busy because then I starve. It's true.

Grandma is the epitome of all things home. She also has this endearing way of talking at times that begets her country roots. Some of her sayings are back woodsy. She will insert verbs for nouns or say "get them garbages." It happens more when she is tired and I love it. Her home- slanged expressions show innocence, simple roots and a love of the beautiful ordinary. She taught me to embrace coats of many colours...that we can be rich in spirit even if we are poor in money. She loves her country music and is drawn to rustic cabins. Embedded in my being are some of her tastes and her respect for humble beginnings. I find myself loving 1940's/ 1950's light fixtures, patch worked quilts, dishes and distressed wooden furniture. When I watch Mona Lisa Smile I think of grandma. In the film "The Help" grandma mentioned she was poorer than 'the help' themselves and some of her experiences were similar even though she came from a very different background. There is one scene in that movie when the ladies are having a get together and they put a tray of devilled eggs across a scratch on the table. My grandma has that tray and she makes that exact type of devilled eggs for each special occasion. She has the little pickles on a plate and the cut up tomatoes, cheese and meats. She fries up her chicken in Crisco and swirls the mashed potatoes until they are buttery. The food scenes in that movie ARE my childhood and grandma's food still today. She also used tin T.V. trays when I was little and her dishes are those coloured cups and plates. When I watched a few scenes in 'The Help' I felt like I was once again in parts of my youth. It was weird. Grandma managed to maintain that 1950's style in the eighties and nineties. There is a part of me that was born country, born down home rustic, born with 1940/50's style and memory and born with the roots of my grandma. Coffee, Cinnamon,Vinegar and pickling spice are constant reminders of this.

What senses are embedded into your roots?

Post Edit: I feel that the reason I am quite balanced even though I grew up as an undiagnosed Autistic and Dysrpaxic (which was hard in it's own way) is because of the roots I had. My parents and grandparents had opportunities to move but they did not. I have only moved cities three times in my life before the age of five. There is something to be said for the stability of roots and of generations seeking to help support each other through life...then again, if the family is mostly negative I don't think this would be beneficial but I was lucky in my childhood to have stability, positivity and deep roots. More of these posts, and the very different other roots series, are found  in the label section on the bottom.

Song Choice: Coat of Many Colours (grandma had a similar experience and this is my eldest son's favourite song)- Dolly Parton, You're my best friend- Don Williams ( her favourite song)

Home by Alan Jackson really reminds me of my grandparents story and mine. The Christmas song- Nat King Cole.