Friday, January 9, 2015

The Little things

As each year passes and a new one begins, I often wonder what my grandparents would think about our world.  It's been over fifteen years since my dad's dad passed away.  He was cut from the same pioneer cloth of his ancestors: strong, determined, defined in character, and always quick with a story. I loved seeing his face light up when we came to visit, with a twinkle in his eye he'd say something like,  "Toots (Gram's nickname) I told you to lock the door." and then he'd give you a big hug to welcome you.  

I came across a bottle of the same lotion he used when he worked on the farm.  I find the name only a bit ironic now that I live in Nebraska.  It was his own kind of cologne: simple, purposeful, and not overpowering.  

I would expect my paternal grandma, his wife, to think the world was passing to quickly.  She was a gentle, hardworking, optimistic person, who cared for her son's and grandchildren deeply, praying over them daily.  I loved her gentleness, although I didn't understand its strength until she was gone.  She was so in love with my grandpa.  You never heard them say the words, but you knew by watching them that their love was as deep as the ancient secrets of the world.  

My mom's dad passed away almost eight years ago.  He was a dreamer, a tinkering sort of man with a gentle spirit hidden in a giant physique.  His brown eyes would soften when he looked at my grandma on the sly. He had a booming voice and a granite-like view of right and wrong, but would give grace when you least expected it.  I miss the scruffiness of his whiskers when he'd give me a squeeze.  

As I prepared to move to Nebraska I found a picture of my grandparents at my parents' dining room table.  I love it because I can almost hear their laughter.  

My life is richer for their wisdom and stories.  I loved them then and I love them even more now...

Sending love and memories,