This year I feel my GrandmaD’s presence. I see her subtle influence so often of late. After Grandpa died, and she became a widow, she changed. She would only wear the colours black, white and red. Sometimes maybe a beige top every once in a while in the summer … but normally just the basic black, white and red. Shoes, tops, pants, socks, the whole … Continue reading About A Woman Named Millie
As I’ve mentioned, or maybe not, our family has always had dogs. One of my favourites, maybe THE fav, was Goober. He was a Weimaraner. Not a champion example of the breed; he was a bit too gangly, bit too sway in the back, ears too big, just not top in his breed. But to me Goober was beautiful. He was a graceful, elegant soul. … Continue reading Goober & I
I first heard this story after the wake for Grandma, back at the farm. It is one of my favourite memories because it was the first story I remembered hearing of Grandma as a young girl – to me she was an old woman. That storytelling at wakes is a family tradition. I’ve found out so much, such different things, at those family gatherings. Continue reading Sisters, And The Stories They Tell
The following is from the first of GrandmaN’s journals. This incident was something we had been told about years ago. It was a defining moment in her life and it changed her forever. The night was cold and rainy and the wind was blowing. We went to bed sort of early that night. It was in February of 1940. I was in the eleventh grade … Continue reading The Boy Under The Bed – Februrary 1940
That woman, she liked the beach. I found rolls and rolls of negatives of her and Grandpa at the beach. These beaches look nothing like this now, but I would imagine they are taken mostly at Port Stanley, and primarily beaches along the Lake Erie shore, in Ontario. Grandma and Grandpa liked to go dancing at the old Stork Club in Port Stanley. There used … Continue reading Grandma Was A Beach Bum
Growing up Grandma (the northern one, not the southern) lived next door at THE BIG HOUSE. Every night before bed Grandma would come in after Mom and rub our backs (my sister and I) and give us a kiss goodnight. Often my last memory was of Mom and Grandma in the Living-room, their voices just discernible every now and again over the TV. However on … Continue reading The Gift of a Story
These stories do not just exist in little packages, never changing. Stories are just not like that. They are entities onto themselves as you grow and change. A decade or more ago now, someone like Aunt Margaret was of no relevance to me and I didn’t care at that time that I didn’t know more about her. Now she is very relevant. Continue reading The Mysterious Margaret
I would like to introduce you to my Carolina Grandma – my Dad’s Mom. I briefly mentioned her in my intro post for my Old Journals. Those who’ve followed my blog for the last few months will of course be familiar with my Mom’s family – Grandma D, Great Aunt Helen and the bunch. Let’s just say that my Dad’s family is a whole other … Continue reading She Walked in Beauty
It comes on the radio at just the right time, or that old school friend played it for you just after that boyfriend dumped you. Maybe it was the song your parents always danced to after you went to bed. Music is the soundtrack. It’s the dramatic pause, or the cliff hanger highs. Music often is forever wrapped up with moments and memories that go … Continue reading Sweet soul soothing sounds
This MERRY MAUDLIN MONDAY I decided I’d feature a musician. Loreena McKennitt could be said to be both merry as well as maudlin. She composes pieces about ancient trees in Ireland being cut down, Lady’s in distress, and arranges Shakespeare, Tennyson and Blake into music. In concert once she said inspiration for one of her pieces came whilst “flipping through Norton’s Anthology of Literature”. On … Continue reading Another Merry Maudlin Monday
Being locked in a room with a snake would qualify as my worst fear. My phobia of the wee serpents stems back to my Dad. He hates snakes. We once watched him chase one around the backyard with a lawnmower. My Dads fear of them stems back to his childhood in Eastern North Carolina where a healthy respect for snakes would be an asset. One … Continue reading Zith and serpents of the garden
According to Jung, at around the age of six or seven we separate and then hide away the parts of ourselves that don’t seem acceptable, that don’t fit in the world around us. [first line from ‘Spirits in the Wires’, by Charles DeLint] I carry a wisp of that little girl still inside. I remember I was not feeling well that day, it was late … Continue reading The spirits are talking silliness thru the wires
For a couple of days now my psyche has been pushing me to tell my recurring old house dream. So I finally gave in. Well, and the Daily Prompt helped it along. The strangest thing is that I was reminded of it because of a staircase. THIS staircase in particular. I thought these dreams where only about forgotten things, or abandoned things. It always begins … Continue reading Dreaming in Gray
by PaulaB 