We see the past through colored lenses, to each
of us our own color of lenses. Some are
dark and some are rosy, but mine are the color of a little child’s eyes
remembering the past.
My
grandmother Marjorie passes by with a watering can in her hand and two ducks
trailing behind her. White ducks,
adventuresome ducks, pugnacious guard ducks trailing behind Marjorie who is the
ducks’ mother and my grandmother.
She passes by with her watering can
in her hand, an old fashioned tin watering can with a long neck and a flared
spout with little holes for sprinkling.
A little water here, a little water there, she moves along. Here she carefully pinches off a dead leaf,
and there she gently tamps a little plant more firmly in the pot.
Grandmother
Marjorie is a nurturing woman moving among her sons and daughters, among her
grandchildren; watering with a little kindness here, and pinching off a bad
behavior there. She is a Christian
woman, not just a church person. She
reads her bible and she lives her faith, and she dresses me and takes me to
church even though grandfather will not go.
Grandfather
is a forbidding man; I almost want to spell grandfather with a capital
“G”. He’s that kind of man. He is disappointed with God’s performance in
the crash of ’29, so he won’t go to church.
But grandmother is faithful and she lives her faith even though grandfather
will not go. She took her sons and
daughters to church, and now she takes me.
We
sit beside each other in the pew with a little brass plaque marked with our
family name. She smiles and pops a
butterscotch lifesaver in my mouth to keep me from chattering. Five year olds love to chatter, and she says,
“Sit on your hands, Robin” to keep me from fidgeting, and she hugs me and takes
me home for lunch.
She
is a Christian woman and she lives her faith.
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