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.