Saturday, February 7, 2009

My Grandma's needlepoint

My grandma's needlepoint picture of a flower basket hangs over my couch. I think of all the time and care she put into making this lovely picture. I love the texture and colors. Looking at it closely, I want to know more about the woman who was my grandmother. First and foremost, she was a hard worker who never complained. She would work two jobs to help make ends meet. Her family did not have much money, but they tried hard to make the best life they could.

I never really got to know my grandmothers. I lost them when I was a young girl. As I look at the needlepoint, I try and visualize my grandmother's strong calloused hands as they gently push the needle through with love and care. I will keep this picture close to my heart and hope to live by her example especially when times are tough.

I also smile when I think of stories about my grandma and her love of the beach. I'm glad that she found a kind of sanctuary too.


Regina Marie said...

Hi there..that is touching. As for me, there were images and a small exchange of words for only both Grandmothers-that escape me...but there were those moments. I can hardly say I knew either of them as you. Both of my grandpas died before I was born.
Funny, the picture above looks like one I had on a small calander- which inspired a poem. I'm gearing up for a long season beginning in May which I hope to grow zinnias & sunflowers again. I was hopeless this past year to do a thing! So cheery- Thanks for stopping by-

Jerrie said...

Lovely post. I just lost my last grandparent, I am 34. I was very lucky indeed to have known all of my grandparents for at least 17 years. We just recently went through grandma's house. I picked a few special objects and her knitting needles. What a joy it will be to (re)learn how to knit with her needles. :)

Shelli said...

Thank you so much for stopping by my blog. We seem to have some things in common! I am grateful for having known both my grandmothers and having many stories, though there are so many stories left untold that I would like to know. I often think about these things.

Ann Victor said...

I was lucky enough to have my mischievous Ouma (= grandmother, literally, "old mother") until I was over 30. I still remember watching her make her own butter and feeding the winter lambs in front of the fire!

Septembermom, I wandered over to your blog from your post on Annie Wicking's blog. Thought you might be interested in a book on writing called "Writing begins with the Breath" by Laraine Herring ISBN 978-1-59030-473-0. Another good one is Osho's book "Creativity".

Caroline Kent said...

I miss my grandmother too. It's lovely when you have something which belongs to them.