Festive Roses

 Festive Roses

My Grandma was a woman of many talents.  Even as a youngster I was aware of that.  Besides growing her own fruit and veggies, canning and preserving, home cooking from scratch, she also quilted, crocheted and tatted.  And I'm sure there were many other things she did, and did well. My mother did none of those things and had no interest, ergo, I was intrigued.  

Like most families in my grandparents community they had a modest home with modest décor. It was kept clean and orderly and felt exceedingly welcoming.  I was always amazed by their non stop drop in visitors.  Every day people would stop by just to say hi, have a cup of coffee and talk about the Euchre game coming up or just played or just catch up on who's doing what (i.e. gossip 😉 ).  My grandparents were loved by all.  Grandpa was the Shelby County Sheriff for a couple of terms and introduced me to a jail cell - just for kicks.  Grandma cooked for the prisoners during his stint as sheriff.  

It struck me a walk back in time.  Quieter, simpler, pre-hamburger helper, harvest gold and avocado green.  They had tatted arm rests and head rests on their furniture. They had what they needed and not much more but they were far from poor. Just content.  CONTENT.  People were different there and there were so few of them in this sleepy, friendly little neighborhood.  You just wanted to sit on the front porch, smell the air and watch the fireflies.  

That's Flat Rock, Indiana.  Or was.  It's changed considerably since then.  They tore down Tilly's house and build others.  Even the brick school house that schooled grades K-12 was torn down.  It's a bit more crowded now but still had a warm neighborly feel.  Probably because you could walk from one end to the other in about 5 minutes.  At least that's how I remember it.  But memories can be funny that way.  

But I digress.  My Grandma taught me about a thousand solitaire games (I imagine now that was to keep me entertained while she did what she did) and to tat.  Sadly I've forgotten both. But I now have many of her hand tatted handkerchiefs.  Passed to mom when Grandma died and passed to me when Mom died.  I cant pull them out without going down memory lane.  And why not?  It's a great place to spend a little time.  Grandma is gone but not forgotten.  She left her influence with me (did I say that right?) .  I strive to be more like her.  

When you see a tatted handkerchief in one of my paintings it's Grandmas.  If my painting emits a sense of calm, reflective, maybe even heirloomy quality, it's because my Grandma left her mark on me.  She inspires me to be a better person even now, 30 years after her death.  Wow.