After I lost my Dad in 2007 I realized that it would be important to me to be able to go back. Hear his voice, remember all the things he taught me, the stories he told. Some of them over and over! In all the years that have passed he still tells me stories, or how to fix something. He’s always on my shoulder, just waiting for me to say “ok Dad I know you taught me how to do this, but I forgot, can you teach me again. Somehow I always manage to figure it out.

The timber in his voice is fading and I can’t hear it quite as well as I used too, but when I really need to hear his voice I take myself back to their kitchen, at a time when I needed to cry on his shoulder. And, I can hear him say “Ah darlin”. That is enough to sustain me until the next time.

Shortly after, I made my mom a box. A memory box if you will. I made it out of a wonderful Mackenzie Childs shopping bag from a trip to New York. I knew she would never be one to write a book. But, she would jot down notes on little pieces of paper. As to not put pressure on her, I just told her to write down whatever thoughts occurred to her. I also wanted to know the “recipes” for certain finishes she was able to achieve on wood or metal etc. I’ve yet to find those!

What developed was a box filled with tiny pieces of paper in all configurations from post its, to torn ruled paper, to those tiny notepads they leave for you in a hotel. I lost my mom in 2019, and I have yet to go thru the box. Oh I have occasionally gotten the box out, to share at the thanksgiving table where we each pulled out a piece of paper and had a good laugh or shed a slight tear. Until today.

My granddaughter is getting married on Friday. Last night I had a nibbles and sips for the moms and the bride. But more on that later. Yesterday I pulled down the box, and left it sitting on my desk. Well, I opened that box today. Piece by piece I have started to go thru it. Most of them are just a sentence or two and sometimes there is whole paragraph. Some require a magnifying glass to read it. Some make me laugh and some bring a tear.

Mom was so big. So talented. So insightful. She always tried to do the right thing, and to teach us all to tow the line. We didn’t always want to hear what she needed to tell us, and heaven forbid you got the dreaded “Mom Look” (it still makes me shiver)! I have tried to instill those same values into my little family.

In preparing for this little get together last night, GG was on my shoulder. She is, every time I try to imagine a new look. For my Mom (GG) half the fun of entertaining was creating an event. Fine dishes and tablecloths on a brick patio in the 1960’s, are you kidding me? The patio was a grand place where my dad created a secret garden. Living in the midwest we didn’t eat lobster often, it was an extra special treat but, she did it once for a party on the patio. Their parties were legend and she always created a mood, down to the most minute detail. Creating something special for the privilege few her were invited into their home.

Last night one of the moms commented on how lovely everything looked. No paper plates and plastic cups. She said everything looks so proper. “My granddaughter said it’s the GG gene. When I try to figure something out, I go into my inner GG.” And then my girls piped up. “She tried to teach us what was proper.”

Now it is my time to share all of what was instilled in me, and pass it on to the next generation. I found what I was looking for in the memory box. A box created for the woman that meant the world to me, before Alzheimers took her memory.

I will find a frame for a small piece of paper found in that box, and present it to my granddaughter, on the day she marries her true love.

Until next time

Thanks for stopping

Shelley