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The wind is blasting the rain at my window today.
And in the blink of an eye, I am transported back to my small granny's house. I can hear the wind in the chimney and the fire blazing in the Aga. I can hear the clock tick tock on the high mantel. I can see the faded roses winding up the wall paper. I can see the oilcloth on the table. I can smell that particular smell of granny's house. I can feel the warmth and weight of the mug of tea in my hand. But most of all I can feel the love I always felt in her company. I can feel the way stress would unwind and time would stop running and rushing by. The quiet and calm of her... And I can look into my heart and see that what she gave me is woven in to every fibre of my being. And I can feel that peace again.
2 Comments
Martine - I love this beautiful picture of your granny's kitchen you drew with your words . I felt as if I was transported back in time to my own granny's kitchen. I remember the cuckoo clock, with soft hum-drum tickings in the background, then waiting for the cuckoo to burst out on the hour. I would watch my uncle carefully pulling the chains with methodical efficiency each evening, and begging him to make the cuckoo pop out. He loved to do it when we least expected it. My granny's parlor had that faded rose pattern wall paper too. Thanks so much - this little trip down memory lane made my day today. 10/18/2012 07:36:02 am
I am so glad Mairead..some days we just need our grannies. M x Leave a Reply. |
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martinewrites Blogs 2017 If my small granny could see me now Tuam Babies Blogs 2016 An afternoon among the women poem Growing up in a white world When people say genealogy is boring Ireland 2016 Blogs 2015 Anger and Truth Where do you come from? The House on an Irish Hillside book review Mammies for Mariage Equality Aw go on, say YES Blogs 2014 Homeless in Ireland When wide sky opens poem Sleeping Women Philomena Blogs 2013 Blessed be Coming home I love my work Fractured Celtic New Year This small house Scrambled Rhythm & Rest poem Darning socks The Hidden Self Farewell Hope poem The Lonely Road Kerry Pride 2013 Letting the Light in after Loss Letting go is hard Complicated Invisible Mothers Change poem Guilt Pick up the phone Her name was not Magdalene Do what you love doing! Blogs 2012 My small granny Our stories Praise the child and boil the dishcloths Respecting Jackie Cillini My invisible brother Michael I don't want to be Irish anymore Alone on Valentine's Day I love my country but I am not blind Truth no. 2 How we tell the Truth From Clare to here Mother's Day is bittersweet I will not be part of that No Blacks No Dogs No Irish Thank you for the days Baby Marion Howe Peace came My Irish Identity When my Mam was dying Violence against women Take back your power Draw the line |
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