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Icing Smear |
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The soothing sound of a cat’s purr and the heavy smell of country ham tries to keep me in bed. Pulling off the warm quilts and carrying the weight of sleep down the hall is worth the prize that awaits me in the kitchen. Through the intoxicating cloud of buttery biscuits, I can smell the soil and rosewater on my Grandmothers skin. She moves through the kitchen like a crazed conductor leading a symphony of food. The way she whips the eggs is rhythmical and the frying ham sings the chorus. Her quick movements lull me into a dream as I observe from my perch on the counter top. Every Sunday morning I admired this song and dance. It was a very personal moment that we shared but never spoke about. This was her outlet, her Zen, her natural habitat, and the way she showed her love. This was the hole left in my heart when she was gone. It wasn't the first thing I missed and in fact I didn't realize I missed it at all until years later. |
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Losing a parent your senior year of high school is a confusing time. I was sent into a hurricane of choices and misdirection. I moved to the city and worked hard to shake off the dust of my childhood. Remembering my youth seemed to feed the lonely feeling I'd gained. So, I lost my accent, changed the way I dressed, went off to college to be a scientist, and left the old me behind. However, being someone you’re not is no easy task. It's like trying to dance to a song on the off beats ... it took a lot of work and I rarely got it right. |
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Three years of this proved tiring and left me drained. I landed back in the nest with my mother who tried to nurture me with her creativity. Being an artist, she introduced me to pottery, glass work, spinning yarn, and so much more. It was a great environment to mend and become comfortable with myself again. I spent a lot of time with my mother and watching her work was a beautiful reflection of our mother. Seeing her work was almost as if her art was an extension of herself. I was just as mesmerized by watching her, as I was by watching my grandmother |
