Time for another Sunday Favorites/Sunday Re-Runs entry. Want to join the fun (because it really is great to do the look-back thing)? Click on the Sunday Re-Run button in the left sidebar, which will take you to Chari's blog and the instructions.
The sleeping angel you see below is now eleven.
This is my daredevil granddaughter!
She doesn't look like this all the time--she is one wild little thing, with no fear whatsoever. She's been climbing and sliding down the 12 foot steel slide at the park, on her own, since she was just barely two. Climb. Whoosh! Thump! flat on her little bottom, over and over and over...
This is about Mom, and is a sort of vignette.
When we lived in Hawaii, Dad sold sterling silver, moonlighting to supplement his Navy pay. Sometimes his sales demonstrations took place at our home on Nigh Circle.
(How do you "demonstrate" silverware? Each pattern has a story. Then you stand on a teacup. Uhmm. Ask Dad.)
It was obvious to Mom and Dad that you couldn't do something like that in front of five kids, so Mom would take us outside.
In one of my most cherished memories, I can see the six of us on a blanket spread on the lawn at the end of the house. I lay there, alternately watching Mom and stargazing, while she read to us. The story was Thumbelina. And then she sang...
Tiny little thing,
Thumbelina what's the difference
If you're big or small?
When your heart is full of love,
You're nine feet tall.
Other memories, brief, but clear:
Grandma Parker to me: “Anitra, stop leading with your belly.”
Aunt Charlotte carrying me through the shadowy, scary woods to visit somebody. (You didn’t know it was scary? You weren’t three years old!) I felt safe because I was with her.
Grandpa Parker, after everyone had oohed and aahed over how beautiful newly-born Melody was: He sidled up to the sofa where she was lying, looked kind of over his shoulder at her, and wryly said, “Ugly little thing, idn’t it?”
Aunt Micki trying to pronounce “foot”. That French accent never let her get any closer than something that sounded like it rhymed with “toot”.
Daddy taking me to work with him when I was about six. He sat me at a drawing table and gave me paper, colored pencils, and some dark blue (is there any other colour?) carbon paper. When I saw that my beautiful, colorful artwork was duplicated all in navy, I was soured on carbon paper for the rest of my childhood.
I made a quilt for Grandma and Grandpa’s 50th wedding anniversary. After that, anytime we stayed the night she would spread the quilt on the bed and admonish us, “Now, y’all be careful with that quilt. My grand-daughter made it for me and I don’t want anything to happen to it!” Every time. No exceptions.