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| Loretta & Arthur Weishaar |
May they rest in peace.
Lately, I have been feeling slightly homesick. This maybe because I am feeling physically ill, therefore I want home and my mother.
I also have had my grandparents on my mind lately and today a friend just lost his grandmother.
I am never sure how close people are to their grandparents, I always assume they are and were just as close to theirs as I was to mine. So then its safe for me to assume, when one loses their grandparents it is a very considerable loss and I share their sympathy and pain. No matter how old, or how good of life they lead, it is still painful.
Over break I have taken up sewing on my old Singer sewing machine I bought for 25 dollars at the thrift store. While using it I always think of learning on my Grandma Lee's old singer. I wish I was still sitting at that old machine with my Aunt Rose and Grand Lee instructing me on speed and certain stitches for different effects. I also think of my Grandma Weishaar and using her old Brother to make a quilt for color theory. How I wish it was still in her little sewing room with partial quilts laying all about. I am now making bow ties, a few aprons fashioned after one of my Grand Lee's old ones, and a few other various projects that might turn into quilts.
It is funny how a sewing machine, a piece of cloth, and some thread can bring people closer together.
Connections.
I want to leave you with a poem by Mr. E. E. Cummings, "If There are any Heavens my Mother Will,"
If there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have
one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses
my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)
standing near my
(swaying over her
silent)
with eyes which are really petals and see
nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
hands
which whisper
This is my beloved my
(suddenly in sunlight
he will bow,
& the whole garden will bow)
one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses
my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)
standing near my
(swaying over her
silent)
with eyes which are really petals and see
nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
hands
which whisper
This is my beloved my
(suddenly in sunlight
he will bow,
& the whole garden will bow)
--E.E. Cummings
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| John & Marie Lee |
Here is a hug and kiss from me to you,
Love,
Your little Bridgie
Your little Bridgie
