Tuesday, December 1, 2009

knick knacks

I can't see the beauty of a plastic Easter egg. The kind that opens so you can shove mini reeses and twix in. When I buy something and it comes in a small insignificant box I naturally throw it out. The ribbons, bows, and wrapping paper that comes with Christmas are also thrown away. As I crinkle up the paper and step on the boxes to fit in the plastic trash bag I think of how my grandmother would literally be rolling in her grave. I'm not like her though, I don't see the beauty and purpose of everything on this earth the way she did.

She would take a tiny box and create a landscape of whatever she felt inside of it. She would spread the boxes around her house and when I was little I'd run around her house peeking into the lids to find miniature worlds created inside them. My favorite were the ones she put out around Easter. Inside them were hundreds of tiny felt flowers she cut out herself with bunnies strewn across the flowers. She always lavishly decorated the outside of the box tempting you to peek into each one. Sometimes you'd just find a small wonder inside like a pocket watch or a tiny silver spoon. My grandmother had an innate ability to turn something bland into something spectacular.

She was known for making people pull over when driving and take in the scenery. Each time she'd say "Isn't this the most glorious day you have ever seen?" Her ability to love each day stemmed from the unfortunate fact that she was riddled with sickness after sickness since she was twelve but what made her so beautiful was her ability to look past that and just see and live in the day she had in front of her.

When I was younger she and I would go on long walks in the woods. She made me be quite and absorb the atmosphere and just walk. When you're seven, it kinda sucks not being able to try to run into piles of leaves or jump on a tree stump and shout "I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!" But I obeyed her and listened. Various times we'd find ourselves so still that deer would roam around us unafraid.

I was young when she died. I can't remember her as well as I'd like to. My favorite compliment is when my family members gush on about how I am just like her. To be honest, I can't remember her well enough to agree with them but every time I think I am losing the memory of her I find myself taking daily walks through the woods.

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