Posted in Blogging, Writing Classes

I remember…

I remember being tired, tired down to my bones because of late night phone calls. Phone calls until well after 4:30 am. Those kind of phone calls bare your soul to a person because there are just so many stupid off-the-wall things you can say and ask when you are that tired, and just are not ready to hang up yet. Because of love. I remember being so in love that I had butterflies in my stomach, and when I seen him for the first time it made me feel like I was going to be sick. For awhile, it felt like I was floating on clouds and my heart was dancing in my chest to a tune only we knew.

My grandmother, well my Nanny, did not approve, but she came around. In the mornings, I would crack one eye open in my feeble attempt to get ready for school. She would yell down the stairs that it was time to get up, and that breakfast was ready, and when she would get no reply after the first several times she would start banging on the top of the stairs. When that got no reply, she would threaten to call my mother at work. Ok, ok, I’m up I’d say and sometimes it would feel like it took all the strength I could muster to crawl out of bed. I’d sluggishly make my way up the stairs to eat breakfast. I remember she said it with her West-Virginian twang. She never quite got rid of that.

After she had her stroke, I missed hearing her talk even if only to yell at me. To tell me that my hair looked better down than up because if I wore it up it made my face look fat. I remember her long flowery nightgowns, and her long thermal underwear because she always got cold. She’d sit at the table eating her toast with jam and drinking her coffee with her dainty, thin hands. If I had come up before that, she would have been sitting in her bedroom reading her Bible. Her bedroom always smelled like this powder she wore. She always took good care of herself and made sure she looked nice for church. Making sure to have her hair done Saturdays even going to the extremes of sleeping in the recliner with toilet paper so it never was messed up. Family was her main priority.  I remember her getting after my mom when I was younger because she said I was white as a ghost and I needed iron. If you went home hungry, it was your fault. She loved to bake and boy could she cook!

5 min writing exercise.

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Author:

Dreamer. Doer. Poet. Writer. Mom. Baker. Lover of Many Things.

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