Thursday, May 8, 2014


My Aunt Jen and I shared the same birthday.  Most of my early childhood, we spent time together on our special day, at least long enough to have a piece of cake.

This past weekend, my Mom and I went to an estate sale at Aunt Jen's.  Jen's been gone for several years now and my Uncle Hank is in a nursing home.  I wasn't sure what to expect, standing in the drizzle outside their house, waiting to go in.  Mom was alternately teary and giggly with memories, missing her sister.

I knew I wanted something special from the house.  Something that my aunt had held, maybe loved.  Maybe something with strawberries, as a memory of her wonderful strawberry patch.

When I walked down the hallway and saw a big wicker basket of tatting, emotionally, I lost it.

My Grandma M tatted.  ALL THE TIME.  I don't ever remember her hands being still.  She was either snipping green beans into a pan (ping, ping, ping) or tatting.  And here, in her daughter's house, was a basket full of her beloved work.  

Talk about a flood of memories.  Good memories, as the happiest times of my childhood were spent next to Grandma, talking about flowers or the moon and stars or about her first love or our mutual love of writing. 

This one even has beads!
 Grandma tried to teach me how to tat, how to crochet.  I never did get the hang of it.  But she also taught me how to embroider.  And, well, take a look at other blog posts to see where that's gotten me. 

Apparently, Grandma taught Aunt Jen how to embroider, too.  'Cause I found this in the closet, along with extra crewel thread.

Now, the sweet little pillow lives in my bedroom, and my sweet memories of my aunt, and of my Grandma, and of my mom, live in my heart.


  1. Crying now. What beautiful, meaningful, lifelong memories. <3

  2. This touched me so. Isn't it wonderful to be able to hold those memories and, sometimes, to have the tangible reminders to hold close to our hearts as well?