Grandparents
When I think of my grandparents, I think about love. During my early childhood they were in their nesting years. So they bring memories of comfort, warmth and homeliness. Their traditions seem like age old rituals. They were so confident in them. They told stories that could not be canceled. They shared memories despite there political incorrectness. I’m glad that I always valued stories, and I would spend time with my grandparents over a pot of coffee. Persistently asking questions about their past with inquisitive ears. We are connected to memories that seem so far away, by just a generation. I’m glad that my grandparents told me these stories. The three grandparents shared more than enough history with me. Some through crafts, some through food, some through memories and stories, but all through love. I miss my grandparents often. They have all passed on, but they live on in my habits and my thoughts. On days when I’m nesting, and doing things around the boat, I’m often reminded of my grandparents and their contentment with things. It was a different generation, some say the greatest generation. I digress. Nonetheless they were my grandparents. When I think about them being gone, it reminds me of my own mortality. For I too am a grandparent and unfortunately grandparents are at the end of the story. So it’s my responsibility now to tell my stories and share my crafts, but most importantly give my love! Life is full of seasons, this is my season. “These are the gold ole day” BS #goorioles #grandparents #parents #family