MY HEART, HER HOME

I was going through some old pictures last week when I came across one I had not seen in some time.

Someone decided to bend the top portion, perhaps to put into a wallet, I don’t know.

I thought, “I will have to get it restored because of that crease that runs right through the  face of the person in the photo.”

It is a picture of my grandmother. She died in 1964. It is the only picture I have of her, full body.

I loved my grandmother. I still think of her often. My sister and I lived with my grandparents for three years.

It was the country and the living was neither easy (for them) or fancy.

I loved it, was not even mindful of what they did not have.

I just loved being there, being with them.

Well, more my grandmother more than my grandfather who was rather taciturn and rarely interacted at any length with us kids.

My grandmother was not beautiful. She was not pretty. I’m not sure you would even call her handsome.

I see that now. I did not see that then.

I only saw her, only heard her laughter, enjoyed the food she cooked, especially the steak and gravy with rice or those fat red sausages served for Sunday breakfast after Grandpa’s Saturday trip to the  market.

They lived in the country with very few modern conveniences.

No indoor plumbing, no electricity or gas, chickens on the yard, wood stoves, tin roof, well water.

I do not remember ever being bored.

This picture takes me home.

After all, home is where the heart is.

All these years later, my heart is still her home!

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