Grandma

I could start off with some sort of cliche like "I thought of you today".  But somehow it doesn't seem to fit.  I was thinking of when I first learned to french braid hair, sitting in my grandmother's living room, with my cousin as the training ground for which I would practice.  I was thinking of the smell of her house, the dust from the red clay dirt settling on the furniture, picking blackberries in the summer and bread and butter pickles sitting on the table.  I remember all the "gifts" of food I was given that would come out of a freezer in the garage or the well house out back, or the back of the cabinets in the kitchen.  Most of the time you didn't know how old it was, or how long it had been there, but Grandma always said it was fine.  I remember her giving me a can of shortening one time, with an obviously dated label on it, and telling me about how it was the only kind of shortening my Grandpa liked.  At that time I was around 27 or 28 years old, and my grandfather passed away before I was one.  But mostly I was thinking about my birthday.  I can remember Grandma telling me after I had moved out on my own, that I really needed to make it home for my birthday.  She would tell me almost every year, or write it in a card she sent me.  She would tell me that the changing leaves in the mountains were the prettiest around my birthday and that I really needed to make a trip "home".  Isn't it odd how we use the word "home"?  How is that word really defined.  Isn't home where you spent all your time growing up?  Its where your parents are, your siblings, your friends, right?  But somehow, my "home" no matter how many years have gone by, has remained the mountains in which the Locke Community of Arkansas reside.  The red clay roads that twist and turn through mountain (although many now have been paved), seeing the house my father and his father built as you come around the bend, and then my Grandmother's house lay below, a home that my grandfather built on land he bought an paid for himself.  So, I have been sitting here thinking about fall.  About the leaves changing, the wind that whistles through the trees.  I can remember go home for visits and walking from my Grandmother's house, to her mother's house, winding down the road, skipping and laughing.  I would carry my camera with me and I have photo album after photo album of pictures.  None of which are very exciting, pictures of the road, a cat walking by, my cousins playing.  But it was a world that I loved.  As a child, before we left, my mind is full of joyful memories of playing on the side of the mountain that our house was built into.  Looking down to see grandma's house below us.  Christmas Eve celebrations in her living room and going to my great grandmother's house to play.  I remember that when we moved, I felt Kansas was evil.  I was devastated, heartbroken and scared.  I didn't want to leave my home, my family, my life.  I was 7 years old at the time.  Now, today, I turn 38 and I still call that home.  Home is what seeds have been planted in us and how those roots grow.  I have lived in Kansas, albeit throughout the entire state, for 31 years of my life.  There is such a small portion of my memories that come from that place, yet I remember them the most.  But somehow, I never made it.  So, back to the changing of the leaves in the fall.  Life got busy, children and work took over, and I just didn't have the time to watch the changing of the leaves with my grandma.  The older you get, the more you realize what you have missed because you were too busy.  All the things that happen and you think, there's plenty more time.  I didn't go see my grandma nearly enough towards the end of her life.  I was pregnant, I had babies, I was tired, I was busy.  My love for her had never changed, but somehow, I suppose, I thought there would be more time.  Last fall, at the age of 93 years old, my grandmother passed away.  I realized, "How much more time did I think there was".  She had lived a very long life and somehow, I guess, I thought it would just keep going, giving me the time I needed to go see the leaves change with her.  That time is now passed, and although I will never be able to watch the leaves pass with her by my side again, I will still be able to go "home".  Yes grandma, the leaves are changing.  I can only imagine how beautiful they are.