I recently went through my book of remembrance looking at pictures and reading excerpts of the letters. My mother compiled it year by year as I grew up with at least one picture every year and a letter from her and/or my dad describing things that happened that year. In each letter, the message ends with words of encouragement and faith. Mom put together a book of remembrance for each of us kids as we grew. I can remember pulling them off the shelf frequently as a growing child to look through them. I loved to see the pictures and read what Mom and Dad wrote to and about us. This book has given me insight I wouldn't otherwise have; memories from those who lived by my side.
I was always attracted to my book of remembrance, and now I completely cherish it. As I read through some of the letters this last time, I began to realize how much I take after my Grandma Jolley (maternal grandmother). I was lucky enough to get to know her when she was young-ish. She was a fire cracker woman with so many artistic talents. She painted with oil and toll paints; she baked bread like nobody's business; she designed and sewed clothing. Oh, how I remember sewing with her. I would often play in the little living room in her basement apartment, adjacent to her sewing room, while she'd whip up some skorts or a dress for me. I think most of the toys I played with were also made by her: the characters of Little Red Riding Hood, all in one doll; a red corduroy barn with plush chickens, cows and horses inside. I remember the deep whirr of the commercial sewing machine in the next room that would pause for a time as she'd periodically call me in for measurements or to try something on.
When I would watch her sew, I remember her explaining to me what she was doing and a few tricks of the trade. I loved when she would use the serger; I was fascinated by the shorn pieces of fabric sliding down the home-made chute (courtesy of Grandpa Jolley, I presume) into a garbage bin on the floor with a million slices of varied types of fabric. All hints of Grandma's projects gone before.
She would give me sewing advice and always cautioned me, "now, do as I say, not as I do." She said that because she often broke the rules, taking her own signature short cuts to make wonderful custom clothing for us grandchildren. Little did she and I know during those times how much I would come to do just as she did. Mom always says I took after Grandma Jolley when it comes to ad lib sewing. I can't argue with her when I recall days I wake up and think, "do I have time to whip up a shirt? I don't feel like wearing anything in my closet today."
Grandma Jolley gave me her oil paints at one point because I had always been inthralled with watching Bob Ross paint on his Saturday television show, The Joy of Painting. I never knew I could paint because I didn't have the means to paint with him, until Grandma passed the tools on to me. She used to oil paint with her mother and grandmother as well. Though I don't oil paint much these days, I still have a plethora of Grandma's brushes, charcoal sticks and linseed oil. After she died, I managed to inherit sewing notions I use frequently and a couple of her paintings, which I intend to hang in my sewing room.
I don't ever recall saying to myself at any point, "I'm going to grow up to be like Grandma Jolley," but you can bet your bottom dollar I inherited a lot more than custom children's clothing, paint brushes and lace from this wonderful woman. Though I didn't even try, the endearing qualities I came to know in my Grandma Jolley were woven into my life and very being from childhood as we spent countless hours together doing what we love to do.
I certainly hope I carry on doing what I love to do so that my children and grandchildren can join me and become part of the "We" that is me. Someday, I think we'll all get to meet the wonderful people who are a part of us, though we may not even know it - or them - yet. What a day that will be!