Loopty-Loo

You have a presence about you. You do. A catchy charisma bred into you like a long line of Kentucky Derby Champions has their strong, swift legs. When I was little I was enthralled with each and every visit you paid us. I would study your thick reddish orange hair taking special note of any subtle changes that might have occurred since our last encounter. I can still remember exactly the way your shampoo smells. With a head full of cowlicks, my green & golden sunburst eyes studied you. I noticed not whether your hair was fixed or fresh washed out-of-the-shower dried. Your hair, to me, was just another expression of your overwhelming personality. Flowing full or dripping doused; it moved with flair.

The details of life have been a constant for me. Details in my memory. Feelings completely hitched to these observances of mine; I do not forget. And these feelings? These feelings were ones of "I want to be like that" and "She is so cool".

Your necklaces were always tiny and delicate and short. Usually a 14" chain length I would guess. An intricate patterned design I remember. Yellow gold never silver. And just like peanut butter and jelly, your necklaces were paired with a dainty charm dangling. A sand dollar I can recollect. But my favorite was the bear. The little golden bear. 4 paws out and little eyes. I think even the belly was a bit convex so to give a 3D effectiveness to it. Parts were shiny polished and parts were matte finished. I see this necklace on you now. The way that sweet chain would catch and lie just a bit lopsided on your smooth faintly freckled neckline would allow this golden bear a loopty-loo this way and then that for a bit.

And your fingers. Like Lady Slippers in the most manicured of gardens. The way your hands ebbed and flowed as you spoke was melodious and sweet to my little child mind. Fingers so long and tapered. Your nail beds would edge out at the last possible second before the tips of your finger pads leaving your nail length a mystical illusion of long and sometimes longer.

Revlon Red.

Sandstone Sable.

Complete oxymoron's of one another. These were your rotating hues. I loved this. My innocence as a child could hardly handle the anticipation of which was in lead rotation before your arrival. And like the juxtaposition of sandy brown soft and a loud pop of red, so is your personality. Calm and gentle your hazelnut brown eyes would share with me sweet reports of my cousins afar and then quick witted and tempered, at times, your stories would be grandiose and full of vigor. A storyteller you are.

Revlon Red and Sandstone Sable.

Legs. Legs for days. Picking you up from the airport I can remember your pumps. You were a fan of slingbacks. I walked behind you on the way to luggage claims taking note of the graceful flex of your perfectly shaped calves with heels bare. Tapered, like your fingers, from slender ankles to muscles full. You are a hard worker. You deserve legs of this design. For in a time when women in the corporate world were only found behind a desk taking memos and answering phone calls, you and your legs pushed past this mark. A single working mother of 3, you carved out your success. Exceeding limitations and slowly making your presence known. Yes, legs like this you deserve.

Conversations with you were full and at times so empty. Full of laughter and juicy details like your hairdresser "Jobear" and tales of your cocktail parties and wardrobe selections. You never neglected to be specific when it came to colors of the choice of heels to match suits. Each adjective you used be it "peacock green" or "brazen yellow", I remember them all. When conversations to turned a softer venue of "I love you" or "goodbye", your words became antsy and removed. Oftentimes skipped over just to find solace in an end.

I anticipated you. Your zest wooed me. I adored your femininity and knack for moving a room each time that you entered.

As years passed by and time moved its sneaky little way, you have been a backdrop prop to my life's painting. I can't help but find tiny snippets in me that were stellar WOWS of you. And that is by no accident.

I honor you as my own. A lady who has helped sculpt me into my now. Although you were not my everyday, you were my every heart. Your hand prints have manipulated and molded this feeling organ of mine in ways you will never know.

You and your "peacock greens" and Revlon Reds. Your slingbacks and hair with a life of its own. Your story telling fingers are the most delicate ballet on the stage of my mind. Your love of the water and the beach. Your caring nature and quick tempered soul.

And so, I love you too. As the details you have given me are the 3 little words I needed most. For life happens so much faster than one realizes. Faster still if you don't stay connected with the little things around you.

And you, Gramma, are so much more than a little thing.

Thank you for your strength, your pizzazz, your heart, and your style. It is on this Christmas Day that I give you this cross to remind you that God's glory and love is alive and so-very-present in your life then and your life now. He has woven together a grandmother and granddaughter through His wonderful design. And what is yours is now a little mine. And for that, I am so very grateful.

Yes, connected.

My snippets are but shadows in the beautiful woman you are, but woven in God's full beauty, we are the same. Sisters by His hand. So, I too, will have this same cross in my home to remind me of the pieces He has woven between us, His sacrifices for our salvation, and His intricate handiwork in making us grandmother and granddaughter.

Thank you so very much for the brushstrokes you have given my life. Like the little golden bear, my 4 paws loopty-loo around your heart.

Your granddaughter,
Meghan Alicia