Grandma

My Grandmother adored violas. The tiny, bright little specks of purple and yellow popped up everywhere around her house. Years after she died her backyard was still littered with violas that had burst free of the bounds of the garden and wandered willy-nilly through the grass.

Maybe that's what she liked about them; that they did exactly as they pleased. She was, for many reasons, a woman who couldn't always do that herself. She was anchored by responsibility. By duty. By practical matters. And, later, by disability.

But the spirit of the carefree, wandering viola was inside her. I saw it in the mischief in her eyes, in her sly smiles, and in the ways she made the world beautiful by giving as much of herself as she could to the people she loved.

And so, for Grandma, a viola.

I know, I know, the centre should be yellow not white, but I think she'll forgive my creative license. She'll forgive me for colouring outside the lines.

I know she will.

January 24, 2009



I love you. I miss you.