These days when I look in the mirror, starring back at me is—not my mother—but my grandmothers. Both of them. At first seeing them is daunting. Then as I dwell on what the combination of these two women could mean to me, it is inspiring and awesome.
I usually wear my long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Gray is edging around my face but most of my hair is still dark. Mama Cummings gave me the slow-to-gray hair.
She also gave me the wispy gray strands that fly around my temples and wave in the breeze. Her only haircut had occurred when she was a teenager. (An act of rebellion?) After that, Mama wore her hair in two braids coiled at the nape of her neck. She only took them down at bedtime in order to brush her hair. I loved watching this ritual.
What I call the Cummings Eyelid is another Mama Cummings gift to me and to most of my relatives. The skin between the brow and eyelid droops, giving us no visible eyelid. I hate that.
The mirror also revealed that my chin is developing into that of Grandma Bryon. Oh well. I like to claim that she gave me “good skin.” Her face was always smooth and fairly free of wrinkles most of her life.
Mine is holding up pretty well, although I did develop numerous wrinkles immediately after cataract surgery.
The awesome part of recognizing them in me is contemplating character traits I hope I inherited.
Both were creative. Mama Cummings quilted and crocheted. As each of her grandchildren graduated high school, her gift was a quilt she had created just for that grandchild. Just looking at my quilt took me through years of clothes my cousins and I had worn. I still have that first quilt. I’ve added others over the years, some I purchased from her and some I inherited. In her day, quilting was necessity, but the way she did it was art. I’ve also inherited many of her crocheted pieces, have framed some and am wondering what to do with others. One of my treasures is her wood box containing the needles she used to create her works of art.
Grandma Bryon could walk into a dress shop, look at several dresses and take home in her head the collar for one, sleeves from another and skirt from another. Adding to that her own whatever it is that makes one creative, she made beautiful clothes for me. Those clothes live in my memory, but other visual reminders of her live throughout my house. She made and painted ceramics with a fine touch and the color selections of a true artist.
Each of them also gave me, I like to think, bits of their personalities. I received from Grandma Bryon, my stubbornness, my “do it my way” gene, a tendency to be opinionated and some feistiness—all things that stressed out her family.
Mama Cummings gave me an acceptance of people and circumstances and a calm, steadfast approach in meeting adversity. When I was old enough to recognize it, I discovered she had a sense of quiet humor. I’d like to have that as well.
But I’m certain about one gift. Both gave me their unconditional love, which is what I’d really like to embody and pass on.
I’ll just have to deal with wispy gray hair and a rounder chin. It seemed to work for my grandmothers.
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