Throw Me Thursday: Coming undone

Small town curiosity shops hide grandmothers in pieces of felt, hat pins, antique jewelery made from woven hair, hand sewn lace, lilac sachets.

Grandmothers with tangled hands and kaleidoscope eyes the size of herons peak through empty glass pop bottles with heavy, heavy bottoms. They are the shape of women, the shape of child grandmothers, the shape of before.

My grandmother is a plate of African violets, the tchotchke red cardinal I chose from a rack, the thick green stem of a prickly pear.

Flea market grandmothers wear high laced boots in need of button hooks. They are marmalade and lemonade and Band-Aids in a box.

Roadside attractions, they. Pit stops. Bubble gum and exit signs.

My grandmother is an afghan blanket frayed and unknotting, an image done in double exposure, a looking glass in need of rebacking.

Dani Smith (Something Knitty) said, ” Coming apart at the seams” and offered the lovely photo at the top of the page. If you care to follow writers on Twitter, I do hope you follow Dani, she’s a very generous, kind and thought-provoking lady with a hell of a “has read” book list.

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About E. Victoria Flynn

E. Victoria Flynn is a mother and a writer living in Southern Wisconsin. Published in a variety of venues, Victoria is currently writing the first in a series of three fantasy novels based on Cornish folklore. When not taking part in a shrieking dance party or engrossed in her own little fictions, Victoria is keen on art, the natural world and people unafraid to explore their own brilliance.
This entry was posted in Grandmothers, memory, muse, music, relationships, Throw me Thursday, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to Throw Me Thursday: Coming undone

  1. Beth Hoffman says:

    I. Adore. This.

  2. pennyjars says:

    I adore you, Beth ๐Ÿ™‚

  3. pennyjars says:

    It wasn’t my intention to “like” my own post, but since I don’t know how to make it undone and since I was up until the wee hours writing, we’ll leave it as is. Good morning, brilliant readers!

  4. Lisa says:

    What a beautiful post, Victoria! My grandmother is a ball of saved string as large as a softball, faded flowered aprons tied in the back, and leftovers with gravy poured on top.

  5. eglentyne says:

    Lovely. My grandmother is a bag of pastel-colored dipping chocolate and a string of pearly beads and a colored pencil. Scarlet-orange.

  6. Christine says:

    Beautiful essay! My father’s mother had soft, lined hands; an old-fashioned knot at the back of her head held in place by a million hair pins; and German words I couldn’t understand. My mother’s mother died at 58–too young to seem old even to a 15-year-old. Cherish your grandmothers as long as you have them. I still miss mine!

    • pennyjars says:

      The German words you’re still trying to understand, Christine. I don’t have any grandmothers left in the physical sense, this is how they live on.

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