Earlier this week, I lounged on the sofa with a crackly plastic wrapped novel from the library, feet propped on the footstool, glass of iced tea to hand. My reading glasses were propped on the end of my nose. With my right hand I played the page turning game: flip flip flip past the corner of each page yet to be read – can I flip through all of the pages before I finish reading the page I am on? It is an annoying, compulsive habit I’ve had as long as I remember.
On my lap sat a bowl of popcorn. On the floor next to me a started but recently abandoned knitting project. The few completed rows of my new sweater looked good nestled next to the big ball of yarn in the bowl.
Then I had déjà vu. Except it wasn’t déjà vu, it was memory, long-buried, unsought. I had been a part this scene before and not because I spend part of every day lounging and reading. I stopped my page flipping, my popcorn munching and held myself completely still while I waited for it to bubble up.
It was Grandma Funk. The hairs on the back of my neck felt all tingly. I was Grandma Funk or at least acting an awful lot like her. I remember her letting me iron the sheets and her silk scarves while she lounged on the bed in her room, reading. I played on the rug on the floor near her while she sat reading on the loveseat in the TV room. I remember Grandma flip-flip-flipping the pages of her book with one finger, eating a snack, reading with a lumpy half-knitted thing abandoned nearby.
I realized I was wearing her jewelry, a solid silver cuff etched with wildflowers I haven’t taken off for 15 years or more. I was wearing one of her silk scarves. When the scarves came to me after she died, they still smelled of her Emeraude perfume. I didn’t wash them for years, left them in the box they were packed in so I could sniff my childhood every now and again.
Grandma Funk died when I was a kid, maybe I was 10 years old. I didn’t know her really at all. Now that I am turning into her, now that I have worn her jewelry and scarves for decades, I sort of wonder if we would have been friends. We might have had things to talk about. We might have had adventures that were more exciting than trips to the park where she read while I chased and was chased by the giant geese. Although that did raise my kiddie heart rate a bit.
I think I am turning into my Grandma Funk. I’m sort of ok with it.
I was going to tick the ‘like box’ but it still hasn’t loaded here at the library! I have learned something from your Google-specific tags I think, also.
Good Morning Dame Tankful,
I am enjoying reading your letters. For me the tags are equivalent to the old fashioned card catalog subject categories. And I looked around on wordpress to see what categories were used – so that I used the same language. Happy Day, WEF
It appears from a closer look, you also inherited her nice smile and twinkle in the eyes! Terrific story WEF.
It’s a magical transmogrification and I’m so glad, because I have missed her all these years. And yes you would have been great friends.
Now if only my hair would refuse to turn white like hers!
Having become a grandfather a few years ago, I have gone through a similar process. Unfortunately my grandfather experiences were in one case, no existent and in the other case strained. But I did get a visit from one of them during a reading with a medium in which he warned me against becoming like him! Cool and spooky all at the same time.
A medium visitation. Well now that’s something I haven’t thought of. What an interesting reconnection. I feel an urge to give that a try.
Choose your medium well. The real ones do exist. I’ve had two good ones. The reading I mentioned came from a friend who hides her ability from the world and gives VERY FEW readings. You will know when you find a real one, it’s quite an experience. It helps if you approach it without expectations. You almost never get the reading you are expecting. Tape your experience as a lot of stuff becomes clearer after the fact and it’s easy to miss stuff or forget stuff. It has been my experience that ‘spirits’ spend a lot of time giving you clues as to who they are (not always successfully). A good medium will not want you to tell them anything in advance but will ask if what they are telling you makes sense to you. Good luck.