…..or Still Makin’ Stuff
Last year I posted pictures of two stained glass panels I did. They were of two corners of my Grandmother’s kitchen; a place very near and dear to my heart (oh dear, that’s so cliché); a place where I never felt anything but loved. This winter I completed the other two corners:
Here’s the quick message my sister sent after I showed her the panels:
“This piece makes me feel all warm and cozy – life out the bay – Newfoundlandy – non-stressful way of life. Visiting Granny: always seemed to be sunny and soft there, bright sun rays glinting off the water in your eyes, rocks to climb over, bluebells to pick, birds always singing up in the hill where the well was, Grandfather and his Orange Crush, Granny always busy inside, or sitting in her rocker with those bowed legs crossed at the ankles, a welcoming place, best salt water view from the house on the rock, bowls of brown and white eggs (one staler, one fresh), smiling granddad who came and went so quietly to the “Kwap Store” (co-op) I remember Grandfather washing his face in a pan of stale water on the washstand. How often was it changed I wonder. Can still smell it. And in the tiny pantry there was a bin which fascinated me. I always thought she kept flour in it but that’s probably wrong. You pulled the handle towards you and it just pulled forward right from the floor in a V shape.”
Thanks Sissy. For the record I think the funky smell came from the shaving brush. I vaguely recall that v-shaped cupboard but not what was in it. My favourite thing was the wooden box on the wall with the little drawers and the pincushion on top. I know she kept her post office key in one drawer and I always longed to see what was in the others but was too short to reach them and look. Bet I’m tall enough now but the house is long gone.
As a reminder here are the two panels I did last winter:
So now that Granny’s kitchen is complete I’ll have to move on to other things but I am reluctant to leave that place – I could write a book about those memories. Hey, maybe I will some day.
© Judy Parsons 2018
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