peg22 | Monday Monday . . .

So Laura's beautiful pictures of her grandparents, coupled with my Sunday visit with my own grandma (85) and my great aunt (81) who fight like sisters and whose mantle is lined with pictures of my grandpa who died 2 years ago and whose memory still sends my grandma to bed for "weeping spells" and then I think of my other grandma (95) who is dainty and proper and losing her memory which means she's losing my memories because she's the one who remembers my kindergarten jokes and my fear of mice and then I remember her husband, my other grandpa, who died in 2001 while I was in Amsterdam, which will always make it that much . . . more.

It just all reminds me that I am soo lucky to have been raised in a multigenerational world and so I thought I'd share something Wot I Wrote about that:

The Carpenter

I miss the presence of elderly men.

Paper-thin skin stretched over gnarled knuckles,
white hair blown across the back of a hand,
the smell of aftershave, pears, and decay.

Trousers tumble down from a tight-cinched waist,
circle spindly legs, barely touching the top of the
worn leather shoes, windbreaker zipped to the neck.

I reach to the back of the bathroom shelf,
and pull out a barrel-shaped comb, carved from wood,
three silver strands still captured in the bristles.

I finger the fine layer of talcum
and discover a coupon for jelly, an aspirin,
three nails and a horehound drop.