Time travel

I absolutely love calla lillies. Every time I see one, I'm immediately transported back in time to the absolute best of times, my early childhood and days spent with my grandparents back in Pennsylvania. My mom grew up in a tiny "patch" town which sprung up in the first decade of the 20th century in response to the coal mining industry there. I would venture to say that maybe 300 people lived in her town? And that figure might well be generous.

My grandparents had little in the way of material comforts. But they had what really mattered; a roof over their heads, enough food on the table, and deep, abiding faith that carried them through the very darkest of days, even the loss of their daughter, Toni, after she gave birth to their first grandchild.
Yet, I, as a child, wouldn't have known they had little. Because in my little girl eyes, they held the keys to the kingdom and I was always excited to head for their "castle" on the hill (yes, their little town flourished on the side of a lone hill.)

There were only 2 bedrooms in Gram and Pap's house (three if you count the storage room that was perhaps 6'x10' at best, and was once used as a bedroom.) Including myself, there were four of us kids, and we absolutely loved to pile into the down feather beds, two to a bed, to fall asleep to the sounds of barking dogs in the distance and the smell of coal in the air. That bedroom, to me, was special. It sat at the end of a short but curved hallway with a single sconce light on the wall. And I thought my Gram and Pap were rich because really, who has curved halls?

Mornings were always the same. I awakened to the smell of fresh coffee, visible in the glass top of Gram's perculator. And she sometimes gave me a plastic teacup filled with just a bit of coffee and a barrel of cream. I might have been 5 or 6 years old and definitely not fond of the taste of coffee, but that mattered none. At Gram's house, it was ritual and I was not about to miss out.

Her kitchen seemed large to me as a child. In retrospect, I realize it was really very small. I still remember the pattern on the linoleum. And the lovely glass knob on the basement door. The canned sardines in the pantry. And Pap's oak desk in the corner. Oh, and the warmth of the stove. But most of all, I remember the view from the kitchen window. It directed one's eyes further up the hillside, to the cemetery that sat near the very top. The cemetery where my Aunt Toni was laid to rest. Gram used to do the dishes there, and occasionally I would see her gazing up that hill. While I can't be certain, I do believe that she might have been with my Aunt Toni, if only in thought, in those moments.
Time travel? Hmmm...
I sometimes wonder if the view from that place in Gram's window brought both pain and peace.

We loved to sit on the high front porch on summer nights after our baths, Pap listening to his transister radio, mosquito coils giving off their famliar smell, as the glow of the imposing street lights cast a radiance on our time spent together. Bowls of icecream in our laps, we sang songs, chatted, and attempted to hang on to whatever time we had left to our day before the final bedtime call was issued. Then off we'd go, down the enchanted curved hall to our feather down slumberland for the night.

And that's when I'd always take note of it.

The oval framed photo hanging just through the entry way that lead to the curved hall. The antique frame, with it's beveled glass and youthful subjects. It was a photo of my grandparents on their wedding day long ago. My grandfather looked tall (he wasn't) and proud (he sure was). And my grandmother? The most beautiful bride I had ever laid my youthful eyes on.

And those flowers.

Those magnificant, soft and wonderfully curved flowers.
I didn't know what they were then.
I only knew that they captivated me every time I took notice of them.

I'm not sure I ever ventured through that arched entrance toward the back rooms of Gram's house without taking notice of the wedding photo and the magical beauty of the calla lilies my grandmother held in her bouquet.

So, many years later, when I became a bride, I carried calla lillies in my wedding too. They were, are, and always will be a symbolic connection to that brief and precious time in my life called childhood. I love that they transport me back to a place of incredible love, safety, and peace.

Time travel.

Perhaps not unlike that kitchen window and the faraway place I sometimes noticed in my grandmother's eyes when she stood there staring up the hill?

Only she knows the answer to that.

And I fully intend to ask her someday, when I am blessed to see her again.

Love and miss you always, Gram and Pap.
Wish I could tell you that in person on any given day.

Toni