Passing On the Wisdom – Remembering My Grandmother
Almost a year since my grandmother Eden has gone onto the other side of this life. Almost a year I have been thinking of her, and of my mother without her and how my own journey will be as my mother moves into her future. This painting is dedicated to them, called Passing on The Wisdom as it shows a mother and daughter, and the mother is passing her wisdom onto the daughter as signified by the fabric and design patterns on their clothing. The designs are symbolic of information, of ideas, or precious stories passed from one generation to the next. Life without grandmothers is like looking at a garden without a rose. Plenty of pansies, and cosmos and even daffodils, but no rose to smell and be in ecstasy over. I miss them both, Eden McCloud and Helen Davis more than I can say. I am thinking of them today…and sending them love off into the ethers. May God grant my wish to send them a message from me… I love you.
My grandmother Eden taught me to sew, darn, embroider, hem and set my hair in curlers. I never got very good at any of those things, but I did them when I was with her as a way of being with her in her arts. I can see her now, sitting the light, considering her stitching. We listened to Elvis and watched Jeopardy. She tended me like a little flower. Feeding me and petting me. And making me healing herbal remedies whenever I needed anything at all. Her color was blue. Her whole home, blue. And when I was shopping for my new kitchen table cloth this week, blue came to me. Blue has never come, Turquoise, yes, but not blue. I think grandmother brought it.
The photo above of my kitchen also features the little dinner I had with my mother, only I was not with my mother because she is so far away. But I made a white bean soup and little the candle and turned on the music and sat with her, and my grandmother, and heart full of love. Now I have to buy a bunch of blue things!
Here is a poem my mother Caron McCloud wrote for my grandmother Eden. I included a link below if you want to read the other seven poems written for her by my beloved mother whose birthday was April 25. Thank you Grandmother Eden, for giving birth to my mother and for passing your wisdom onto her.
HOW THESE SPELLS BEGIN
Eden is in her sun room.
She is surrounded by a jungle of house plants—her
Garden of Eden. It is morning—her
time of day. In the corner of the window screen
a spider annexes silver and magenta veined leaves
from the Wandering Jew into her doilied domain.
A tiny lizard suns herself on the toe of Eden’s slipper.
Eden is standing at her ironing board.
She is sewing, of course—a Wonder Woman uniform
for my doll. She is frowning her famous frown
of intense concentration—that frown
that I diligently practice throughout my childhood,
because my mother is beautiful and I want
to look as much like her as I can, as soon as possible.