My Hero


Every single time I sit down to sew or start a project I think of her. Without fail. I am not sure if its one of my OCD rituals or if she is just that influential in my creativity. I do truly believe that everything I know about art and life, started with her.
She was an indescribable personality. I can try but it wont do her justice. If you knew her, you loved her. She was funny and smart. She was resourceful and busy. I don't think she ever sat down for longer than a minute or two.
When I think back to my childhood it was with her that I felt the safest, the most loved and encouraged.

She had a back bedroom. In that bedroom was a table. It was just an old dining table she converted into a sewing area. It was always filled with fabrics and patterns. She didn't sew every day but there was always a project back there. I remember watching her sew from the bed across the room. The hum of the sewing machine was soothing. Like white noise. I really wish I had asked more questions. Watched more intently. It wasn't until long after her passing that I took up sewing myself.

I spent a lot of time with her. When I was about 10 or so she would pick a room in her house for me to redecorate. This is something that was constant with her. She was forever changing wallpaper or window treatments. The overall decor changed regularly. I loved that about her. My job was to rearrange the furniture, pick other items in closets or cellars and make them different. She valued the view of a room though other people's eyes. This continued until I married and moved away. The older I go the more involved it became.

When I was 19 she had a major stroke and it paralyzed her. She couldn't walk or even talk well right after. Her doctor suggested she take up a canvas painting class to help rehab. She surprised herself and all of us when she realized how talented she was. We still have some of her work. She painted these amazing scenes. Mostly landscaping and mostly just from memory. She could barely see but made these brilliant paintings. I wonder what they would have looked like before the stroke. When she had full dexterity. How do you learn you are a brilliant painter at 65 years old, partially paralyzed and legally blind? It still sort of boggles my mind. I try to remember this when people ask me if I can do something. Instead of just saying no I usually say "I am not sure. Ive never tried." I will try it. I think that's pretty much the only reason my grandma didn't know she could paint sooner. No one ever asked her if she could.

She could do anything. I aspire to be like her.

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