Writing is like a long lost friend

Writing for me is like those amazing friends that come and go through life.  You enjoy your time together, but as the days of missed contact turn into weeks, months, maybe even years, you feel ridiculous calling because it's been so long.  So you don't.  But then you meet up again and it's not awkward, you just pick up right where you left off.  Like riding a bike.  And that seems to be my experience with writing a blog.  I love it, have great intentions of nurturing it, writing a few times a week, etc.  Then life happens and I miss a few scheduled sessions.  And then I feel weird and guilty for not writing, so I don't.  And then I get on to reread a memory from the past that I know I've got journaled here, and I find that it's not so bad being back leaving a trail of my thoughts on the interwebs.

I'm surprised that I haven't posted since January.  I've laid out so many posts in my head.  Just never got around to logging on and typing them out.

Today marks two years of my grandma's passing.  If her death wasn't exactly one month before my birthday, I'm not sure I'd remember it.  I've noticed that as time goes by, the sharp sting of her absence has faded.  I was able to donate most of the fabric that I inherited of hers, saving back only my absolute favorites that I have plans for if I can ever eek out enough time to bring to life the vision I have for them.  I figured if she wasn't able to use them in her lifetime, and I hadn't either in two years, then I should let them go to someone else who could.  So a friend who is in the quilters guild happily took them.  I makes me smile knowing that pieces of grandma's life are touching strangers.

We don't know what kind of legacy our lives will leave once we are gone.  I doubt that grandma ever thought about what would become of her fabric collection once her sewing days were over.  I know that she never knew how much her quiet gentle spirit has affected me.  I never once heard her complain about her health, pain, circumstances.  She was always doing fine, even when she wasn't.  Her back pain was so bad and chronic that it was morphine that finally took it away.  But I never heard or saw an indication of it.  On mornings when I wake up so stiff I can hardly move, I think of her and try my best to not complain.  Some days it's not easy, that's for sure!  Hopefully by the time I reach grandmotherhood I'll have that down and I can set an example for my grandchildren.

I don't know how much of this post makes sense as it is well beyond my bedtime and I am deliriously tired.  Mostly I just can't stop staring at this picture of her at my age.  How I've always thought she was a beautiful lady, and if I am her spitting image ( didn't know about this picture until a month ago) what does that say about me?  Redefining what I think about myself once again.  Ah grandma, sure do wish you were here to see the lady that I'm becoming, and how my babes are growing up into young adults (Abi got her first bra this summer!), and our little farm.