My Grandmother

Cake.

I'm at my Grandparents farmhouse.

It always smells like freshly baked cake here.A sweet,lingering,sugary-vanilla scent.

My Grandmother Celia and I sit on her bed.She doesn't speak English,I can't speak Finnish.This is the first time I've spent the night.

We're getting ready for bed.It's eight o'clock.Nine o'clock is a late night for them to be awake.Granpa's in his rocking chair,it creaks as he sways back and forth,listening to the radio.

Grandma and I are in our nightgowns.Mine is pink.Hers is white,goes right up to her neck,lots of ruffles.We sit side by side on the bed,her handmade quilts make the bed pillowy soft.


I've never seen my Grandma without her hiar braided tight and pinned in coils at the back of her head. She begins by taking pins out of her hair,placing them in the silver dish on the dresser.The braids fall down her back,scraps of lace tied on the ends.Her fingers quickly undo the braids.It's like a curtain of wavy brown silk.Almost touches the quilt.It's so pretty,I reach out and touch a ripple.

Grandma takes her silver brush from the dresser,our eyes catch in the mirror.Smiling,she hands the brush to me.I gently run it over my Grandma's hair.Her hair gleams in the flickering lamplight.

It happened only once.

I still see her hair shining in the lamplight,and if I close my eyes and try really,really hard I can smell the cake baking.

That is a very nice memory .... thanks for sharing

That's beautiful!!

that is so special

To wonderful memories!

You did an awesome job with this write, recollection!