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Silver Strands Weave A Golden Memory
I stood beside the old dresser in Grandma’s tiny bedroom, knowing I was about to witness something extraordinary and wonderful. Grandma was pulling little metal hairpins out of the thick silver-gray braid wrapped on the top of her head. Soon she would be transformed before my five-year-old eyes. It was almost mystical, Grandma unwrapping and brushing her waist-length hair. I was transfixed.
When I think of that magical experience, it seems as if all Grandma’s secret dreams and aspirations flowed through those beautiful strands of silver hair. When it was time, she wove them back into a careful braid that wrapped like a crown around her head.
I still wonder about Grandma’s secret dreams and wishes. What did she weave into those silver strands of hair? Did she fulfill her aspirations on that little farm in Minnesota? I know her numerous descendants remain tied to her as tightly as that carefully knit braid, and have her to thank in part for reaching their own goals.
Grandma was a storyteller, an artist and a musician. I remember warm summer nights when I climbed the worn, uneven yellow steps to the upstairs bedroom, eager to get to “go to bed with Grandma” and hear her cajole me to sleep with her funny stories and silly knock-knock jokes.
Her love of art permeated the little farmhouse. She painted beautiful pictures on whatever was handy: backs of calendars, mirrors, wood, canvas when she could get it, even an old drum skin. Inspired by her artistry, I drew and colored a family of swans with crayons when I was nine. I am not sure, but it was either Mother or Grandma who placed it under a glass tray, which I still have.
Grandma loved to play the piano, sharing her love of music with everyone she knew. She could even whistle bird songs native to the region, and we loved to hear her imitations. Grandma was creative! She made the best of what little she had, and I never heard her complain.
Some years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma knew it wouldn’t be good for her to live alone. She met and decided to marry a man named Joe. Later, she also decided it was time to cut her hair—her long, silver waist-length hair. It was difficult for her to care for, because she still lived in a home without plumbing! Though the house remained the same, life was changing for Grandma.
When she passed away a few years later, Grandma left us with wonderful memories, along with the dreams and aspirations she wove into those beautiful strands of silver hair. This was her gift to her daughters, and to their daughters. And it seems to me that in some magical, mysterious way, Grandma’s secret dreams and aspirations are still woven into mine.
Toni M. Babcock is a freelance Christian writer from South St. Paul, Minnesota. She enjoys writing short stories, poems and essays that inspire faith in Jesus. As a former student of the Institute of Children’s Literature, she takes a special interest in writing short stories for kids, sometimes using her own grandkids as characters! |
