Slow Memories

One of the nicest things about embroidery is that it is slow. It is mediative and thoughtful and gives you time to breathe and think and work through any bothers or emotions. For the last couple of weeks, I have had a lot to think about - I have had some difficult and uncertain news from my part time job, an amazing but scary and 'is it achievable?' opportunity offered to me which would mean a new direction for my (and my family's) future. I'm trying to get used to travelling back and forth between my home and my hometown for Rainbows and Guides, baby sensory and rhyme time, as well as looking ahead and booking talks, workshops and events for next year under my Dotty Textiles business, and basically just keeping it all together. 

Among all of this, we sadly, and unexpectedly, lost my Grandmother - the last of my Grandparents and possibly one of the biggest supporters of my embroidery business. Her home was where my studio was and she would always be asking me how I was doing and what I had sold or created recently, discussing where I wanted to take the business and coming to events to show support where she could. 

Today was her funeral. A lovely service in the church of her choosing - a small little place in a local village where she was born and grew up. She had always expressed her wish to be buried there, in the same burial ground as her own Grandmother, and had fond memories of the village which she would often tell. 

You don't really think of your grandparents as young people - it's almost as if they were born old and you only know the last quarter of their lives so they can't have been doing much before you came along. But Americ (we weren't allowed to call her granny or anything similar) was a very rebellious, curious person, with many interests and fantastic stories. She had travelled all around the world and brought back many souvenirs - especially rocks which she chipped out with a little hammer and often smuggled back in her bra or dirty underwear, assuming no one would check. She joined writing and art classes, never washed her own hair (visiting a hairdresser on a weekly basis for a chat, a wash, and the odd top up of her roots - going grey was never an option), studied geology through an adult education class, was a keen gardener with a vegetable garden, and loved hot and spicy foods, growing her own chilies every year with the quest of making them hotter and hotter. For Christmas I would often try and find strange pickles and chutneys, as hot as I could find them, and I'll never forget one year when she cracked open a jar and ate a massive spoonful, nearly disappearing through the ceiling with steam coming out her ears at the heat of the contents. 

I think it's been said before that people would love to attend their own funerals. Nearly everyone she had loved was there, including people she hadn't seen for years but had admired her or knew her well at some point. Many had travelled a great distance and she would have loved sitting down chatting to them, holding court as a guest of honour with all of her nearest and dearest. We really should make sure to find time to meet up more with the people we love - not wait until it's too late. 

There were many memories banded around today, and little touches of Americ's personality dotted here and there. From the Paco Peña flamenco music played in the service (we went to see several of his shows in London and Brighton together), to the jazz which reminded me of summer days at her house growing up and the jazz CDs playing throughout the house and wafting into the garden through the open doors and windows. She loved the colour purple, would wear it often, had purple plates on the table, purple vases, jugs and watering cans, painted her walls purple, and has been honoured with a bright purple coffin. Something she definitely would have approved of. 

She will be greatly missed by everyone as somebody who spoke their mind, didn't "bandy about the bush" and always had something to say, but who took us all out for meals at her favourite Chinese and Italian restaurants, whisked us away to the Natural History Musuem when we were younger and got in trouble for fondling the giant urn silverware because it was begging to be touched. She drank sometimes a little too much, enjoyed playing the piano, retired from nursing about four times but kept going back to work somewhere else in some capacity, and seemed to overcome many odds. 

The sky this evening was a beautiful colour, one she would have loved and appreciated whilst sitting on a bench in her garden with a glass of something alcoholic and maybe a book. I'm glad she got to meet Finley, and that our final conversation was about how well he was doing and how happy I was with my new home and my little family. Now I imagine she'll be up there, somewhere, reminiscing with all of the others gone before her and waving her arms in an expressive manner whilst telling a fantastical story of her exploits whilst they were gone.