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She had ideas. I didn't know how many until we started cleaning out her bedroom. It was confirming really. I'm not just this weird lady with notebooks and lists and blogs of ideas. It's a family trait. I wish I would have known that a year ago. I would have asked questions, shown her my notebooks, asked her about hers.
Even 6 months later, she is still there. Her quilts, Her pictures, Her books.
We had to take a trip to the farm 2 weeks ago. It was time for quiet. Time for unplugging.
It's so cold, we even say no to the boys when they want to play outside. Big A grabs his book and settles in to read. Li'l T grabs some crayons and declares he wants to draw.
My Mama hops up, excited to share some of the paper and notebooks that we think are blank. I open it up to set it up for Li'l T. Then I stop.
"Nope. You can't use this sketch book."
These are sketches that my Grandmother made. Then the stories come. It was probably while she was sitting at her old, metal desk at the tired farm house over the hill. It left me wondering, did she sit there often?
And then all of a sudden, the sketches stop. And it leaves me wondering, do I let my budding artists add a sketch a day to Great-Grandma's notebook? (I want to say no to preserve it, but yet, how cool would that be?)
Frame some for siblings? Let the boys add a sketch a day as we talk about Grandma?
What would you do?