Memories like Monopoly

I wanted to write something about my grandmother. But I’m not sure how to. I’m sure giving enough time I could write something a bit more meaningful, something that captures my memories better.

I know not one single bad person. Everyone has their good and bad days. My father’s mother was a difficult woman: demanding, critical and oft times downright spiteful. Despite that, I will not remember her like that. There is no point to it. It serves no goal or agenda. Instead, I will remember her through a child’s eyes. Childhood memories are faulty and scattered but the images are pure.

Memories like Monopoly

Monopoly, on an old card table in the living room
Owls, tiny collectables, high on a shelf
Scat, playing for pennies round the kitchen table
Skirts, always, I never saw her in anything but
Gardening, fiercely protective of her blueberry bushes

Soap Operas, like clockwork
Bowling on TV, I will never understand
Cucumber Spears, with practically every meal, crisp and fresh
Black Coffee, waking up each morning, Sanka on the counter, black coffee in the mug
Needlework, crochet and cross stitch, hands always busy