by Marie Blauvelt*
"If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. Each is present in your body."
Thich Nhat Hanh
I have only a few photographs of my grandmother. She was camera shy, and anyway, not often available to pose. She was usually in the kitchen, or in the
garden, or in the laundry room, or walking miles from market to market with her string bags, always busy, always working, always doing. She never fussed about her appearance, even though she was attractive and had beautiful skin, large hazel eyes and wavy grey hair spilling out of whatever pins she tried to contain it with.
On her tiny shoulders and five-foot-two frame, she wore sensible garments and sturdy, comfortable shoes. Her eyeglasses were either balanced at the end of her nose, perched on top of her head, or dangling from a chain around her neck – though this never kept her from asking us, “Dove sono i miei occhiali?”
She spoke as often as possible to me in Italian, taking care to correct dialect I had picked up in listening to relatives and wincing when I spoke dialect to her in reply. She never quite learned the language of her adopted country.
The rest of Marie Blauvelt’s eloquent vignette about her nonna can be accessed here: Download Grandma's Hands
* About the Author: Marie is a part-time library circulation clerk, part-time legal assistant, whose license plate frame reads "I'd Rather be Knitting," which usually sums things up... and worries tailgaters. She can be reached at marie.blauveltATgmail.com.