White clouds scatter a cornflower blue sky.
I close my eyes and breathe in the sweet fragrance of roses in my grandmother’s garden.
Why did it have to be such a perfect English July day?
I soak up the warmth of the sun and listen as the breeze stirs the trees. Unfairly, they entice me to linger. I am already reluctant to leave and return to Massachusetts with its sweltering heat, where my husband and I have relocated only three months earlier.
However, I need to get on the road. I have at least a two-hour journey to make before I check-in for my flight at Heathrow airport.
Make the most of every moment.
I proudly place the latest great granddaughter in my grandmother’s lap.
“Oh, my dear,” she sighs, “what is she wearing? Navy blue is not the color for a baby.”
I had considered the one-piece to be pretty with its dainty white flowers on a dark blue background. It was practical, too, for a long plane ride. And, the color suited my pale-skinned little girl with her big blue eyes, so I thought. The outfit clearly upset my grandmother’s sensibilities.
I decide to let the comment go. Other things are more important.
“One photo with four generations,” I suggest with a lump in my throat.
The photograph now sits above my desk, attached to a pin board containing other snapshots of my life.
A picture captures a moment in time. It pulls us into the occasion so we laugh, or cry, or simply just remember with fondness the little things.
Grandma grasps the finger of my five-month-old daughter. I should have dressed my baby in pink that day. My dad is the photographer. I hear my mom reprimanding him as we study the shot: “Oh look; you got the strap of the camera in the photograph. Can’t you take a proper photo?” My dad just shrugs his shoulders and mutters to himself—his way of dealing with my mum’s flippant comment.
It’s a special memory. Bitter sweet.
Not all of us are able to share a hug, a gift, or a meal with a mother, grandmother, or other special someone, but we can share a memory. Share your memories in a comment below.