Memories of my grandmother: day 4

I remember my grandmother’s hands among the roses. She loved the white roses in her tiny garden. They were a gift from her mother. When she moved away from that house she brought clippings of the rose bush with her. Those hands did so many things. I see them flicking a pen while marking a script, brushing oil onto the lamb roast, holding surely around the steering wheel during one of out long drives and killing that potentially poisonous sprider in Spain that she always regretted afterwards. I see them grow curiously old, the skin getting softer, thinner and more transparent. My uncle, who was with her when she died said that at the end she couldn’t speak at all, except for the way she held his hand. “Imagine that”, he said “that the most important things you can say to someone, you can say just by holding their hand.”

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Fragment 6: Her kind of rose, it even smells right.

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A tiny house in a big world.

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Old road overgrown with moss.

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New road with thistles.

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Memories of my grandmother: day 3

Once my grandmother was alone with all the children on the pine covered island. Hers and her friends’ children were playing among the cliffs and twisted island pines. No new food would arrive until the next day so when the last pasta on the island fell into the dish-water she rinsed it off and served it anyway. She laughed guiltily remembering that dinner, one of the full children afterwards smilig up at her and happily stating “you always use the best spices!” It was a rainy summer that year and a lot of sea to the shore.

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Along the river Indalsälven by canoe.

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Roots by the shore.

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Fragment 5: bark shard from pine in the shape of an island.

Memories of my grandmother: day 2

I remember trying on my grandmother’s wedding dress in front of the mirror in the room I always slept in, in the house where my mother was born. It was impossibly long and had an impossibly slim waist. I could just close the zipper, and I was only 8. The white silk was woven in a flower pattern and the long sleeves had rows of covered buttons down by the hands. She didn’t stay married for long but she always kept the dress. It smelled like her, some kind of flower I have never been able to figure out mixed with something dry and old, like rose petals that’s been dry so long they mostly smell of dust.

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Fragment 4: a piece of a double sided mirror.

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Lichens, like embroidery on the rocks.

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Mum checking her phone during a break by the river.