mothers and daughters

I don't remember much about my great-grandfather, the only great who was still living when I grew up. He lived across the state, and even if we were in town visiting my grandparents, we didn't always see my great-grandfather. When we did, the small house was packed with lots of relatives, so my memories mostly revolve around root beer and the basement pool table. I was 11 when he died.

Morgan is now 11, and she has spent a considerable amount of time with her great-grandmother. When she was a little girl, we would go over to Woodside to visit, pick pears, help with odd jobs, and pick up GG for road trips to a city she now calls home. Our visits aren't as frequent now, but are still a delight for my grandma despite her failing memory. I'm not sure what Morgan remembers about those early years, or what, for that matter, my grandma does. It's sort of an odd juxtaposition - as Morgan has grown and begun to retain memories, my grandma's ability to hold them continues to slip away. 

A couple months ago, a picture taking opportunity presented itself. Here we are, mothers and daughters. Rachel (40), Morgan (11), Wanda (95), Ruth (65).

This picture was taken on my 40th birthday, and yet I don't remember much about that weekend. Instead I look at this and think about those days at my grandma's house: running around the backyard, jumping off the front porch, decorating Christmas cookies, playing with vintage games, and girls-only Saturday mornings at Oakland Mall with lunch at Victor's. 

So on this Mother's Day, I think fondly of the times with my grandma (and mom and sister). Those girlhood moments were encouraged by my mom, who with sweet memories of her own grandmother, understood - and still does - the specialness of that relationship. I'm thankful for those days, and thankful for a mom who continues to create lasting memories with my daughter, so that she, too, will look back on these years as rich and meaningful additions to her life.  

Easter weekend 2008