afternoon at grandma's house

A trip to go visit Grandma Lillian has been on my list of necessary activities since I knew I was headed back to Indiana.  It had just been so long since I sat down in her living room for a visit.  When the Purdue brothers came home for fall break it turned out to be an apt weekend to go see her and Mr. Hawley.

 For as long as I can remember, Grandma has lived in her house situated among a forest of evergreens overlooking a lake.  She loves that house.  In my concept of Grandma she and the house are an intertwined entity.  The embodiment of one another.

 Mom and Dad shared their adventures from their summer traverse in the Grand Canyon.

 The brothers and I took a stroll to the water.  Sam was celebrating with Laura in Evansville for her birthday.

 The summer's drought has taken a serious toll on the lake.

 We spent so much of our childhood playing on that waterfront - hunting clams, fighting over slots in the row boat and avoiding the muck.

 The path to the lake always has an array to offer.  Early in the mornings deer wander and in late summer berries and poison ivy mingle just in and out of reach.  Now in autumn it had these purple flowers to brighten the way.

 Jason explains to Zachary how we used to sled down that hill in the winter.  That was when Grandpa Don kept it trim with his giant tractor.  Zachary was a toddler when Grandpa Don passed and has different memories of this place than the nostalgia we older siblings share.

 We lounged in front of the recliner on our favorite patch of carpet.

 It took much more ducking to crawl under the stairs behind the recliner as we did when we were small.  At least half a dozen of us cousins used to fit in that space.  It was quite the challenge for Lew and I to squish half of ourselves under, but our arms were much better for grabbing peoples feet as they ran up the open staircase.

 Josiah and Jason played with toys.

An unavoidable activity of visiting Grandma is rummaging through nostalgia and taking in an undiscovered artifact of the past.  She has lived for 85 years.  I have only known her for 26 of those.   

 Her mother and father on their wedding day - Agnes and Paul.

Young Lillian and George - my mother's parents. 

 Lillian and George on their wedding day.

Lillian and George were the parents of nine children.  They lived in Japan and Belize as missionaries.  My mother, their 8th child, spent her high school years growing up on a coastal town in Belize.

 Heather (my mother) and Roxanne walking on the road.  

 Lillian watches as Nathan, her youngest, and Heather with Pepsi the dog admire the day's snake kill.

I know Lillian as my grandmother, the grandma of my childhood.  [I speak in past-tense because it is past remembered.  She is still here and is still many of these things.]

The lady who always had spare clothes for taking a dip in the lake. If you were lucky enough to have her around with only a few grandkids she may take a dip in the lake with you.  For that she would braid up her shoulder length hair and wade out in the water to enjoy the still cool of early evening.  

She's the woman who always makes fried rice and coffee.  

She was religiously devote and every morning set out boxes of cereal and bowls and spoons for us to eat while she spent the dim morning in an hour of prayer and devotion.  

She swore (well, nearly) by her Barleygreen and pink tape.  The Barleygreen powder she would mix up for us in juice glass full of whatever exotic carton of Minute Maid juice she had in her fridge.  The pink tape she always stuck across her forehead to remind herself not to squint in bright sun while driving the car.  When she arrived at her destination she would remove the tape and stick it on her dash.  There was always that mysterious pink tape on her dashboard. 

In the bottom of her old china cabinet (which I now know is a spoon-carved antique) she kept a round tin of crayons and coloring books.  If we were quick enough we also knew that there were cocktail umbrellas hidden in there and could sneak a few out to play with unnoticed.  

I also know Lillian as an artist and writer both being her passions.  I would like to know this Lillian better.  In our snooping I found a little glimpse of her.

 She could draw well from a young age.  Her mother taught art and music lessons.

 She drew this not long after the first sketch.  I was blown away by the tassels on the lamp, leaves on the plant and patterns on the patchwork quilt.

 She and her brother James were featured in the newspaper for their toy-making   Their father was a carpenter and all-around renaissance man.  He would have taught them to properly mind their instruments.  Lillian said, "I am 14.  My greatest pleasure is in drawing.  I expect to make that my work some day."   

Her teens were spent during of World War II and she became a nurse with the anticipation of serving overseas.  Thankfully the war ended as she finished her training.  The victim of an adventurous spirit (something I would know nothing about, wink-wink) she had her heart set on becoming a missionary.  She and my farming grandfather George would depart for Japan with their young family in tow.  

 She had sketches of a unfinished children's book she sketched titled Jinny in Japan.

I have not come across much of my grandma's sketches before.  For as long as I have known her she has been devoted to oil paint and landscapes.  Every so often she will do a portrait or add an animal to her work but landscapes are her true love.

 This early painting I had not seen before the most recent visit.  She told me it was done plein-air in the company of her mother and favorite aunt, Helen.  They each did a painting but this is the only one remaining.  Judging by the signature it was painted when George, my grandfather, was still alive.

 This scene has been hanging in her home for as long as I can remember.  She would have painted this in my lifetime as it has her second marriage's initials LMN as the signature.

Ever attracted to the water, Grandma has done quite a few paintings with surf and gulls as subject matter. 

Seeing her early sketches left me with a longing to pursue more from my Grandmother of her artistic past.  I know her as my grandmother while my Mom, Aunts and Uncles know her as a Mother.  I am curious to know more of her as the artist - this person that has been present throughout her life as a child, teen, young woman, mother, missionary, and grandmother.  I know we share similarities but our lives and viewpoints are already divergent.  Rarely have I spoken with my grandmother the artist.  In the moments we did share as artistic souls I was left with deeply impacted impressions.