Yesterday I spotted our first snow of the season.
As my mom and I continued to work--sorting her garage, replanting a peony bush, and other outdoor tasks--I couldn't help but keep stealing glances at my black work gloves. Grandma. When we first moved here from warmer climates, snow was exhilarating. New. Exciting. My family loved sledding, snowball fights, digging snow tunnels, scooping bowls of fresh snow and eating them with a generous drizzle of maple syrup.
Grandma taught me to take snow appreciation to a whole new level. Although I loved sliding on it, packing it, throwing it, making angels in it--snow was like one big white blanket to me. All the same. Grandma showed me the great mystery of snow . . . all with her black knit gloves.
When snow would start to fall, Grandma would slip on her gloves and take me outside. After lifting her hands skyward, she let me see: perfect little stars, melting almost faster than we could admire them. Each one was different.
I'll never forget that--or her.
Thank you, Grandma,
for helping me see the world a whole new way--
filled with unexpected delight,
the tiniest little sparkles
shaped with impeccable design
and wonder.
What unexpected delight waits for you today?
Move over, to-do lists; it's time to make room for joy.
As my mom and I continued to work--sorting her garage, replanting a peony bush, and other outdoor tasks--I couldn't help but keep stealing glances at my black work gloves. Grandma. When we first moved here from warmer climates, snow was exhilarating. New. Exciting. My family loved sledding, snowball fights, digging snow tunnels, scooping bowls of fresh snow and eating them with a generous drizzle of maple syrup.
Grandma taught me to take snow appreciation to a whole new level. Although I loved sliding on it, packing it, throwing it, making angels in it--snow was like one big white blanket to me. All the same. Grandma showed me the great mystery of snow . . . all with her black knit gloves.
When snow would start to fall, Grandma would slip on her gloves and take me outside. After lifting her hands skyward, she let me see: perfect little stars, melting almost faster than we could admire them. Each one was different.
I'll never forget that--or her.
(my beloved South Dakota sky)
Thank you, Grandma,
for helping me see the world a whole new way--
filled with unexpected delight,
the tiniest little sparkles
shaped with impeccable design
and wonder.
What unexpected delight waits for you today?
Move over, to-do lists; it's time to make room for joy.
Sign up to receive your free copy of "Today I Will: a joy checklist."
2 comments:
Absolutely lovely post, Amanda--a warm-hearted tribute to a kind and good woman.
"perfect little stars"....just the
sweetest way to see snow:):):)
It's a wildly celebrated happening
here and I'm wowed that you're
getting it so SO soon!
(we usually have to wait until
Feb.....January if we're really
lucky!)
Enjoy that beautiful white goodness
while it's fresh and new!
Oh happy snow anticipation to you,
Jen
Post a Comment