All around me are angels. I hear my Grandmother's lilt in my own voice. I look at my hands and I see the knotted veins and strains of a life lived fully, like my Grandmother. I see in my face the determined jaw of my Grandma Vera who always had a twinkle in her eye. I see the thoughtfulness and the love.
I see my father's grin in my son's face. I see bits of his humor and personality deep in my boys heart. When I look in the mirror I see my father's eyes.
I am surrounded by my family and by those who have gone before me. I have the love and passion for art and painting that my father had. I sing the same songs that he did and have held tight to his whispers of knowledge.
I have the solid wood drop leaf table of my Grandmas that she used to sew and make her quilts on. I can still hear the sounds that her scissors made while cutting along the table top. I have her old red jewelery box with a lock that she used to store her things in while she knit for those she loved. Knitting was a gift passed to her from her mother, and she passed it to me.
I have inherited these things from my father and his mother. Both the physical and the emotional. I knit and sew for my family and friends and make quilts for those who are dear to me. I paint for me mostly, also for others who enjoy my work. It is just what I do.
I take these gifts that I have been given by my father and grandmother and do my best for everyone. It is my inheritance.
