There are two things I know about my great-grandmother.

1) She loved birds.
2) She loved watermelon.

***

My great-grandmother, Georgia, died when I was 6.
Even though we didn't have a close relationship, I remember her.

She lived in a retirement home before she got sick with cancer, and moved into my grandparent's house to be cared for. I remember where she lived because it was a high rise, and we had to take an elevator up to her apartment. The memory of it probably stayed with me because as a kid, my mom would point to the building and tell me that's where my great-grandmother lived, when we'd pass by it. I used to think it was crazy-impossible that someone so old and frail could live in a building so big and tall. I guess because in my mind, it seemed like living in such a big building would be overwhelming to someone who didn't seem strong.

What I remember most about her, are her dolls.

My great-grandmother had these dolls that were ancient, even back then. I have a vague memory of tapping my mom's leg, and whispering to ask her if I could get out the garbage sack where the dolls were kept. It's my only real memory of being there, but I know I was there more than once. The anticipation of seeing her dolls was palpable.

I can see my arm, now, disappearing into that bag, grabbing each doll, one-by-one, until they were all set out before me. A feast.
Their doll bodies held history all over them.
Touching them felt ethereal...even to my 6-ish year-old self.

Their hair was rough and matted, the blonde hair turned a brittle light-brown, due to age, but probably mostly from the dust and dirt of being played with so much.
None of them were soft bodied. Fingerprints were all over them, left from generations of children before me.
They had the kind of eyes that shut when they were reclined, although most of them had become permanently sealed in all positions. They had to be forced open, manually, by the time I got to them. It was part of the fun and entertainment.

Next, I remember my great-grandmother, at my grandparent's house, sick. I know she was sick because I remember the oxygen tank, and her having to be helped up and out of chairs. But mostly, I remember the energy of everyone there during that time. Grief, tension, fear...

The dolls made the trip with her. Once at my grandparent's house, they were kept in my grandpa's room in a old red leather ottoman where all the other toys lived. The red ottoman is another fixture in my memory. It was there, filled with toys, until the day he died, nearly two decades after my great-grandmother.

***

My great-grandmother loved birds.
I know this, not because I can remember me and my great-grandmother ever really having a conversation, but because while she was living at my grandparent's house, there was a picture hung of a red cardinal in my grandma's room (where my great-grandmother stayed.) I recognized the bird picture as being out of place. I knew it hadn't always been there. I must have asked about it because I recall my grandmother looking at her mom, and say to me, "She loves birds. She collects birds."

It's still imbedded in my brain, 30 years later. It's funny, the things you remember.

During this same period, when my great-grandmother was sick, everyone was eating watermelon at my grandparent's house. Apparently, I was eating a lot of it.

I clearly remember my grandma saying that day, "You're like your great-grandma! She loves watermelon! She likes it with salt sprinkled on it. Want to try it with salt?"

I remember thinking, "gross!" and then trying it.
I wanted to know what my great-grandma thought was so good, and if I really might be like her.
It was surprisingly ok!
Those were the days when watermelons came filled with tons of black seeds.
The memory is so clear inside me, my mouth waters for a bite.
I don't eat my watermelon with salt now, but I think about it every time.

***

I'm sharing this because I remember when my family, dysfunctional as it could be, was still family.
I loved them all. I wanted to be part of it.
They were important to me.
Maybe I have these specific memories about dolls, birds and watermelon because these sorts of things were more the exception to the typical experiences and conversations.
But, regardless, deep memories were made, not all of which were hurtful or traumatic.

My great-grandmother passed, and the dolls stayed.
At my grandparents house, I would sit quietly and listen to the adults, and not play with the dolls.
After the initial excitement of getting them out of the bag, and seeing them, I was more interested in what was being said, and what was going on around me.
I picked up on a lot of stuff...like I did about my great-grandmother.
Other stuff, too, of course.

Things stay with you. They did me, anyway.
Monday, I spoke about the layers people and stories have.
This is one of my layers.

***

Without any conscious intention, the last 3 paintings I've made in my studio have revolved around birds.

I began this painting today.
Click on the images to view a slideshow of my process up to this point. The first and last photos are where the painting stands at the time of this posting.
I now have two paintings currently in the active process stage. Both currently feature birds!

I've felt exceptionally drawn to birds, without knowing why.
I speculate it has something to do with their wings, and the ability to fly.
Birds can come close and go far away, quickly. They are sensitive and perceptive. Fragile and resilient.

Maybe it's tied to a longing for freedom, release, to rise, transcend, travel. The search to be both connected, and safe

But I think some of it is grief. Like a connection to a void that would never be filled, even if people lived forever. They are like messengers, coming and going, highlighting the big-picture empty space of my life.

It's significant to me that, the first time a bird appeared, I thought of my great-grandmother.
It was a passing thought, at first, but it hung in the air.
Now, today, on my 3rd painting of birds, the thought of connection to my great-grandmother, and family that no longer exists, is prominent.


My family didn't just up, and disappear. It was chronically ill. It became terminal when my grandpa, the thread who kept the family together at all, passed away 11 years ago.   The weak remainder of family connection died with him.

While my great-grandmother loved birds and watermelon...my grandpa seemed to be love.
He was kindness. He was also sound, slow to anger, and reasonable.
He was the calm in the storm.
He was hope.

He at least had a less hurtful way of surviving his pain than others I saw.

The birds are bringing up feelings about the strength of both connection and aloneness, and where I am.
What do I want? What is possible? How do I progress toward it?

Maybe the birds have appeared, to try to tell me there's still hope for my memories, or the lack of.
Absence, loss, longing.
Most of the feelings, I can't articulate.
I'm asking them to show me the way.

I want more. But, I don't know what there is to have more of.
It's gone, for so many reasons.
Or, it was never there.