Josephine Rose

I went to the funeral of my grandmother today. I hate funerals. I don't like seeing dead bodies. It doesn't remind me of the good times...it reminds me of the fact that she's gone. I've decided when I die. I want a closed casket and lots of pictures of me. Pictures from my birth, my youth, my mothering years and my grandmothering years...and if I make it long enough my great-grandmothering years. Fun pictures.
What I remember most about my grandmother is her potpurri. I remember that she had a beautiful flower garden with herbs amongst the flowers. She would carefully select the more fragrant varieties. After drying out the petals and various plant pieces, we, the grandkids, got to help her. She would put a huge pile on a sheet. We would each grab a corner and she would gently tap in a drop or two of magic smell and we would toss and wiggle those petals around by tugging at our respective corners. That's what I remember about Grandma...her smell. When we visited her house in the piney woods, I would bring extra clothes in my bag so that when I got home I had an outfit to wear that smelt of Grandma's house. I'm glad that after 10 years of alzheimer's, Grandma is finally in a place where she can have a garden again. I can't wait to see it...in 70 years or so.