Friday, August 25, 2017

CROCHETING: A Poem about My Maternal Grandmother

 My Babci: Anna Chalupka Kozicka

By Elaine Magliaro

The crowns of blossoming fruit trees
are pink and white clouds.
We sit under the apple tree,
petals falling around us like spring snow.
Nearby Babci relaxes in the wide Adirondack chair
crocheting an earth-brown afghan
for our summertime picnics.
Her nimble fingers dance
as she hooks and loops
the dark yarn into intricate designs.
From a single strand
she creates a lacy island
where we will float
on a sea of soft green grass
near Dzidzi’s garden,
eating ham sandwiches,
crunching homemade pickles,
savoring our summer afternoons.

Why I chose to post this poem today: We have had some fine summer weather here this week--sunny, warm, breezy, and dry. Two days ago, my older granddaughter asked if we could have a picnic in our yard. I thought it was a wonderful idea! I lay down a blanket on the lawn in the shade of our old ash tree. Julia and Ali and I had a lovely lunch of red grapes, fontina cheese, and yogurt. The next day, we did it again. My husband joined us for our picnic this time. In addition to grapes, cheese, and yogurt, we had some leftover shrimp and pasta with pesto sauce that I had made with basil from our garden. The girls gobbled up the pasta! Our picnics brought back memories of some of the childhood days that I spent at the home of my beloved maternal grandparents.

Years ago, I wrote a collection of memoir poems about my Babci and Dzidzi. Babci loved to crochet and make food for and feed her family. She also canned fruits and vegetables from their garden. One of her specialties was homemade piccalilli.

My Babci is the one on the right.



Jone has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Check It Out.








Buffy Silverman said...

What a tranquil August mood you've created--I especially love these lines:
a lacy island
where we will float
on a sea of soft green grass

Thanks for sharing your Babci!

Violet N. said...

This is a beautiful post, Elaine! Such lovely memories. I was also snagged by the lines that Buffy quoted (above).

Linda B said...

It's special to hear about your grandmother, Elaine. I have fond memories of taking picnics out with mine, too and each one made blankets and quilts (busy hands) along with the tasks of canning, "putting up" the garden. How lovely to hear of you picnicking with your own granddaughters. It is a joy to be a grandmother as I'm sure you know. I love the pictures.

Linda said...

When I was first married, we didn't have much money to buy holiday gifts so I crocheted something for each family member. As life got busier, I gave up crocheting until I became a grandma. I wanted to give my two grandchildren something special that I made just for them. So, I crocheted baby afghans for each of them. Your poem brought back the joy I felt making the gifts and the joy I saw in the eyes of those who received them. Now that I am retired, I would love to crochet again, but arthritis in my hands makes it more difficult. Thanks for the lovely memories.

Mary Lee said...

I'm reading the roundup backwards this week, so I came from savoring "watermelon days" at Ramona's blog, to your late summer picnics + memories! Your posts talk to each other!

Kay said...

What a lovely memory of your maternal grandmother, and one that now carries into the future with more recent picnics. Those memories link together like the chains in crochet.

Tabatha said...

Joyful memories! Thanks for sharing them with us, Elaine. (I love those lines Buffy quoted, too!)

Molly Hogan said...

Your poem is such a beautiful tribute to your loving memories of time spent with your grandmother and now with your granddaughters. It makes me think of Donna's poem about time and the line: "Time he can
Ultimately never save, but only more wisely spend."
Clearly you are doing this. Lovely!

Diane Mayr said...

Thanks for sharing this lovely poem. I had two Polish grandmothers, one a Babci, and the other, being second generation, a Grandma. My Grandma crocheted, so your poem means a lot.

jone said...

Wow. Such wonderful photos and the poem. I want the pickles and to see what she crocheted.

Jane @ said...

I recently lost my last remaining grandparent, and your poem came at just the right time for me to savour and reminisce!

Brenda at FriendlyFairyTales said...

Beautiful memories of her. I love the names, the crocheting and the homemade pickles. People used to make everything from scratch.

Unknown said...

Elaine, you won a copy of Pet Crazy. Please email me your address at macrush53 (at) yahoo (dot) com.