Innocent memories

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Ella Grimm

“A small paintbrush in hand, that slowly gilded blue pigments throughout my paper.”

Ella Grimm, Staff Writter

My fingers traced the black calligraphy print across the colorful pages that I pretend to read as I hear a subtle yet familiar voice call for me, from under the kitchen entry wooden frame. I leap up tossing my worn picture book to the ground. Then my hot pink socks slid across the slippery wooden floor to my ultimate destination, the black porcelain sink. With sticky fingers and a full stomach, I glanced up to the tall bar stool awaiting my arrival.  I attempted to grasp the leather-coated top so I could reach the shiny pots within the sink. As I began to struggle the climb, I heard my grandma rush to assist my reach. Soon after, she pulled my arms up so I could sit with my legs criss-cross-applesauce as they had taught me in preschool. I tossed my dark-brown, messy, fishtail braid to my back to restrict it from reaching the multi-colored mound of bubbles. Getting settled, I turned on the waterfall of water as hot as my hands would withstand because I wanted to challenge myself. Reaching under the bubbly surface, I discovered my favorite squishy sponge and squeezed it underneath my chipped purple fingernails.

As my sweet grandma came alongside me to help with her invitation to come wash dishes, I reminisced how uniquely special my relationship with her truly was and still is. Even my 5-year-old wandering mind couldn’t comprehend how someone could be so selfless towards a person. Always looking out for me and creating a comfortable environment that will, in the end, bring me the most joy was and is my Lolo’s end goal.

I sat in the craft room on my spinning swivel chair, with a small paintbrush in hand, that slowly gilded blue pigments throughout my paper. I snapped out of my 11-year-old dramatic thoughts and glanced over to see my grandma weaving the needle in and out of the nearly finished blanket. 

Within her fingertips, attached to the perfected pieces of cloth, layed a small white tag with a fine cursive print. As I looked closer I noticed the tag read “Lolo love,” reminding me that the only reason my grandma makes these whole-hearted projects is to imply her humble affections she intentionally shows my cousins and I with each opportunity she receives.