It doesn’t matter how old I get some things are just right and good and important.
Sitting on the kitchen counter watching my gramma make raspberry cobbler, one hand in a cookie jar, one hand on a mason jar of tea, will always fall into that category.
And despite the fact that I’m 28 and peruse Ulta and Sephora at leisure (at least online when the kids are asleep), there is still magic and mystery in her makeup drawers.
And despite knowing from 28 years of experience that some shades only 60 year olds can pull off, I absolutely must try at least 3 shades of lipstick in one day.
And the vials of perfume leave me smelling of her and I secretly love it – even though its hard to breathe for a moment.
And there have been times I’ve got my feelings hurt and not understood their ideology or ranking.
But I can’t seem to say no to blue gill fishing with a can of corn or balancing among her roses.
And even from states away ,every Little Debbie Brownie takes me to one kitchen. And my love of coffee started with her lap and sugar milk. Something sacred and sweet.
And there is no real spiritual message here, just a reminder to slow down and savor moments. And when you grow up, go back to the places and people who love you.
And don’t forget that sometimes grandparents are the magic of up north.