Through The Eyes Of Ruby

Dream 25 Nov 09

I had a dream last night that I saw you waiting at my door.  I took you into my house and showed you every corner of every room.  I watched the reflection in your eyes as you looked over each book, pot and pan and hanging picture—your pupils opening and closing as you quietly focused.  You spoke only to ask me about one hanging picture in my bedroom.  ”Is that you?”

I answered, “Yes, I was 16.”  I looked at your eyes I saw a reflection of the bluebird painting in my room.  You told me that you thought I was beautiful, even with my broken wings.  ”What happened?” you asked.  Without answering, I pulled you to the floor and placed my lips on yours.

1.  Pursue the things you love doing and then do them so well people can’t take their eyes off of you

2.  Be accomplished, but don’t make money your goal. Making a living is not the same as making a life

3.  Make all decisions with an open heart

4.  People will forget what you did, people will forget what you said, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

5.  We need much less than than we think we need

6.  You alone are enough.  You have nothing to prove to anybody.

evelyn

My grandmother’s jewelry box sat high on top of her old wooden bedroom dresser.  Visiting her home as a child, I couldn’t wait until everyone dispersed through the house so I could quietly sneak back to her room and creak open it’s heavy silver lid.  The box was trimmed in dark black velvet which enhanced the sparkle of her large gemstones.   She had rings of all colors and stones—large smoky topaz, sparkly sapphires and necklaces covered in clear stones and pearls.  I tried on the rings onto my small hands, stacking them on until they reached the tip of my fingers like a pirate who was raiding a stolen chest.  The jewels glittered in the light of her dresser.  I would wear her rings and make overly large gestures in the mirror, laughing with my head back, waving my hands, and tinkling my fingers as if I was playing a piano—anything to catch the light and to feel a bit of my grandmother’s glamour.   I remember seeing the rings on my grandmother’s hands.  Her hands were wrinkled but still beautiful in that she always had her nails perfectly painted in a dusty shade of mauve.  Her nails were perfectly oval and her skin was luminescent.  When I think of her hands, I can still see them nervously rubbing the interior burgandy leather of her Cadillac as my dad steered through town faster than her usual 45 miles per hour.  I think of her flipping through the pages of her bible.  The onion-skin thin pages stuck together in the humid Georgia night as she would thumb though to read us her favorite scripture.  My grandmother must have known I loved her jewelry box because it arrived at my door late yesterday.  It was left to me in her will. I opened the heavy silver lid and was immediately brought back to all of my memories of her.  Inside, only dust and a few pieces of glitter clung to the faded black velvet.  Although the box is now empty, it will always be full to me—full of rich memories, richer than any pirate could hope for.  I love you grandma.