Iris of my eye.

Iris is 20 months old. When she sees the glass manequin heads in the dining room she bellows.. Daddy! When she sees a picture of basket ball platers she says excitedly... Daddy, Daddy! Bald=Daddy. The connections she makes are really the coolest.
The pink cover for the hole in the wall in our bed room ( for an old coal stove probably) is the moon and the ceiling is the SKY, SKY!

Yesterday Iris and I sang twinkle twinkle little star all the way through together. (ok.. she didn't say everyword, at least, not the right word. But she was singing the whole way through and we started out the start of each line the right way.) I was so happy all the way through that I could barely keep singing. My eyes got all watery.

The cuteness... It's overwhelming.

memory.

My grandmothers house had bright blue and green shag carpet in the living room and dining room. She had a starburst clock in the kitchen above the olive green formica table with chrome edges. In the kitchen there was a cubby where the ironing board flipped out that was still in use. Below that was her microwave cart and under that was this Thing I loved. it was a twister-cizer ( or somethign like that) it was a blue square platform that you were meant to stand on and twist yourself thin. I would sit on it and spin around until I got so dizzy I would sprawl out on the floor till I could see straight.

In the corner of the living room behind the bright orange sectional was a built in floor to ceiling lamp with three cylindrical colored glass lamps extending off of it. The kind that you would twist to turn on one, two, three or no lights. At the end of the sectioal was an endtable that had a set of three cobalt blue glass birds on the upper shelf.

I see it all so clearly. The green refigerator, the tiny colored glass bottles on the windowsill surrounded by sunny yellow valance curtains. When my grandmother died, I wondered who would be getting those small glass bottles. But I never actually got to go back to her house when I was there for her funeral. I never asked anyone about them because once, when I was a child I had talked about how one of my Mom's friends should leave me something when she died... My Mother gave me such a stern talking to on the drive home I have kept such thoughts to myself since.

Those bottles were what started me on my love of old glass, particularly olf bottles. Although I don't really care what size they are now-a-days.

I like this type of post. I think it keeps memories alive. It's cool how when you sart thinking about one thing, you can remember many thing that went with it. The same is true of photographs. You see that record of a time, an event and you remember the details. I'm going to try and remember more things to share, and thus freshen the memory of them in my own mind.

I think I'll also ask my Mom to ask someone about those bottles. ;)