All around us are ghosts. I see my father's grin in my son's face. I hear my grandmother's lilt in my daughter's voice. I look at my hands, and see the knotted veins and strains of a life lived hard, lived like my mother:
I see in my face the determined jaw of grandma ruth, and the twinkle in the eye of grandma mac. i see the thoughtfulness (hence the set of my jaw) and the love. the grey in my hair is an evolution set in motion by them, while i watch my hair change in the same patterns as theirs did.
I'm surrounded by my family, by those who have gone before me. i have the leather pouch my father would carry tools in as he went about his daily work on the farm. i have the desk that grandma mac used to sew her quilts, and clothes.
I have the pie safe that grandma ruth used to store her things, while she knit blankets to warm all those she loved:
I've inherited these things from my two favorite women in the whole world. Both the physical and the emotional. I knit & sew for my family.
I sew halloween costumes, so the dreams my boys envision can come true, if only for one enchanted night.
I knit for my daughter who i even cannot seem to make happy, despite my best efforts, when they turn to others for their laughter.
And i craft for those who have no one else.
I take these gifts i've been given by my grandmothers, and great grandmothers, and all my ancestors and do my best for everyone. It's my Inheritance.