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Gwen Tuinman

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grandmother

Cherished

My great-grandmother Essie always wore an apron, the full-bib type that buttoned together in the back. Hers were made of lightweight cotton printed with floral patterns and trimmed with piping that matched. Even as a small child, I felt the love and warmth and story inside her tilting house. Although mindful and very much living in the now, part of me lingers in that time so vivid in my mind.

Continue reading “Cherished”

For Erie Belle

I’ve been thinking of my grandmother lately. Each summer of my childhood, I escaped the forces of home to enjoy two carefree weeks in her presence. This poem is for her. I wrote it following a vivid dream that she’d come back to me. Erie Belle, always in my heart. Continue reading “For Erie Belle”

Feeling Nostalgic — Knit, Crochet, Tat, Write

lady knitting on her porch

I’ve always been fascinated by handcrafts. Crocheting. Knitting. Tatting. At one time or another, I’ve known how to do all of these things, at least in a very basic way.

My maternal grandmother shared her love of crocheting by teaching me to create circles and squares with a hook and yarn. My paternal grandmother taught me to knit and to tat. The tatting shuttle took a great deal of patience to operate. Her pillowcases and handkerchiefs were trimmed in lace created by her shuttle. I remember that she had an ivory shuttle that once been her mothers, my great-grandmother. Continue reading “Feeling Nostalgic — Knit, Crochet, Tat, Write”

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