Colour

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We all have our favourite colours. Mine is green. When my granddaughter, Giorgia  was little she loved pink, purple and blues. Yellow, orange and green were not in her palette. Now as an amazing artist at seven, she is more tolerant of other colours. She loves the way they blend to make unique colours all her own.

Deadheading in the garden yesterday I realized that all the summer flowers were jewel colours.  Giorgia would laugh at me. They reminded me so much of my mother. She loved jewel tones and wore them with flare. Her jet black hair and green eyes when she was young and her beautiful silver hair in her elder years were complemented by the jewel tones. She looked very much like the Queen Mom, all lady like with her white gloves and lipstick and her shot of Drambuie in the evening.

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My mother was not a gardener. My dad did all the gardening. My mother preferred being indoors and sewing or knitting. Her mother, who I never knew was a gardener. She preferred the outdoors on the prairie and would much rather be riding her horse bareback then being in the house as a young woman. Gardening kept her outside as a wife and mother. I don’t know what colours she liked as the only pictures I have are sepia.

I don’t know if likes and dislikes or talents can be passed down genetically even if you never met the person. A genetic reincarnation of sorts. I certainly identify with my grandmother more than my mother. Riding bareback and gardening, being out in nature are very much my cup of tea.

My daughter sometimes reminds me of my mother. Her flare for fashion and decorating are similar. They both got along famously, after Lara stopped being a teenager. The famous shoe addiction certainly did not pass her by.

Maybe it’s in my own mind that I identify with Giorgia and feel we are kindred souls.  Everything about her thrills me. She is very right brain like me. We had a great discussion the last time I visited on whether we were schlemiels or schlimazels. We agreed that we were definitely a little of both, with much laughter.

That’s the benefit of having a garden to deadhead. Gives you time to think. Remembering my mother, loving my granddaughters.

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