Written by Melody from Slurping Life
It's just an old brown bottle...
My Grandmama's hands caressed the glass
as she rolled out the dough.
Now I nestle the bottle in my hands.
My fingers tingle with memories of
dumplings, pies, cookies
talking, singing, laughter
and the love which fills me.
When my maternal Grandmother died ten years ago, her only personal belonging I asked to have was the brown bottle. For as long as any family member can remember, Grandmama used this bottle as her rolling pin. As a little girl, my summers were spent with my Grandmama...countless hours of happiness watching her roll out dough on the Hoosier cabinet in her kitchen. Traces of dried dough cling in the crevice of the bottle's lip. Traces of my Grandmother cling within me.
I love you, Grandmama. I miss you. ox