I wish Grandma could have seen our garden and our house, but I feel like she's really a part of it. There is no other explanation for my love of the garden except for Grandma. I think of her every time my hands are in the dirt, and I especially think of her every time I manage to grow a few pretty flowers. Each gladiola that I cut this summer made me think of her and our magnificent floral arrangements I made when I visited her and Grandpa in Nebraska. She had the most beautiful flowers. I'd love to show her our corn and ask her what she did to make those raspberries out by the alley so sweet and wonderful and abundant.
Writing Tics Revisited
6 hours ago