Free to Change

This is Grandma; my husband's mother's mama;

my Grandma through marriage; our kids' Great-Grand.

We're in the car that my big sister (through marriage) keeps saying she wants to get detailed for her husband.  He's owned it for years, way over ten of them.

They just moved back east from  having lived on the west coast and then in the western desert since their marriage.  For us it's now a one and half hour car ride to visit them verses a five hour plane ride plus all the logistics of an airport trip.  We are delighted to have our close family nearer by; and our kids are ecstatic to be able to see their cousins more often.

My son needs football cleats and he is in the back seat with T and Grandma.  DeeDee's taking us to the stores twenty minutes away and we get to gaze out of the windows at the new scenery - the river winds itself through the land it's cut through, concrete stone tunnels open ways to pass under train trestles, huge metal objects are stored in a factory yard, we see baseball fields and the mill in town, and we pass a sign for Solitude House Museum.

Once we get to where the stores are, DeeDee follows the circles and we scour the signs for a store that would have what we need.  Grandma has been expressing that she would like a new color for her new bedroom; it's a light purple color with shade toppers that have hot pink circles polka dotted onto them.  When I asked if if she was sure she really didn't like it, suggesting that it could reawaken the little girl within her, she gave me one of her looks that says "are you crazy!?" and makes me laugh.  Oh, Grandma.  Oh, me.

After we found a sports store and purchased cleats for my son, we went to an office store to fulfill a request, and stopped into the paint store for samples.  I brought the sheet of off-white examples to Grandma, sitting in the car, to see what she liked.  She picked Ivory, not Marshmallow, and DeeDee suggested another color too, just in case Grandma picked that one for its name rather than what it looked like.

As we drove out of the parking lot and back into the circle, DeeDee and Grandma were talking about how she would like a new bed set.  Nothing is wrong with her bed set but she would like a new one, she explained to her granddaughter.  "When you want to change, you change - that's freedom," she stated, intonating finality.  In her late 80's, she knows some things.

Freedom messages are of special importance to me this year.  If you've read my blog or if I've told you about how this is my year of Freedom, you'll know why.  It's what I'm seeking after, and it's what has been pursuing me - and within these words  I'll link to blog posts that explain more.

I pulled out the light purple envelope from my purse to write down her quote.   It had held an invitation to a birthday party for one of my daugther's friends, and I couldn't help noticing that it matches Grandma's new bedroom walls; the walls she wants to paint over.  I wrote down the message, knowing I needed to catch the wisdom in her words, knowing I needed to hold onto the message that the ability to change is Freedom. 

I don't have to stay the same.

I can change my mind about things,

even if I once believed that this or that was right

or true in a diehard fashion at one point.

I can change my opinion.

I can change my style and the foods I like.

I can change the type of music I listen to.

I don't have to remain stuck in ways

that aren't working for me. 

There is no reason to always remain the same.

I am free to change.

I can even change my bed set,

just because I want to.
(but don't worry, hun, I don't want to -

not yet, anyway...)