40 to 40 (Gratitude 27)

I am grateful for my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Richardson, giving me a love of history. She was so passionate about it and she helped instill a passion for it in me as well. I remember acting out various segments of Ohio history in her class with forts behind desks and Indians attacking.

More than that, I am grateful for that love of history because it gave me a way of connecting with my grandfather Brooke. Until I was about 10, I don't think that I really connected with him. Then one day at lunch, I was talking about learning about Zane's Trace in Mrs. Richardson's class. He said that Zane's Trace (the first road through the wilderness) was right outside the front door. Indeed, he took us down the road a piece to a marker that marked where a lodge had been built on that first road through the wilderness.

He began showing us arrow heads he found working the fields and telling us all about his little piece of Ohio. From there it grew to sharing about family history. He had a great love for genealogy that had been passed on by his father. They could trace the family tree all the way back to the 1500's in England and the first Brooke (Robert Brooke) immigrant who came with his family to settle in Maryland.

So, why the love of history was nice, the connecting point with my grandfather was even sweeter.

40 to 40 (Gratitude 1)

(If you don't know what "40 to 40" is, click the graphic.)

My first gratitude was easy to come by. I am thankful for my grandmother Brooke. Her name was Clara Louise Brooke. I was named for her -- Amy Louise. I love that fact.

My childhood was fairly tumultuous. My grandmother was an oasis in the midst of it. I use to will myself to wake up early and tip toe down the stairs. I would sit in the green chair where she could see me when she looked out the door from her bed. She would always get up and start making breakfast. While she made coffee cake or fried bacon I would prattle on and on about everything imaginable. I was not a talker as a child, but when I was with her I talked. She heard all about school and listened to poems I had memorized or ones that I had made up. She knew I wanted to grow up and study dolphins.

I hated it when everyone else woke up and I had to share her. But I am so grateful for those morning times I had with her. She made me feel listened to. She made me feel cared about. More than anything, she made me feel loved.

Old Letter

In my search for Ecuador (see yesterday's post), I unearthed some other treasures. One was a letter from my Grandma Brooke. Her given name was Clara Louise, but she always went by Louise. Though, my grandpa called her "Weezy." I am fortunate to have been named for her with my middle name being Louise.

Above is the back of the last letter I received from her. It was dated 4/29/1996. While the front is a bit about this or that cousin, the back is the piece I will cherish and stung my eyes with tears.

Seems as tho you are a busy girl. I feel like you are busy about all the time. I think of our days on the farm when you came down to visit. They were happy days for me & I am glad I have them to remember. Well I better close so I can mail this. Hard to tell where you will be but you'll get it someday. ha ha I think Amy is our Traveling Girl.

Well love to you
Think of you a lot
Love G-ma Brooke

In the midst of an abusive family situation, my dear grandmother was an oasis. We went to visit once or twice a month. At ten the abuse had escalated and I was sad and lonely and very, very quiet. You could barely get "Boo" out of me.

One day, I discovered that if I got up early and sat in the green chair outside her bedroom, she would look up and see me and get up. Together we would go into the kitchen. She would mix up a coffee cake and I would talk. It was as if all the words so carefully walled up in me just spilled out. While I never mentioned the abuse, she heard all of my childish dreams. I read quotes from books I was reading. I recited a poem. I told her about how Mrs. Richardson let us act out our fourth grade Ohio history lessons. I told her I liked Mrs. Richardson the best of all my teachers cause she reminded me of her.

For 15 or 20 minutes on those mornings, I had her undivided attention. It was a raft in a wild sea. Too soon I would hear my sisters' footsteps on the stairs and I would have to share my grandma.

Never underestimate the power of a few minutes undivided attention in the life of a child. It kept me afloat.

Yes, grandma, I remember those days too. You loved me well and I am a better person for it.

Lots of love,