Lula, One Morning
Sara Metcalf Leach, High Desert Branch
As I watched her preparing for another day, I saw she had one joy that no amount of disappointment could touch. She stood before the long mirror in the dining room and brushed her hair. If I had not been visiting for a week during summertime, I would have missed this early morning solitary ritual. Grandpa was still in bed, unaware.
Now the brush swept from high above me to within my reach at the back of her knees.
Such care taken could only mean that Lula, my grandmother, had treasured her gift of naturally wavy, healthy, long hair, for a sustaining length of time.
Even though Grandma did not appear to look upon me fondly, she allowed me to watch her perform this daily ritual of putting up her hair into tiny rolls and securing them firmly for the day. We would then proceed to the kitchen.
Lula was like a poem that needs no interpretation.
Her face bore her lack of expectations. Her apron, like Sandburg’s Clean Curtains, told her what she must do each day and who she would be always. It fit neatly over the clean housedress to which I clung and followed the folds that moved freely around her long slender legs. Her laced shoes added no softness to her appearance but instead gave her sturdy purchase on the day’s chores.
I knew my life would follow a completely different path, but this example of stability and unspoken love would direct my future in ways I did not yet know.
“Lula, One Morning” originally appeared in the July 2014 Inkslinger,
newsletter of the High Desert Branch.