(I wrote this many years ago after my grandmother passed away, but it is still one of my favorites.  Norma Ellen.....I miss her all the time....)

My grandmother's hands were always busy
threading needles, drying dishes
twirling my hair
I would watch her hands work their magic
on fabrics
adding colors, creating intricate designs
with thread and cloth
pulling the needle up and through
then down again in a fluid rhythm
mesmerizing steadiness
her lips pursed in concentration
quiet but listening

Conversation flew around the room
every so often something would move her
to speak
her hand would stop its movement
needle stuck in cloth
my grandmother's eyes would lift
and make contact with mine
a subtle smile
eyes bright and so alive
pulsing energy
she would make her statement
simple and abrupt,
occasionally punctuated with laughter

I loved it when she laughed
loud and strong
surprising
It would leap across the room and tickle me
where I sat
loving her for her crisp words,
her deliberate hands
and for the gentle, courageous spirit
that I glimpsed in her sparkling eyes
for one short moment
before she looked down at the fabric
and picked up her needle
again