Mismatched Mess

of life, love, fashion, & forgetting to update

Smelling the Tulips | Writing 101: Day Two

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amsterdam_netherlands_tulip_fields

‘They’re my favorite flower,’ I hear my grandmother say, as I gaze over the vast field of never-ending violet. Ripples of color sway lazily with the breeze and, breathing deeply, I’m transported back to my grandmother’s kitchen. The soft smell of tulips sitting on the kitchen counter next to the coffee pot as Elvis Presley sings hymns softly in the background. She liked listening to that CD in the morning. I make my way through the field taking photos I can’t wait to post, excitement I can’t wait to share.

The things that connect us. The purple tulips in May, on her birthday. The slightly burnt coffee every morning strictly at 7 am. The voice of Elvis Presley in the morning. Things that connect all of us. The entire family. I don’t have to explain my nostalgia for Betty Boop, because they have the same nostalgia. I don’t have to wait for the laugh track when I mention my appreciation of salt and pepper shaker collections because they appreciate them too. They get it.

mamawThis woman who lived a full life, filled with everything from a childhood in the country to one of glitz and glamour. She lived. Her feisty, talkative personality filled her house with laughter. Her love of collecting filled her home, literally. But it was beautiful. It was all beautiful. Specifically I’m not talking about her milk glass collection or china teacup sets. Or her extensive, beautiful gold and diamond jewelry, mostly rings. She treasured those rings and wore them, all at once, on special occasions. No, I mean sneaking in her wardrobe as a child and playing dress up in her 1970’s polyester nightgown-and-robe sets. I mean waiting until she went to the kitchen to slip into her storage room to gaze wide-eyed at her giant collection of Betty Boop coffee cups and dolls and shirts. Once I gave her an old life-sized cutout of Betty Boop. She displayed it in her living room for years.

Finished Painting of Baker Homestead

We were never incredibly close. Or, perhaps, we were. To be close to Mamaw, was to savor the small moments. To be present and willing to listen; to be patient and willing to wait. I wasn’t a good roommate. I wasn’t. After college, I was just grateful for a room in her home at all. I came home exhausted from work and shut myself in my room to decompress for hours. I couldn’t stand watching The Bachelorette with her–even ironically–so I left that to my cousin. I would snap back with an attitude after 30-too-many-times her telling me to not wash my dishes/clothes/self while she was watching her evening shows. She couldn’t hear them, otherwise. I was patient, but I still think about the times I was not. Of course, she had an attitude as well. The kind of attitude that comes with the privilege of aging and not caring at all if what she said offended. To be close to Mamaw was to not care if she did offend, because you knew she was just trying to tell her funny story for a good laugh. Or she was just trying to make sure her precious Betty Boop valuables weren’t broken by the hands of a curious child.

I drift in and out of these memories of my grandmother. Visiting the fields of tulips is like an amplified megaphone; each petal, each smell shouting a memory directly at me. The beauty of those flowers, stretched miles and miles and miles, is overwhelming and awe-inspiring. These fields connect me to my grandmother, they connect us all. They affect me like they affect my family. There is a beautiful trust in that. Even thousands of miles apart, I know I am not alone. Through a simple song by Elvis Presley, we can share a memory, a story, a laugh. Through a single tulip, we can ensure our family history will be remembered in the most beautiful way.

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This was part of the Writing 101’s Blogging University. The prompt: If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

I’d love to visit Amsterdam during their tulip season for my grandmother! It’s on my Bucketlist, even. This spring I at least hope to visit one of England’s beautiful gardens.

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Author: Alyssa

I am an East Texan graphic designer living in Canterbury, Kent, UK with my husband. My favorite sport is rearranging my furniture. When I'm not writing blogs, you can find me making fun of myself on Snapchat or Twitter, or being hipster on Instagram. Coffee, vintage and The Office reruns for life. Find me elsewhere: Snapchat: lyssssabeth | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

6 thoughts on “Smelling the Tulips | Writing 101: Day Two

  1. You’ll have to go south west of Amsterdam. 🙂 I almost wrote about the tulip fields over there as well, but went a different route. I loved this story, I could picture your grandmother and you in that house together. It sounded like you were close, even if close wasn’t always friendly. You still portrayed a deep love here.

    • Thank for your comment! I’m glad I was able to convey what I wanted in the story! And I knew it was the Netherlands region but I should’ve done my research! The photos of the fields are great, though, aren’t they?! Hopefully I’ll make that trip one day. 🙂

    • They are great. And the fields stretch from Haarlem to Leiden (Haarlem is just on the outskirts of Amsterdam – so you didn’t really make a mistake).

  2. This brought back the memories of the time I spent wth my granny :’)

  3. Alyssa, she was so happy to be at your wedding. That’s the last time I remember seeing her. You have written a wonderful post that honors her. Love you so much! Grandma

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