Thursday, December 9, 2010


A Poem I Wrote In Memory of My Nana, My Mother's Mother Who Half Raised Me.

"And Sometimes You Hold on to the Memory of Love"

Love is not a tangible thing you grasp, like an apple on a tree.

Love is illusive, like vapor, twists and turns,

Caressing our cheek, perchance causing a tear to fall,

Like dew drops on a summer morning.

I don't remember her uttering words of love

It was her actions of unconditional caring.

I absorbed her love like osmosis,

Letting the tendrils of her affection wrap me.

Her hands were worn, wrinkled, but strong.

Her silvery grey hair was always curled.

Her dresses were homemade, a pattern she created.

Her wealth was her unlimited love.

My memories of her weave in and out of my life.

Warming my heart with the richness of remembered devotion.

Death cannot sever the threads of our attachment,

At birth our blood melded us together, never to be severed.


  1. you're a poet
    and didn't know it.

    lovely lines about nana. she was a treasure, for sure. her fried potatoes with real butter - nothing better on earth.

    we get our Scottish nature from her and much more.


  2. For me it was her apple turnover, raspberry pie, peach pie, cucumbers and onions, mashed potatoes, mayo dressing on her lettuce salad, and the absolute best butter tarts..mmm...mmm!!
    Nobody but nobody made pastry as good as she did.
    And she was a dab hand at playing cards too:)
    Well done Lannie - Nana lives on!

  3. Thanks for the compliments Jane and Gord, I too remember her fried potatoes, fried chicken and apple pie..and I remember that dress pattern drawn on a bronw paper about thrifty, but then she survived the depression..She was a treasure of the highest order, we were so fortunate she was "our Nana" L.Dee