A technical reflection

Me and my Mom, on a visit to Missouri.

I have been scanning my Mom's old photos, and included in them are photos when I traveled to the lands of my biological father.  Different points of my young life, accentuated in a completely different climate.

One time, when I was around seven, my parents had since been divorced for several years, yet, my Mom took me to Missouri for a visit.  I remember a few moments clearly.  Like this one, depicted in the image above from this trip.

My grandparents on my Dad's side were so different from my grandparents on my Mom's side.  We went to my great-Uncle's home, and he spoke in such a thick Missourian accent, that it took me time to unpack and. understand what he said.  Now, I can speak like he did, like a special tool on my swiss army knife.  That is how deep it impressed upon my young subconscious mind.

I remember them being tickled that they had an Eskimo for a granddaughter, but we did not bring our foods for them to try.  My grandmother made a chicken and dumpling soup that I thought was amazing, and there were jars she would pop open of what she had pickled.  

In the basement of the house not pictured in this photo, my grandmother had her sewing studio, a place where she had this big machine to help her with her quilting process.  It looked technical, imposing. 

At one point, my grandparents on my Dad's side were deep into a refinishing business for furniture.  My grandma explained how they would strip, sand and stain, showed me the new handles.  At night, she would sit in her Queen Anne chair and embroider.

Today, I sew our traditional clothing.  I draw, I paint, I sculpt, I write, I dance, I sing, I rap.  I perform, I create.  I dream. 

Now I realize that my technical talents came from both sides of my family.  An attention to detail, a commitment to finish.