Color: Green spell
Location: See below
Action: This is an abstract piece representing a human family's ancestry through history. This is a family of farmers, shepherds, and naturalists: people who are connected to the land and nature. You might show this as a sinuous, branching trail through some rural, lightly wooded hills, with small portraits of the men, women, and children of this family at the end of each branching road. The oldest family members might be closest to the "horizon," and the nearest are the children. Most of the people shown share a few physical characteristics in common (for example, wavy/curly hair, a certain half-smile, and/or freckles).
Focus: The overall sense of history
Mood: A journey through a family's history
So... here's how I put all that together in the sketch:
Just as trees with deep roots more easily weather a winter's storm, people with a deep sense of connection and family history are much more powerful and resilient.
I always had a longing to know my mother's mother, Grandma Gwendolyn Mouritsen Pitcher... I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's because I knew she was a twin, just like me, only, her twin brother died when they were 17. Maybe it's because I knew it was she that gave my mother a deep love of music, which permeated my everyday life and eventually affixed itself to my own DNA. Maybe it's because she was a Pisces, just like me, but that would have had to be an intuitive hit as I had no concept of astrology back then. By the time my neurons were creating memories I could articulate, she was in a "rest home" (*cringe* - those were always creepy places to me). My most vivid memory of her was the last time I saw her.
She was talking to us and being generally kind and pleasant, and eating peas. I was painfully shy and quiet and thus could not speak up soon enough when I noticed something I wanted to warn her about. After she swallowed, she looked down at me gently and said, "Now what was it you wanted to tell me about?" Timidly I mumbled, "Well, it's just that there was a hair on that spoon of peas you just ate." Stunned for a second, she countered, "Well NOW's a fine time to tell me about it!" and we all burst out laughing.
But sometimes, you don't get what you wish for... at least not at the time. She died when I was five, the foliage of her life dropping into the soil of our lives... stories, memories and unmet longings left to compost over the years.