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A haunting
familiarity
As a
child I was blessed with a grandmother I lived with and loved more
than life itself. She died soon after the birth of my first
daughter.
When I
was in grade school in Baltimore, each October she created a day for
us that was joy personified - lunch at Hutzler's department store,
followed by live entertainment at the Hippodrome, where the likes of
Eddie Cantor, Jimmy Durante and Al Jolson performed.
On
Oct. 20, 1991, at the same time of year as my grandmother's and my
annual adventure of long ago, my husband and I agreed to include our
home in the annual Center City Residents' Association House Tour. An
event occurred that afternoon that I have never forgotten.
Toward
the end of the day's tours, an elderly woman with gorgeous blue eyes
approached me. She said our home was beautiful and explained that
she especially loved a teacup in our dining room. Her eyes misted as
she told me that her mother had one like it. Moved by her kindness
and a strange and haunting familiarity, I decided that the teacup
she admired must be given to her, and I went to find it.
But when I returned, she was gone. It was then I realized that my
visitor's eyes were the exact color of my grandmother's, and that
her familiarity was an exquisite graciousness that each shared.
Now I don't believe that the visitor was a messenger from my
grandmother, or that my sweet guest was sent by a mystical force.
But I do see her visit as a reminder that kindness - if you allow
yourself both to give and receive it - creates the strength to
endure, and it cushions life's inevitable cruelties, betrayals and
injustices.
SaraKay Smullens
Philadelphia
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