Memories in Ink
This post was meant to be about my recent acquisition of body art. But to get into that, you have to get into the reason behind it. And it's all about a woman who is far more interesting than a bit of ink...
My grandmother was born in 1934, before it was "cool" to be Native American. She was a half-breed. She was spit upon. The youngest of ten, by the time she joined the family her mother had run out of names so an elder sister named her. Vernadell, no middle name to claim. She lost her father when a toddler, and her mother before she was out of her teen years. She was married at the age of sixteen and had her first son while her husband was fighting in Korea.
You get this
bit of history, because I like to remember. Who she was, apart from
what I knew. A strong woman, with plenty of odds to overcome. A real woman.
Fast forward a number of years and my mother wound up relocating to Alaska once she was married, near her sister. It wasn't long after that my Grandmother and Grandfather followed. I was blessed to have them as nearly neighbors until I was six years old. After that we visited often in my mother's home town. In the same house they'd lived in since she was a child. Run down, roses overtaking the outside of it, critters the inside. My grandmother wasn't overly proud. But in that house you never wanted for anything real.
Oogie was the epitome of a good soul. She was a Christian...the sort that taught me what a real Christian should be like. She never judged, or lectured, or pushed her beliefs in anyone's face. She lived her faith. She lived love. She radiated it. No matter who you were. She looked at my father once, a 6'2" two hundred and some pound man, and told him he looked like he could use a hug and asked him to sit on her lap. If you were in need...she would give you the literal shirt off her back or last dollar in her pocket. I don't think she knew how to be selfish. Because of her, those in my family know true love. The sort of family bond that transcends petty disagreements, and differences of opinion. The kind that bears all and believes all...and will never turn its back on you.
Her gentle heart didn't extend only to people either. She adored animals and not just the domestic sort. Growing up I recall her rescuing and rehabilitating a crow, a golden eye duck, various mice, a mountain quail, and several baby racoons. My mother tells stories of a pet squirrel, chickens, a houseful of dogs, and so many guinea pigs they formed their own "pack" under the house. She couldn't stand to harm anything, live trapping even the rats that would get into the attic. Her favorites were mice and ladybugs though...they made her smile. I got her a small ladybug pin when I was younger. She wore it pinned in her coat for years.
She wrote too...poetry. Most of my creative side is attributed to my father's side of the family. But I like to think some of that came from her. She was always encouraging me to keep writing...that someday I'd be somebody.
The spring of 2006 my mother went down to Oregon to help care for my Grandfather, who had emphysema. Oogie had been complaining of back pain. Shortly after she was diagnosed with bone cancer. We lost her October of that same year, grandfather shortly before her. I never got to see her before she died. A selfish part of me is glad. That I never had to see her so much in pain. That I don't have to remember her lying in a hospital bed. But that's just a manner of coping. Because I'll always regret that I didn't get to say goodbye.
It's been six years, and I still think of her all the time. I write something and wish I could share it with her. I hear her favorite song...Morning Has Broken, and can see her listening with closed eyes. I see a thing of beauty...a flower, an animal...and see her smile along with it. More than anything, though, I long for her hugs...the sort that made every trouble and ache in the world melt away.
So here, we finally get back to the Ink part of this article. I've always wanted something on my body. Something permanent for her. I'd been trying to think of a design involving one of the things she (and every other grandmother out there I think) loved to say, "This Too Shall Pass." But nothing ever seemed right...
My mother said something, and it hit me. A ladybug. She loved them and...in her older age we often teased that she looked like one as well. She never stood over 5'1".
So I begged Sheri to draw for me. Something whimsical, but slightly elegant. I gave her all of twelve hours notice. Bless her heart, she came through, and soon as she was done I took the design into Black Cat Tattoo.
This is the portion of the article where I inform you everyone who tells you tattoos don't hurt, is a filthy...dirty liar and should be flogged with limp noodles. Feels more like "scratching" my left arse cheek! Granted, I've been told I have very sensitive skin, I'm scared to death of needles, and I got it pretty much on my boob. I didn't cry, but I clutched the arms of the chair for dear life and was more than pleased when it was over.
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| (Find more of Sheri's work on her DA account ) |
When all is said and done I'm thrilled with my Oogie Bug, close to my heart. It's taken almost a full month to heal (again with the sensitive skin) and is still peeling slightly, but was good enough for pictures. I got a Tattoo Goo kit for the healing process and can't recommend them enough! You have salve for the beginning, a wash for keeping it clean through the whole process, lotion for the itchy as hell stage, and a color guard stick for after. The lotion and salve are also known to boost color in old tattoos! Seriously, not being paid to say this, I'm just in love with it!
Thank you for bearing with me through something I really felt needed shared. I'm a weepy fool sometimes and I leave you dears with this:
Vernadell
There are not enough words
To capture what you were,
and express what you have been.
The more I try to set them in place,
the more I find lacking.
None do you justice.
Though if I must,
I would choose,
Compassion, acceptance, trust,
devotion, faith
and Love...
Lessons you instilled within us,
As you held us together
with your soft, weathered, clorox
scented hands.
These will remain,
for
you wove them well.
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