I feel grateful to have memories of all of my grandparents. Sadly, I only have one remaining grandparent (my paternal Granny), but I consider myself fortunate to remember all of my grandparents who have passed away. The memory that came to mind when I read the prompt for today's post was of my maternal grandfather. His name was Donald, and when I think of him, I remember his gentle voice, the way that he whistled so perfectly, and wore shorts and a shirt in the Summer. I remember the way he would read to us, and continue reading aloud, even after we had fallen asleep in his lap. He made delicious lemon curd and baked bread, and loved Jesus with all his heart. I remember the day I plucked up the courage to ask him what his ministerial dog collar was made from - something that I had always wondered about whenever I saw church vicar's or ministers with this mysterious white collar on. He knelt done and revealed the mystery - his collar was made from an empty fairy washing up liquid bottle. I couldn't quite believe it. I remember silently wondering if all vicars used fairy bottles to make their dog collars, or if my Grandad was unique in this respect.
The specific memory that came to mind as I thought about him today, was of a time when he taught my brothers how to make a wooden bird box. I remember looking out of the back door, watching them at work in the space between the flowers and the rhubarb that filled their garden. This memory is over twenty years old, and I have no idea why this memory should come to mind over any other. But there we have it, the curious way our minds recall memories that have been stashed away for years and years.
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