heirlooms

heirloom: (noun) a family possession handed down from one generation to the next; (adjective) being an old variety that is cultivated again.

This is a post about history, and my flowers, but first I should explain a little about my house. I live in my grandparent's house. They built it, back in the '40s. I love that. My grandma and grandpa originally lived in the house next door, and my lot was their garden. Then the city wanted to develop this neighborhood, so they told them to build a house here. In my basement, we found my grandpa's book "how to build a bungalow" which he used to build this house. So, two houses, next door to one another, and they put them both up for sale. The other house sold first, so my grandparents, my mom, and her sister, all moved into this house. This is where my mom grew up, until she graduated from high school and married my dad. Grandma and grandpa lived here all of their married lives, until he died in '83. I rented the house from my grandma for several years, after she fell and had to go to a nursing home, and then I bought the house after she passed away in '03. I love living here, because I can feel them both here, and I love the feel of the history in the house itself. I've tried not to change too many things, so it still looks and feels like the home I remember as a little kid. Sure, my stuff is here, but I'm just a caretaker of sorts.

In my yard I have flowers that have always been here. Tulip bulbs that my grandma planted, I've made sure they are replanted every year, and they come up faithfully for me every spring. Sometimes the squirrels mess with me, and I get a tulip in the middle of the yard, but if it is yellow or pink, I know it's one of grandma's, and I smile. And I have these fantastic gigantic peonies in the back yard. Both white and pink. Or at least I used to. This year, for some reason, I only have the white ones.

I think the bunnies liked the pink ones so much, that they burrowed beneath them, and killed my flowers. And this just breaks my heart.

I know these peonies are "heirloom" to no one but me, but I love the darn things. They're high maintenance, they have to be caged just to keep them upright, and they last for such a brief moment in time; but when they are in bloom, they are enormous and lacy and glorious, and they smell fantastic. And, most importantly, they remind me of my grandparents.