jonellwriteup

Ever wonder what made you the creative person you are? Can you think of any event or circumstance that influenced your love for art and / or your need to express yourself in that way? I won't get into a psychological discussion: I will leave that to an expert. What I do believe is that we are each shaped by our environment, our family life, our successes and hardships, the livelihood and interests of our ancestors, and even geography.

My maternal grandmother grew up in the piney woods of East Texas. She was of Indian ancestry. Maiden name Viola Grubbs, married to Joseph Underwood. She had eleven children and raised eight of them, the rest taken by what my mother called "yellow fever".

By the time I came along Grandma and Grandpa were living in my hometown of Edmond, Oklahoma. Their modest white frame house was the most comfortable place Grandma had ever seen. They were living on their "old-age pension" and she did what she could to keep the place tidy, and she decorated in her own way. And her way was to make lots of butterflies. Large, colorful, crepe paper ones. Stuck on the lace curtains, perched as if they had just flown in. She was also very thrifty. When the linoleum kitchen floor became worn she dolled it up by painting red, yellow and blue dabs and circles all around.

Her handmade sunbonnet girl or butterfly quilts, when not being used, were kept in a huge trunk which Grandma had upholstered in a bright pattern, hence the "quilt box". It could get hot in that old quiltbox. This was the post-depression era, and when hobos came down the road small children were often stuffed into the quilt box for safe keeping until any sign of danger had passed.

Besides butterflies, flowers were another passion. When photographs were taken, Grandma always wanted to be in her garden of zinnias. She would kneel down on her knees so that her head and shoulders could be on a good level with the flowers.

About 15 years ago a sister-in-law was dividing up old linens and distributing them. She showed me a thin quilt top and my heart stood still. I'll bet you can guess how it was decorated: butterflies. Various colors of appliqued cotton, outlined in black thread, all hand-designed by Grandma, no pattern used. I guess you know by now who got it and still cherishes it.

You see, Grandma had been an expert seamstress. She made dresses and suits for her entire extended family, by hand, without a pattern. Bustles, pleats and ruffles all included. I can't sew a lick, but I like to think I inherited her love of color, her flair for style, and her love for flowers (even though my flowers are grown on paper).

And here's another thing: butterflies seem to like me. They land on my shoulders on a sunny day and they always stay a while. I sit very still because I don't want them to leave. I like to think that maybe that's my time to visit again with Grandma. I ask "Is that you, Grandma?". The little butterfly then gently nuzzles me as if to say "Yes, Jo Nell, I'm here".