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Dirty Windows

amywhitewriting

My nanny was a wonderful woman. She was one of the most loving human beings I have ever met. She was the kind of grandmother who gave giant bear hugs, made banana pudding in big batches with extra vanilla wafers, slipped gas money covertly into my pocket when I was a broke college student, and always cried when it was time for me to leave from a visit. I loved her dearly and I miss her more than words can express even though its been a little over fifteen years since she passed. I can still hear her saying, "Hello, my lover," one of her many terms of endearment, or gently reminding me that "pretty is as pretty does" if I was annoying my sister.


However, as I look back now, I'm sure I took her love for granted because she made me feel so cherished and safe. She gave her love out so freely that it was easy for me to take. I hope she knows how much I loved her.


Nanny was a simple woman. She lived way out in the country, liked to catch mullet by the bucket-load from a John boat with her best friend Eunice, and fed the birds in her yard daily. I spent many hours of my childhood sitting on her backyard swing, snuggled up close to her, looking for cardinals and blue jays and watching her laundry flap in the breeze on the clothesline. She didn't have a dryer because she didn't think she needed one. Her bath towels were always a little crunchy from drying in the sun, but they were just one more thing I liked about visiting her house.


Nanny and I would swing slowly, back and forth, creating the movement by pushing the balls of our feet and our heels into the dirt below. We talked about the birds, whatever was going on in my life, or just chatted about nothing in particular. She got tickled easily by things she saw on TV and liked to relay stories about anything that made her laugh. As a child of the 1980s, I remember her talking about how someone had said, "E.T. was so ugly he was U-GLY," (pronounced you-glee). I can also vividly recall her trying to imitate the ladies on the wildly popular Wendy's commercial who said, "Where's the beef?" And in the early 2000s, even though I was a mother myself by then, we were still swinging and talking. She was fascinated by Ken Jennings when he first appeared as a contestant on Jeopardy. Nanny was awestruck by his intelligence and quick buzzer skills. She declared him "unbeatable" and watched every night to see how long he could keep his winning streak going. She was dumbfounded when he was finally beaten. I wonder what she would say now if she could see him hosting the show?


Nanny's house had a large set of glass, sliding doors that led from the living room to her screened in back porch. I must have passed through those doors thousands of times in my childhood, as did my older sister and my cousins. My nieces, and two of my children, were also lucky enough to visit her home multiple times when they were little and, like the generation that came before them, they pressed their palms to the cool glass. None of us were careful to only touch the handle when we opened and closed the door, so there were always a plethora of fingerprints left behind.


One time, when I was a young adult, Nanny told me that she always instructed her cleaning lady to leave the fingerprints on the door. Not understanding how anyone could like dirty windows, I questioned her logic. I said, "Nanny, you have beautiful decals at eye level so no one walks into the door, so why do you want to have the glass smeared with dirty prints?" She replied, "I like them. When I am here alone, I sit in my living room and I look out the window. The handprints make me feel less alone and remind me that my grandchildren were here. They make me smile."


I hadn't thought about this specific conversation with her in over twenty years. However, this week as I was cleaning my house, I noticed that the bottom panes of the French doors that lead to my back patio were covered with little fingerprints. They had been left there courtesy of my sweet grandson who is just learning to pull up and stand. Her words came flooding back to me. I get it now. I understand exactly what she was talking about all those years ago. The sight of my grandson's tiny fingerprints evoked great joy in me and sparked unexpected feelings of thankfulness I can hardly explain. Like her, I chose to leave them. I couldn't bear to spray them with Windex and wipe them away. They make me smile.


A dirty window is a gift. It is a powerful reminder that I am blessed beyond measure. I pray that I have dirty windows for many, many years to come.


What ordinary things in your life evoke joy? Let me know in the comments below!



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1 Comment


jtomko7
Jul 23, 2024

My sweet Addie Mae was about 18 mon old, toddling about the house. After they left, I noticed in the bottom corner of my window was 2 perfect little baby lips. She had kissed my window. I loved those little lip prints. Then I had my house cleaned 3.5 yrs later and forgot to tell them to leave it. And it’s gone.

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