This blog is about the art of noticing. In our society, relishing in our existence has become somewhat of a privilege, rather than a given. Our fast-paced, relentless and unforgiving capitalistic lifestyles have taken away the art of intimate, intentional contemplation and observation. Whether this be the way the steam from our morning coffee hits the chill of the late November air on our front porch, or the colors of a fiery sunset morphing and melting in front of our very eyes, we have lost the touch of human observation in our everyday lives. My blog intends to be a space for you to come and inspire yourself to notice the beauty in the simplicity of your very own life. Let my observations be an emblem of the beauty you are capable of finding in your daily endeavors as well. 

To kick off my blog, I want to talk about grandmothers. My nana Debbie is the kindest, most genuinely golden soul that walks this earth. She is selfless, considerate and intentional and when I visit her in her quaint Quincy apartment, I am reminded of the matriarch of my family, the woman who is responsible for my creation, and how she lives inside of me. 

Her living room is showered in plants and flowers, old paintings of the Boston Common and young girls picking sunflowers. The pillows on her gray couch are turquoise to match the accents around the room, and her oxygen tank quietly murmurs in the corner, as her nasal cannula sits kindly under her freckled nose. 

Her eyes are green, something I’ve always been quite envious of. They’re more of an emerald, like the eyes of a royal princess. Her hair has gone fully gray now, what was once a bright blonde has descended into a sea of silver, the color of the sun reflecting upon the ocean’s tide. When I catch her at certain angles, I see her age. I see that her nose has gone dry from her oxygen, the smile lines on her face from years of laughter and kindness. But when she giggles, when she smiles, it is as if I am meeting myself sixty years down the line. My smile is just like hers, cheeky, wide, and all encompassing. Her eyes squint and there go the emeralds, disappeared into a flushed glow and a cheeky grin. 

Our grandmothers are the reason we are here. They cooked us cookies when we were little, they watched us while our parents went away for the weekend to escape our toddler terror. My nana Debbie, born and raised in Ireland, would bring us Crunchie candy bars and make us an Irish dinner on St.Patricks Day. She would braid my hair as I watched Disney channel and she held me as I cried after scraping my knees. She is love personified. 

Next time you visit your grandmother, I implore you to watch her lips as they part into a smile. Imagine how that smile stood the same fifty years prior. The same smile she had plastered on her face when she found out your mother was pregnant with you, and even wider when she met you for the first time. Look around her room, look at the jewelry, the oak wood of her dresser and how it matches that of her bed frame. The engraved hair brush on her vanity and the set of pearls cleanly stowed away on the corner. Notice her. Notice what she does and has done for you, and what her legacy will continue to do for you when you have children and grandchildren. She lives within your eyes, your smiles, your soul.