i found this photo of my grandfather and i among the pictures i scanned from mom's boxed up attic collection last christmas.

it was taken at her old grand rapids house. the michigan street house, they call it still today. i grew up wanting so badly to remember those early visits. maybe i do. the smooth oiled banister upstairs. grandma's legs while baking bread down in the basement, behind the hanging laundry wall. the smell of clean clothes and yeast. family strewn over the carpet. songs. a fire in the fireplace. lamp light and magic and a feeling that i didn't want to go to bed. a red couch. it must have been christmas.

when i found this photo, it was the love in his eyes that i needed. i remembered this big strong man. the harsh snow, and the delight of his arms picking my small self out of its coldness. i smell on him gas from the snowblower. the world changes upside down during a winter storm. cold in my mittens and the crunching was too much. but then to be rescued.

it became a prayer of thanks. the knowing of being carried. a dance on top of this white blanket. i can rest now perhaps. my grandpa is laughing and he turns like spinning. there is music to dance to and there is nothing i must do but hold on. this is the remembering i have longed for these days. of joy and safety, from a time of smallness, when it was cold outside.