Evening in Paris
My grandmother’s bedroom was my favorite room in her house. She was without a doubt the most famous person I’ve ever known. She was once a blues singer in Vaudeville, a graceful swan now retired to the country. She had an old-fashioned vanity dresser with a huge mirror. There were all sorts of hair brushes, makeup, and hair pins. A huge tin of various buttons and snaps that I loved looking through. But the thing I remember with a vivid clarity were the cobalt blue teardrop bottles. Evening in Paris, her favorite scent.
In 1964 she died, and my dad decided to live in her house. There were very few times my mom let me visit him. He was a reckless soul and knew nothing about children. And as such, he had no idea how I would feel when he stated I was to sleep in grandmother’s bed, the very same bed where she died. I walked into her bedroom, and nothing had changed. The Evening in Paris bottles were still on her dresser, along with all her personal things. I sat down at the dresser, closed my eyes and I could feel her around me.
cotton candy sweet Spring dance-
©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg