“We are not committed to this or that. We are committed to the nothing-in-between…whether we know it or not.”
–John Cage
There was thunder yesterday, hail. Rain beat down in sheets to flood the grass and gutters. I was driving along the parkway like a fool. Today the sky breaks blue and clouds scale the butte like dragons, slippery and serpentine, some white, others black, mostly grey. They lick the face of the hills climbing down or move along the ridge and it’s spring suddenly with grass thick from snow melt, daffodils and grape hyacinth, and everywhere the scent of blooming plum.
Grandma said thunder was the sound of dwarfs playing bowls inside the mountain. She said if the sky had a patch of blue big enough to make a Dutch man a pair of pants, it wouldn’t rain.
When she swore, it was by the twins, Castor and Pollux. I had two theories about this as a child: one, that she was referring to my Grandfather “Jimmy” or; two, Grandma was invoking Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio. However, in any instance, the “J” was softened to a long “Y” for reasons I didn’t comprehend and she shook her fist with more determination than damnation. It was many years before I discovered that she was swearing by Gemini, the Dioscuri, an ancient oath adopted in some sublime fashion I cannot explain, yet find delightful.
When we walked together, she pointed out different plants and told me their names. They all looked alike to me, all green, as things do to a child.
Kim K. McCrea 
My mother said: “Sacramento-California!” My grandmother said: “Cheese-and-crackers-got-all-muddy.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
My grandmother always said the sound of thunder was “God rolling watermelons under his bed.” I don’t know if that was a Southern expression or unique to her.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s wonderful!
LikeLike
Ace.
I remember, once or twice, hearing my grandma mutter, “Oh, Frank Zappa!” Even as a kid I knew this was a curse. But, about a million years later, the real Frank Zappa appeared on my radar. It sure made me wonder anew about her! She’s long gone now & my mum claims to recall her mum having very little interest in psychedelic rock music. Weird.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Was this your Greek grandmother, Kim?
LikeLike
Although that would seem to follow, no, this was my redheaded pioneer grandmother born in Nez Perce Idaho.
LikeLike
I love the poeticism in your prose and the vivid imagery you give us as your braid together these tender memories. In just a few lines, you’ve made your grandmother alive and lovable to any stranger reading — or at least to me, anyway. Cheers! 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for your kind words
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome. 😊
LikeLike
Your writing is beautiful!
LikeLike
Thank you for the kind comment, a wonderful thing to find this morning.
LikeLiked by 1 person