The Curation of Beauty
Ashley Reynolds
My grandma wants everything beautiful . Her garden is full of roses . Her house dressed in lavish curtains . Her body adorned with bright clothes and jewels . Lips painted every shade of Texas red .
Growing up I rolled my eyes . A production put on for others . I couldn ’ t see her ceremony as more than a show .
But then I watched her . With every pie her thumb presses the edges just so . Her chin raises ever so slightly when she wears her favorite dress . The dinner table , a ritual : polished silver , gold napkin rings , flowers delicately arranged .
She surrounds herself with beauty . Creates it wherever she goes . Her efforts are not for others . They are gi s to herself .
Lipstick is not my love language . I don ’ t know how to make a pie or set a proper table . But I want to know her pleasure- To transform the particles of everyday life and let beauty seep into my bones .
I take the time to make a colorful salad . Cucumbers and red tomatoes . Farmer feta , oil , and herbs from my garden . I smear butter on a loaf of sourdough . My eyes take in this creation . My mouth savors the taste . My body appreciates the nourishment I choose to give it . I pause to honor this . I share a bite with my son and watch him smile . This is beauty . Love .
I understand my grandma and her luxury .