Ah, Beauty. I’m thankful for you, the first gift of my grandma, who wore fancy netted and feathered hats. I met you each week around my aunties’ tables, where plates were heaped with colorful, nutritious foods.
I grew to love you dearly at Mom’s sewing machine as fabric magically morphed into ruffled and pleated dresses. I came to appreciate you in our sparkling-clean home, where vases were filled with flowers and everything was tucked in its place, nestled in a glass cabinet or cupboard. My heart pounded with joy each summer as orderly rows of vegetables and blooms sprang to life in our garden.
I captured lovely bees and spiders and worms and examined them in little glass-jar habitats. I watched you, Beauty dearest, in my childhood fishbowl, where the lone goldfish swam in circles.
I brought you to life at the piano in my bedroom, where your creativity was limited only by the reach of my little hands. I expected you when Dad and my brothers pulled out their violins to
