My great grandmother on my dad's side of the family was Flura Elizabeth Stein Naylor. Every that knew and loved her called her Pootie. No one seems to be able to tell me just how she aquired that nickname, but let me be clear that I am quite certain that it had nothing to do being gaseous, contrary to what many first guess. Pootie died when I was still in diapers and while that seems too young to have any memories of her, I have a picture that is clear as day etched in my mind. I've never seen this image captured in a photograph, so I do not believe that's the root of the memory. I truly believe that I remember her, if only for a small moment of time. She was petite with salt and peppered hair, lighter on the salt than the pepper. She wore those black horn rimmed glasses and had on a white house dress with violet colored flowers that tied at the waist. She is standing in her kitchen greeting us with a smile. I can describe the room to a T says my family. It is my one Pootie memory.
The remainder of the love that I hold for her is filled in by all the wonderful stories that the rest of my family cherish about her and tell over and over again. We also have a journal that she kept while my grandpa was away fighting in WWII. What loving insights that bit of history provides. She and my Grandpa Ott (short for Otto Cameron) lived out in the country. They worked hard and lived off their land. She was a strong woman. She was also very soft, tender, and always full of love. She was quietly funny. She was Pootie.
Pootie loved her garden and flowers and kept a number of houseplants. At some point, I think after she died, my parents adopted one of her plants. For as far back as I can remember, we always had this plant. It was quite large and a bit unruly and it lived in this funky white pot that sat in an equally funky black stand. It was just always there. When my parents moved 5 years ago, the Pootie Plant, as it's now known, did not adjust well. Long story short, over the course of 5 years, despite all of my mom's best efforts at finding it the right window, better dirt, a new pot, food, root stimulant, it withered from its height of unruliness to just one sad leaf with one pitiful root.
As a last ditch effort, knowing the bountiful shamrock shrub my kitchen window could produce, I brought what was left of the Pootie Plant home to my house. Several weeks in a glass of water in the window sill later, a tiny little root started to sprout. Then another. And another. Before long, it seemed ready for dirt. It's been quite a little journey, but it seems the Pootie Plant is on the mend. Each day, it's a tad bigger and a tad stronger. Every other week or two a new leaf unfurls. This is my Pootie Plant.
My family says I'm alot like Pootie, both in stature and in spirit. That gives me tremendous honor. I think I'm alot like my Pootie Plant. Each day I am better than the day before. Each ray of sunshine makes me that much happier. New experiences unfurl before me. I'm growing constantly. Do I get dried out? Yes, but the pure clean waters of my faith keep me alive and that too gives me tremendous honor.
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