Sometimes, memories sneak up on you when you least expect it — and exactly when you need them most.
This past weekend, it happened to me during a simple spring cleaning session. I was knee-deep in dust, boxes, and forgotten things when I found them: a set of butterflies, tucked away at the back of the shed. They weren’t just any decorations — they were my grandfather’s hand-painted butterflies.
I dusted them off, feeling a familiar tug at my heart. What was supposed to be a quick project — hanging a few butterflies on the gazebo — turned into an hour-long trip to another time. Each butterfly carried me back to my childhood, to afternoons spent perched on my grandfather’s lap, watching him paint.
I dusted them off, feeling a familiar tug at my heart. What was supposed to be a quick project — hanging a few butterflies on the gazebo — turned into an hour-long trip to another time. Each butterfly carried me back to my childhood, to afternoons spent perched on my grandfather’s lap, watching him paint.
I remember how he would hand me a brush, letting me choose the colours, treating every choice like it mattered. His steady hands would glide across sheets of plexiglass, creating beautiful wings while the familiar scent of Old Spice and cigars lingered in the air. He always made me promise not to tell my grandmother about the cigars — a secret pact sealed with a mischievous grin.
Those butterflies weren’t just art; they were little bits of magic he sold at local craft fairs, hoping to make a few extra bucks for his bingo nights. His home, the cottage, every space he loved — all were filled with these colourful creations. Even though those places and he are gone, somehow, finding those butterflies made me feel like he never really left. His spirit is everywhere. Every time I see a butterfly, it’s a reminder of family, of who I am, where I come from, and a simpler, gentler time.
Tonight, feeling a deep connection to that memory, I sat down and painted. A tribute. A nod to that child who once sat so still, soaking up every moment creating art with her grandpa.
Memories have a funny way of finding us. Not always when we’re looking for them — but when we need to remember that we’re not alone. That our past still holds us steady, even when we’re feeling a little lost.
Shaping the Crazy 