.her brushes.

This morning, everything was quiet. Hubby and little one were still very much asleep. I walked into each room admiring how soft the light fell on everything. Diffused. Calm. Upon entering the spare room, I gazed over to my "art corner" first taking notice of how badly it needs purging again. It was then that I saw my Tutu's old paintbrushes. I carefully pulled the old, blue Mason jar that they were standing in from behind a line of old cameras. Each brush has been stained by years of countless painting. I do not have any of my Tutu's paintings. I wish I did. But I do have her paintbrushes. Although they are not the brushes of Monet or Picasso, they were hers. And because of that, to me, they are priceless.

tutu = grandparent in Hawaiian

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