Granny and me in 1967
Being the first born child of my parents, and the first grandchild on either side of my family, I was rather doted on for a few years as a child, but noone was more nuturing and attentive to me growing up than my paternal grandmother. I won't mince words; she spoiled me silly. I remember with clarity the way she would smuggle me sweets after my mother had told me I couldn't have any. Actually, she only tried to be sneaky about it, but she was never very subtle as she scooted sideways past me, dangling the forbidden candy from her finger tips for me to snag as she loudly whispered, "Andrea, here!" I was charmed; my mother, not so much!
While Granny got more even-handed, and little less willing (just a little!) to contradict my parents as I grew older, she never stopped making me feel very, very loved. She read to me constantly, and she also told me stories from her Southern Louisiana childhood where she grew up in a big Catholic family with twelve brothers and sisters. My favorite story, though, which I still ask her to tell, was of how she met my grandfather when he was a young pilot at the start of WWII. Granny worked for at the Louisiana Governor's office and, social butterfly and latter-day Southern belle that she was, she knew lots of "girls." She was asked to organize a dance at the Governor's Mansion for the Army Air Corp officers who were in town. By all accounts the event was a huge success and there was dancing and and a few romances blossomed, including my grandparents'. According to Granny, the trim and handsome young lieutenant from Idaho fell in love with her at first sight, of course. She never forgets to tell me what a good looking couple they were. "And I was the first Sugar Cane Festival Queen, you know," she reminds me regularly. I love the twinkle in her eye as she ruminates about her lovely youth.
A classic comfort grandmother, Granny used to love to bake for us, and make fudge and cookies and sack lunches for our hikes in the mountains around she and Granddad's home in Durango, Colorado. I have very fond memories of hunting for the hidden fudge at Christmastime. It was hidden, because my rascally grandfather had quite the sweet tooth, and she wanted there to be enough left for everyone on Christmas Day. Granddad always helped us hunt, and we would usually always find it. Granny would be hopping mad (which could be a whole other very funny story) when she found it all half eaten, but she would smile and could never be mean to us. She was just a sweetheart, always looking for ways to keep her loved ones happy. For many years, any visit I made to Louisiana and her house, included at least one tunafish casserole, because I always liked it so much as a child.
Because of her sweetness, I could never, ever tell her that I did not like going to school with curlers in my hair, when I lived with her that 5th grade year in Durango - but I did like how pretty it would look after I took them out at school. I couldn't tell her that I couldn't stand the Easter dress with the stiff, itchy high collor she made for me that year either. I just grinned and wore it. And when she insisted on making my prom dress my junior year - a frilly, pink confection, out of sync with the styles of the time, I bit my tongue. I look back at pictures of me in that dress and I always smile at the love that was sewn into that dress. It was slightly too long, but it was really, actually pretty sweet looking. I got glowing compliments on it from a boy I liked, who wasn't even my date. I remember she made it for me in just 2 days, because I got asked to Prom at the last minute. And she was so excited and happy to do it.
She was also happy to teach me how to knit and to play solitaire. She patiently taught me how to iron a shirt the right way, how to fold fitted sheets (no - I still can't do it!) and how to properly set a table for dinner. I think of her every Thanksgiving, as I show my little girls where the utensils go, and tell them why the knife edge faces inward. It's a small tradition that matters deeply to me. I cling to those lessons, like some might cling to child's first dress or some other sentimental object. They are remnants of some of the best parts of my upbringing. My grandmother has been one of the most solid and supportive fixtures in my life. She was always on my side, and she means the world to me.
Today, Granny is close to 90 years old, and has recently had to move to an assisted living facility. She's not happy about it. Ever the social butterfly, she is still grousing about having her car and license taken away a few years ago, because she is no longer a safe driver. She liked being able to go visiting her remaining family down in New Iberia, Louisiana. She liked the conversation and the engagement. She likes getting out and connecting with people. Losing her mobility has been hard for her. Losing her short term memory to the advancement of dementia has been even harder. She wants to be in her own home, taking care of herself, but at this point, she's so confused, she doesn't really know where that home is. Some days she tells me that she'll be heading back to Durango, to be home with Granddad again. She tells me stories that don't line up with what I know, but I listen and answer the same questions I've answered several times in a ten minute conversation about how my kids are and where I'm living.
Once, not too long ago, I was on the phone with Granny describing some of the things my daughter, Stella, likes to do and how well she does in school, and Granny exclaimed, "Oh! She sounds just like Wayne's daughter! She was a smart little girl!" The funny part of that is that I actually am Wayne's daughter. I'm Wayne's only daughter. I smiled and said, "Yes, Granny, I did pretty well. You made sure of it!" A little embarrassed, she recovered by saying, "Oh - of course I know this is you, Andrea."
Granny has always been able to make me feel special, which is why I was so happy for my oldest little girl, Stella, to meet and spend time with her two Summers ago. She spent three weeks in Louisiana with my brother, right near where Granny was living at the time in her cute little townhouse. Now, Stella didn't get to know Granny quite the way I did, because so much has changed in her old age, but she was able to share some moments with her and she knows my grandmother's very sweet spirit. That's important to me, especially now. Stella understands. She knows. That experience combined with the memories I have shared with her have made it possible for Stella to know that is our dear Granny who is the special one.
Granny and Stella in 2008
6 comments:
This is beautiful, Andrea. I love the way you placed the photos too. You need to talk to your dad, though. I think Granny is in her late 80's. I think I remember them talking about it at the Thanksgiving dinner at the nursing home. Anyway, you did a wonderful job of honoring her. Mom
She told me just the other day that she is 94, but I'll ask Dad all the same.
Thanks, Mom, for stopping by AND for leaving a comment. I sometimes wonder if anyone is reading these, but I'll keep writing whether anyone is or not. :)
Hi Andrea! I have some memories too. Your Granny would come to get you to "spend the night". Three days later I would have to call her to tell her it was time to bring you home, lol. When you were a baby, she would come to get you to take you around to visit all her lady friends and to the beauty shop to show you off. The only problem I had with that, was all the hairspray you were exposed to. I have always believed that a child cannot have too many people loving them and willing to spend time with them so I humored her with this. She enjoyed so much spending her days with you. She did not appreciate the expensive hightop shoes that I kept you in, because she said they looked like brogans and were too big, so when she would bring you home, you always had a new pair of shoes on, with your toes jammed in the end. I never said anything to her about it, just knowing she did it out of her abundant love for you.
I was a shy, shy person when I met your Granny, so she would have dinner parties and of course your dad and I were alway invited. I would be sitting quietly by myself, listening to everyone talk and enjoying themselves, when all of a sudden she would look at me and say something like, "Gail, come join the conversation". Or, "Don't sit over there by yourself, tell us something about yourself". Well, this was horrifying to me, to be put on the spot like that, but I usually managed to speak up a little. I am thankful to her for that, because she helped me by doing that. She was and is still the best mother-in-law anyone could have ever had, even though she is someone else's mother-in-law now. She treated me very well.
Wow, Mom. You've been busy reminiscing. I didn't realize you had commented some more on this blog post till late last night, because I was visiting Scott in Astoria and didn't get online much.
You have so many things to say, and I've been thinking you ought to write a blog. Mom, it's like writing letters, except you don't have to wait so long for a response from me! I'll comment when I read. You were always such a good writer, and I miss your letters. You should consider it.
Love you!
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