(no subject)
Define "Grandma"
She wasn't a small woman when I was born. She liked Cheese-Its and I do believe it was she that introduced me to them. She cooked potroasts with vegetables at least once a month and my family would join her and my grandpa around the dining room table. "James, eat some more" is a phrase I began hearing when I was about 4 and I kept hearing it until I was about 19. She always cooked too much, but didn't seem to like the idea of leftovers. Atkins men love food. If we had a motto, that would be it.
She and my grandpa taught us how to play six-handed Euchre. That's something you can't learn in any other part of the country and it's probably something that they learned from their Ohio friends in Florida, who, like them, were snowbirds. They would come back to Indiana a smooth bronze color, bearing a van-full of oranges and grapefruit. The first hug when they got back was always the best and I knew that I was assured a "yes" when I whispered into my grandma's ear, "can I spend the night?"
The nights I spent with grandma and grandpa were the best of my childhood. I'd much rather have stayed with them than any of my friends. Grandma and Grandpa had a set schedule. Dinner was fairly early, followed by a few hands of cards with Grandma while grandpa played Solitaire or did his Word-Searches, and then we watched, "The Wheel," "Jeopardy," and the news. After that, grandpa went off to say his prayers and if I was lucky, I'd have talked grandma into playing another hand of Rummy or Uno. Finally, we pulled out the sleeper sofa and I got into bed. I remember it being such a treat that I got to watch the Discovery Channel as I fell asleep. The mornings brought french toast, which grandma taught me how to make, and microwaved bacon. Grandpa said the bacon had to be burnt because it's unhealthy to eat undercooked pork. (nevermind the microwaves we were ingesting). I don't think I've had microwaved bacon since.
She used to smoke. For the longest time, she would tell the story of how she and I were sitting on the carport. I must have been about 4 or 5. I had gone out there with her while she smoked--there was no smoking in the house because grandpa had given that up years earlier. "You're gonna die" I told her. "I know I am," she said. To hear her tell it, to hear her chuckle after she told that story, I think is what made it memorable. I truly believe it was her that taught me that death is natural. It's not the end, it's just a transition.
She taught me many things. She wasn't a great singer...and didn't have the lung power to hold a note, but she sang with me. She taught me songs. "You can't get to heaven on roller skates" is one that I remember along with a number of Stephen Foster tunes.
In April of 2009, she was about half the weight I remember her being when I was a child. She and I went upstairs to the piano at the Woodlands and I played for her. I played the songs that she taught me to sing. And though her memory had let a lot of things go, she sang every word. There are some things you don't forget--some things you hold onto. I hope I never forget my times with grandma. I know that being sad is selfish. She's not unhappy right now. This was just the body that she traveled in. She's probably up there somewhere, singing those songs and a box of Cheese-Its can't be far away. That's what a grandma is to me.
She wasn't a small woman when I was born. She liked Cheese-Its and I do believe it was she that introduced me to them. She cooked potroasts with vegetables at least once a month and my family would join her and my grandpa around the dining room table. "James, eat some more" is a phrase I began hearing when I was about 4 and I kept hearing it until I was about 19. She always cooked too much, but didn't seem to like the idea of leftovers. Atkins men love food. If we had a motto, that would be it.
She and my grandpa taught us how to play six-handed Euchre. That's something you can't learn in any other part of the country and it's probably something that they learned from their Ohio friends in Florida, who, like them, were snowbirds. They would come back to Indiana a smooth bronze color, bearing a van-full of oranges and grapefruit. The first hug when they got back was always the best and I knew that I was assured a "yes" when I whispered into my grandma's ear, "can I spend the night?"
The nights I spent with grandma and grandpa were the best of my childhood. I'd much rather have stayed with them than any of my friends. Grandma and Grandpa had a set schedule. Dinner was fairly early, followed by a few hands of cards with Grandma while grandpa played Solitaire or did his Word-Searches, and then we watched, "The Wheel," "Jeopardy," and the news. After that, grandpa went off to say his prayers and if I was lucky, I'd have talked grandma into playing another hand of Rummy or Uno. Finally, we pulled out the sleeper sofa and I got into bed. I remember it being such a treat that I got to watch the Discovery Channel as I fell asleep. The mornings brought french toast, which grandma taught me how to make, and microwaved bacon. Grandpa said the bacon had to be burnt because it's unhealthy to eat undercooked pork. (nevermind the microwaves we were ingesting). I don't think I've had microwaved bacon since.
She used to smoke. For the longest time, she would tell the story of how she and I were sitting on the carport. I must have been about 4 or 5. I had gone out there with her while she smoked--there was no smoking in the house because grandpa had given that up years earlier. "You're gonna die" I told her. "I know I am," she said. To hear her tell it, to hear her chuckle after she told that story, I think is what made it memorable. I truly believe it was her that taught me that death is natural. It's not the end, it's just a transition.
She taught me many things. She wasn't a great singer...and didn't have the lung power to hold a note, but she sang with me. She taught me songs. "You can't get to heaven on roller skates" is one that I remember along with a number of Stephen Foster tunes.
In April of 2009, she was about half the weight I remember her being when I was a child. She and I went upstairs to the piano at the Woodlands and I played for her. I played the songs that she taught me to sing. And though her memory had let a lot of things go, she sang every word. There are some things you don't forget--some things you hold onto. I hope I never forget my times with grandma. I know that being sad is selfish. She's not unhappy right now. This was just the body that she traveled in. She's probably up there somewhere, singing those songs and a box of Cheese-Its can't be far away. That's what a grandma is to me.