This was originally posted on 02/14/09
Let me preface this with a little explanation. My sister is mean. Yes, it’s that simple. As a child, she was constantly torturing my brother and me; throwing spiders on us, putting crickets in our beds, catching frogs and chasing us with them. I can even recall an incident with a dead snake and a box. Eventually, my brother grew up and learned to ignore her, but to this day, I am still frightened by small creeping critters.
Now to preface the next part of the story-
As you all know, my great-grandmother hasn’t been doing very well lately. As such, my sister has been staying with her at night. Mostly to make sure she’s eating regularly and to see that she doesn’t fall. Since my grandmother has been ill, there has been a flurry of activity going through her house.
It’s an ordinary house, really; 2-bedrooms, hardwood floors, plaster walls and a kitchen booth with corner windows behind it that overlook the lawn. You know the kind of house I mean; something straight out of the 1950’s. The kitchen table is the same one that countless people have eaten from for the last 60 years- both complete strangers and family alike. In fact, it’s the same table that they purchased when they moved into the house. The house has seen so much activity over the years, that if the walls could talk, they’d have some incredible tales to tell.
But up till just a few months ago, the house had no toys strewn over the living room floor, no pop-guns on top of the refrigerator, no errant shoes hiding under the bed… it was very orderly because the kids weren’t there regularly enough to make those messes and because my grandmother lived there alone.
Well… a few days ago, I was sitting in the booth chatting and I noticed a large, very realistic, toy lizard on the table made of some sort of soft squishy silicone-like plastic. It’s brown about 8-10 inches in length. Even though I’m not sure who purchased it for them, it obviously belongs to one of my children.
I have no idea what got into me, really I don’t; but as I eyed the lizard, inspiration suddenly struck. With a devilish grin, I picked it up, took him into the spare bedroom where my sister has been sleeping and put him under the covers. The bed sits on the left wall of the room and I assumed she’d been getting into bed from the side closest to the door. It’s the side I’d get in if I were staying there. So I pulled the sheets back and put the lizard just under where the pillows would be. That way, the lump it would make wouldn’t be so conspicuous.
As I did it, I pictured in my head the scene: she’d be in her pajamas with a book tucked under one arm, pull back the blankets, and WHOA! She’d be startled, let out a little yelp as she jumped sky-high and then she’d quickly realize it was my kid’s toy lizard. She’d laugh to herself thinking the children had put it there. At any rate, it would make her smile. I came home that night proud of myself that I’d finally gotten her back for the years of critter-torture I’d suffered at her hands.
I called later that night after I was sure she’d already gotten into bed and innocently asked how she was doing. She laughed and asked me which child had “done it”? I laughed a little and asked her what she meant and she began to explain what had actually happened.
It was eerily similar to the scene I’d pictured, but I never could have predicted one little detail- she didn’t get into bed on the side I’d put the lizard. She gets into bed on the opposite side. So by the time she noticed the lizard in bed with her, she was snuggled down reading her book. /snickers
She said she glanced over and all she could see was about 6 inches of brown tail near her arm. She threw the covers back, jumped out of bed, and was down the hall nearly to the bathroom before she realized that she’d have to deal with the lizard herself. /giggles
She actually hit her toe on the dresser in her haste to get out of the bedroom, but she didn’t notice it until she got back into bed much later. Talk about your delayed reaction! /snorts
The only thing that would have been more perfect is if the lizard had fallen down behind the bed so that when she went back into the bedroom, she couldn’t find it. /smirks
As she was relating the story to me, I was laughing so hard I had tears streaming down my face. My stomach muscles were on fire from the laughter. I couldn’t stop laughing. I nearly hurt myself laughing so hard. When I finally did catch my breath and was able to speak coherently, I claimed credit for the deed. She said she couldn’t believe it was me! She said she’d had the fleeting thought that it was me, but quickly dismissed it because it didn’t seem like something I’d do.
As I told the kids about it later, they cackled with glee. Then they started coming up with more ideas to scare Aunt Marcee. Through guffaws of laughter, Daniel remembered that we have a large remote-controlled tarantula and thought it would be hilarious if we put it at the foot of her bed so that she’d feel it with her toes before she actually saw it. Personally, I think the idea has merit. /wicked grin
While I was telling Daniel, I noticed that Christopher had a very contemplative look on his little face. Then his eyes twinkled and he innocently asked, “Mommy, can you help me catch a snake?” /breaks into uncontrollable laughter
Lordy, where DO they get these ideas? /looks around innocently
Showing posts with label Grandma Helen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandma Helen. Show all posts
February 22, 2017
November 1, 2013
Dearest and Best
“The more things change, the more they stay the same”, isn’t that the old saying?
It’s hard to believe today marks a year since Grandma Helen went Home, but it does. It's been a long year of many, many changes- some wonderful, some not so much.
This past year, she’s seen a few of our family join her there. Even though there are supposed to be no tears in Heaven, knowing her as I do, she cried anyway. She’d have said, “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here yet!” and then welcomed them with open arms and offered them a cup of coffee- as was her way.
I believe life goes on after death; you’re just in a perfect, more peaceful, more beautiful place. You’re happier and healthier. There isn’t a schedule to abide and dishes wash themselves.
I can well imagine Grandma sitting at a table in a cozy, vanilla and lemon Pledge-scented kitchen with lace-trimmed white curtains. There’s a slight, cool breeze fluttering the curtains through the open windows. Past the panes you can see the cloudless sky is the most brilliant shade of cerulean blue. You know the shade I mean- so blue your eyes can barely adjust.
In my mind’s eye, she’s with Grandpa Thomas, still asking questions… after all; she had twenty-four years of catching up to do!
I imagine she’s probably already been visiting with Jesus and her Mama & Daddy and all the rest of the family who’ve also passed on. There are far too many to name without certainly missing a few, but I am grateful I was blessed to have known quite a few of them too. Many were like her: the last of their kind- the “greatest generation.”
Over this past year, I've found myself thinking of her at the funniest times. As a child, I remember watching her do dishes countless times. When she walked away from the kitchen sink, she’d sorta lightly smack her hand on the edge to fling off the water so she didn’t trail it on the floor. A few months ago, I caught myself unconsciously doing the very same thing. It was a sweet reminder that while she may not be with me in person, she’s certainly still here in spirit.
As many of you know, the week prior to her death, our family was erroneously informed that she’d died. What a surreal experience!
“I’m sorry to inform you- she’s passed on.”
…(a few hours later)…
“Wait a sec, she’s right here. My bad.”
Blessed with a funny “roll-with-it” sense of humor, I believe Grandma would have laughed at the terrible mistake.
I think that is perhaps what I miss the most- her laughter; her easy, gentle way of taking life as it came and finding a reason to smile. If she couldn’t make you smile too, she would give you a slice of something magically delicious that would make you forget your troubles for a bit.
Whoever she’s catching up with today, whatever she’s doing… I am certain there’s something amazing cooking on the stove, a pan of Congo Squares on the table, and a blueberry cream pie in the fridge.
I find it altogether fitting and proper that she went Home on All Saints Day. A quick Google search defines a Saint as, “someone who is holy, virtuous, and typically regarded as being in Heaven after death.” I think that pretty much says it all.
Today, on this All Saints Day, I thank God for sharing one of His dearest and best with us for a time.
I miss you, Grandma. You’re never too far from my thoughts.
It’s hard to believe today marks a year since Grandma Helen went Home, but it does. It's been a long year of many, many changes- some wonderful, some not so much.
This past year, she’s seen a few of our family join her there. Even though there are supposed to be no tears in Heaven, knowing her as I do, she cried anyway. She’d have said, “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here yet!” and then welcomed them with open arms and offered them a cup of coffee- as was her way.
I believe life goes on after death; you’re just in a perfect, more peaceful, more beautiful place. You’re happier and healthier. There isn’t a schedule to abide and dishes wash themselves.
I can well imagine Grandma sitting at a table in a cozy, vanilla and lemon Pledge-scented kitchen with lace-trimmed white curtains. There’s a slight, cool breeze fluttering the curtains through the open windows. Past the panes you can see the cloudless sky is the most brilliant shade of cerulean blue. You know the shade I mean- so blue your eyes can barely adjust.
I imagine she’s probably already been visiting with Jesus and her Mama & Daddy and all the rest of the family who’ve also passed on. There are far too many to name without certainly missing a few, but I am grateful I was blessed to have known quite a few of them too. Many were like her: the last of their kind- the “greatest generation.”
Over this past year, I've found myself thinking of her at the funniest times. As a child, I remember watching her do dishes countless times. When she walked away from the kitchen sink, she’d sorta lightly smack her hand on the edge to fling off the water so she didn’t trail it on the floor. A few months ago, I caught myself unconsciously doing the very same thing. It was a sweet reminder that while she may not be with me in person, she’s certainly still here in spirit.
As many of you know, the week prior to her death, our family was erroneously informed that she’d died. What a surreal experience!
“I’m sorry to inform you- she’s passed on.”
…(a few hours later)…
“Wait a sec, she’s right here. My bad.”
Blessed with a funny “roll-with-it” sense of humor, I believe Grandma would have laughed at the terrible mistake.
I think that is perhaps what I miss the most- her laughter; her easy, gentle way of taking life as it came and finding a reason to smile. If she couldn’t make you smile too, she would give you a slice of something magically delicious that would make you forget your troubles for a bit.
Whoever she’s catching up with today, whatever she’s doing… I am certain there’s something amazing cooking on the stove, a pan of Congo Squares on the table, and a blueberry cream pie in the fridge.
I find it altogether fitting and proper that she went Home on All Saints Day. A quick Google search defines a Saint as, “someone who is holy, virtuous, and typically regarded as being in Heaven after death.” I think that pretty much says it all.
Today, on this All Saints Day, I thank God for sharing one of His dearest and best with us for a time.
I miss you, Grandma. You’re never too far from my thoughts.
November 12, 2012
Happy Homecoming, Grandma Helen
Because several of you have asked, I decided to post this. It's the eulogy I gave at Grandma Helen's funeral. It's combination of a previous blog I wrote for her birthday as well as some additional thoughts. I was glad to be able to make people laugh and smile through their tears.
Grandma told me once that she’d be mad at me if I cried at her funeral. I can’t promise you today that I won’t cry; I’ll try not to.
Today is not a day of sadness. Today is a day of rejoicing. It is a day for celebrating the life and the homecoming of my great-grandmother, Helen Azalee Parker Ford.
I find it comforting and fitting that her service is being held here in the church she loved. This isn’t just the church she belonged to, the people here were like extended family to her and she loved you all dearly. Over the years, I can remember coming with her to countless services and sitting right about there, halfway back.
Grandma Helen was truly one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known, or will ever know. She’d tell you that she was blessed to have lived so long as to know her great-great grandchildren. Truth be known, we’re the ones who are blessed to have known her.
You’ve heard the expression, “they don’t make ‘em like that anymore”? That’s the kind of stock she came from.
Grandma, as she was known to most, was born in 1917. The oldest of six children, she grew up during a time when there was very little to go around. She could tell you all about ration stamps, oleo, cans of Klim, flour-sack dresses, and the many uses of the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
You see, growing up in the middle of the sticks, there were no indoor bathrooms. If you had to go, you went to the outhouse. Hence, one of the many uses for the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
In 1932, she met a man named Thomas Ford at a square dance. I remember her telling me one time that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen and she couldn’t wait to marry him. So in April of 1932, they got married. In October of 1933, she had her first and only child- my grandfather- Tommy. She said many times over the years that no mother was ever prouder of a son than she was of him.
In 1954, he gave her the best gift he could have given her- the gift of grandchildren. She often said the day she became a grandmother was one of the happiest in her life.
Some of my oldest and best memories of childhood revolve around Grandma in some way. And I can’t recall a time I spent with her that she didn’t teach me something in one way or another; even if I didn’t realize I was learning something at the time.
Grandma taught me by example to put my faith in the Lord. Every night as she said her prayers, she recited the twenty-third Psalm. When I was a little girl, I asked her why she did that. She said it was because it reminded her not to fear anything because the Lord is always with her.
Grandma taught me the value of sittin’ and visitin’ and boy did she love to visit! There was often a pan of Congo Squares and a cup of coffee involved in the visitin.’
When I was in elementary school, Mama dropped me off at Grandma’s every morning and she’d put me on the bus. For those thirty minutes or so that I was with her, I was the Queen of the Universe. She waited on me like my hands were glued on, fixed me whatever I wanted for breakfast and gave me her full and undivided attention. Those mornings with Grandma taught me that it doesn’t take much to make someone feel incredibly special.
She taught me the difference between listening and hearing. Listening means you heard someone, hearing means you understood them. No matter what crazy idea I came up with, Grandma always heard me.
Grandma taught me that there are few things more comforting than a sugar-box pound cake and a pot of chicken & dumplin’s. Chicken & rice will work in a pinch, but there’s nothing else in the world quite like Grandma’s chicken & dumplin’s.
Grandma also taught me not to judge. A banana and mayonnaise sandwich sounds just awful until you’ve tried one.
Grandma taught me that when you look back over your life, it’s the little things that will matter the most. She once said to me, “Always sit & hold a baby when you have the chance. There will always be housework to do but babies don’t keep.” As I look at my boys, I know she was so right.
She taught me that it’s okay to be mad at someone, just don’t let them make you mad at the world. It’s also perfectly acceptable to slam the screen door every once in a while.
As a woman who was married for more than fifty years, I figured I’d better listen when she gave me marriage advice. She told me two things when I got married: “Don’t let the sun set on your anger” and “Don’t start anything now that you don’t want to have to do for the rest of your life.” Boy, I sure wish I’d listened to that one!
Of course, she also said, “You love him so much now and you just want to eat him up. One day you’ll wish you had.”
Grandma Helen was an uncommonly kind person. She looked for the good in everybody she met and she often found it.
Indeed, all of us have been extraordinarily blessed to have known her- friends and family alike. Grandma Helen was a sweet, sweet spirit who loved those around her with her whole being. You couldn’t help but feel special in her presence.
Not too long ago, several of the grandchildren were sitting around chatting when one of us said, “Well, I know she loves ya’ll, but I’m her favorite.”
One of the others said, “Uhm, I thought I was her favorite.”
Then someone else said, “Nope, it was definitely me.”
As I think back on that, I realize that even though we all have different memories and see her from our individual perspectives, we all feel that same special love that made each of us her favorite.
Even so, I’m pretty sure it was me.
If I could talk to her once more today, I would tell her again just how much she’s shaped and impacted me. Because of her, I am a better mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and person than I would have been without her in my life. She helped me become who I am today and I am humbly grateful.
I know that in all the years I am given, I will never find another person who loves me like she did and I thank God for giving me one of His dearest and best angels in the person of my great-grandmother. Happy Homecoming, Grandma!
Grandma told me once that she’d be mad at me if I cried at her funeral. I can’t promise you today that I won’t cry; I’ll try not to.
Today is not a day of sadness. Today is a day of rejoicing. It is a day for celebrating the life and the homecoming of my great-grandmother, Helen Azalee Parker Ford.
I find it comforting and fitting that her service is being held here in the church she loved. This isn’t just the church she belonged to, the people here were like extended family to her and she loved you all dearly. Over the years, I can remember coming with her to countless services and sitting right about there, halfway back.
Grandma Helen was truly one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known, or will ever know. She’d tell you that she was blessed to have lived so long as to know her great-great grandchildren. Truth be known, we’re the ones who are blessed to have known her.
You’ve heard the expression, “they don’t make ‘em like that anymore”? That’s the kind of stock she came from.
Grandma, as she was known to most, was born in 1917. The oldest of six children, she grew up during a time when there was very little to go around. She could tell you all about ration stamps, oleo, cans of Klim, flour-sack dresses, and the many uses of the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
You see, growing up in the middle of the sticks, there were no indoor bathrooms. If you had to go, you went to the outhouse. Hence, one of the many uses for the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
In 1932, she met a man named Thomas Ford at a square dance. I remember her telling me one time that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen and she couldn’t wait to marry him. So in April of 1932, they got married. In October of 1933, she had her first and only child- my grandfather- Tommy. She said many times over the years that no mother was ever prouder of a son than she was of him.
In 1954, he gave her the best gift he could have given her- the gift of grandchildren. She often said the day she became a grandmother was one of the happiest in her life.
Some of my oldest and best memories of childhood revolve around Grandma in some way. And I can’t recall a time I spent with her that she didn’t teach me something in one way or another; even if I didn’t realize I was learning something at the time.
Grandma taught me by example to put my faith in the Lord. Every night as she said her prayers, she recited the twenty-third Psalm. When I was a little girl, I asked her why she did that. She said it was because it reminded her not to fear anything because the Lord is always with her.
Grandma taught me the value of sittin’ and visitin’ and boy did she love to visit! There was often a pan of Congo Squares and a cup of coffee involved in the visitin.’
When I was in elementary school, Mama dropped me off at Grandma’s every morning and she’d put me on the bus. For those thirty minutes or so that I was with her, I was the Queen of the Universe. She waited on me like my hands were glued on, fixed me whatever I wanted for breakfast and gave me her full and undivided attention. Those mornings with Grandma taught me that it doesn’t take much to make someone feel incredibly special.
She taught me the difference between listening and hearing. Listening means you heard someone, hearing means you understood them. No matter what crazy idea I came up with, Grandma always heard me.
Grandma taught me that there are few things more comforting than a sugar-box pound cake and a pot of chicken & dumplin’s. Chicken & rice will work in a pinch, but there’s nothing else in the world quite like Grandma’s chicken & dumplin’s.
Grandma also taught me not to judge. A banana and mayonnaise sandwich sounds just awful until you’ve tried one.
Grandma taught me that when you look back over your life, it’s the little things that will matter the most. She once said to me, “Always sit & hold a baby when you have the chance. There will always be housework to do but babies don’t keep.” As I look at my boys, I know she was so right.
She taught me that it’s okay to be mad at someone, just don’t let them make you mad at the world. It’s also perfectly acceptable to slam the screen door every once in a while.
As a woman who was married for more than fifty years, I figured I’d better listen when she gave me marriage advice. She told me two things when I got married: “Don’t let the sun set on your anger” and “Don’t start anything now that you don’t want to have to do for the rest of your life.” Boy, I sure wish I’d listened to that one!
Of course, she also said, “You love him so much now and you just want to eat him up. One day you’ll wish you had.”
Grandma Helen was an uncommonly kind person. She looked for the good in everybody she met and she often found it.
Indeed, all of us have been extraordinarily blessed to have known her- friends and family alike. Grandma Helen was a sweet, sweet spirit who loved those around her with her whole being. You couldn’t help but feel special in her presence.
Not too long ago, several of the grandchildren were sitting around chatting when one of us said, “Well, I know she loves ya’ll, but I’m her favorite.”
One of the others said, “Uhm, I thought I was her favorite.”
Then someone else said, “Nope, it was definitely me.”
As I think back on that, I realize that even though we all have different memories and see her from our individual perspectives, we all feel that same special love that made each of us her favorite.
Even so, I’m pretty sure it was me.
If I could talk to her once more today, I would tell her again just how much she’s shaped and impacted me. Because of her, I am a better mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and person than I would have been without her in my life. She helped me become who I am today and I am humbly grateful.
I know that in all the years I am given, I will never find another person who loves me like she did and I thank God for giving me one of His dearest and best angels in the person of my great-grandmother. Happy Homecoming, Grandma!
September 6, 2011
Chicken and Sticky Rice
1 whole chicken with enough water to cover it
½ - 1 c. chopped onion
1-2 t. celery seed
1-2 t. garlic powder (or several cloves fresh minced)
Salt & pepper- to taste
Rice (up to several cups)
Boil chicken until it’s beginning to fall from the bones. Remove from water and set aside to cool. Skim the water/broth to remove any bones, fat or foam- leave the garlic and onions in.
Set aside ¼ - ½ cup of broth (optional.)
Add enough rice to equal slightly less than half of the liquid. Remove the chicken from the bones and add it back to the rice. Bring to a boil, watching carefully so that it doesn’t stick. Stir, cover and turn down to low. When the rice is done, add the reserved broth and stir. Serve.
Notes-
You can use chicken breasts instead of a whole chicken, but the rice won’t have the same “sticky” quality.
Sticky (but not mushy) rice is what you’re going for. (So said my great-great grandmother!)
Control the portion you make by reducing the amount of broth before you add rice.
Use slightly less than half as much rice as you have water. (ex: 2 cups broth = 1 cup (-1T) rice.
I add the extra broth after it’s done to help with the consistency but it’s optional if you don’t want your rice as sticky.
February 18, 2011
Happy Birthday, Grandma Helen!
My great-grandmother is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known, or will ever know. She’ll tell you that she’s been blessed to have lived so long as to know her great-great grandchildren. Truth be known, we’re the ones who are blessed to know her.
Honestly, if everyone had a Grandma to love them like mine, there would be no wars because everyone would know better. They’d worry that Grandma would find out and pinch their ears for misbehaving.
You’ve heard the expression, “they don’t make ‘em like that anymore”? That’s the kind of stock my Grandma Helen comes from.
Grandma, as she’s known to most, was born in 1917. The oldest of six children, she grew up during a time when there was very little to go around. Yet I can’t help but think that, in some ways, the world was a better place; although she would probably disagree with that assertion.
Grandma can tell you all about ration stamps, oleo, cans of Klim, and the many uses of the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
She’s the epitome of strength & perseverance. Can you imagine the world she was a kid in? I can but at the same time, I really can’t. There was radio, but only a few folks actually had one. Even less had a car.
There was no TV, no internet, and no video games. No one had a telephone in their house- what on earth would you need to tell someone that is so important that it can’t wait till you see them at church on Sunday?
Growing up in the middle of the sticks, there were no indoor bathrooms. If you had to go, you went in the outhouse. Hence, one of the many uses for the aforementioned Sears-Roebuck catalogue. If you had to go at night, either you lit a kerosene lamp, put on your shoes and trudged outside, or you went in a pot that was kept under the bed. Someone would have to empty that pot in the morning but that was just how things were done.
When she was a young girl, the simple things in life still mattered and she could appreciate them in a way that few of us today ever could. Going to the neighbor’s house to eat dried lima beans and floury biscuits was a treat. I remember her telling me that those beans weren’t even really done cooking. When you poured them from the pot, they actually clinked against the bottom of the bowl. Her brother, Uncle Alton, once told me that when you bit into one of the biscuits, flour poofed out of your mouth like a cloud.
As they told me these stories when I was a child, I could almost see those biscuits and beans. Didn’t want to try them, mind you, but I can understand why she treasured getting to go to the Ryalls’s for dinner.
Dinner is the meal you eat in the middle of the day, by the way. Supper is the evening meal. There is indeed a difference.
Some of my oldest and best memories of childhood revolve around Grandma in some way. Whether it was being at her house or playing in the old oak tree in her yard or her just being there, she plays a role in nearly all of my childhood memories.
One thing that sticks out clearly in my mind is the whole reason behind this blog: Flour-sack dresses.
When Grandma was a little girl, her Daddy was the switch-man on the train that went from one end of the county to the other. Back then, very little was disposable; you reused everything you could. As such, flour (and other commodities) came in huge printed fabric sacks. The ladies would then make clothes from that fabric. Often, it was a pretty calico print that was best used for a dress.
As the train conductor, her father (Grandpa Parker) was the one who’d go pick up the shipment when it came in. She said he’d always choose the prettiest patterns and set them aside for his wife and girls.
As a little girl, I wanted a “flower” sack-dress so badly that I begged my Mama to make me one. She said she couldn’t because they didn’t make flour-sacks like that anymore. I was convinced that if we just went to the fabric store, we’d be able to find flowers that would work nicely on my sack-dress. When I realized she meant a flour-sack dress, and not a flower sack-dress, I was undaunted. I wanted one anyway. Still do, actually.
When my first baby was born, I remember her telling me that since her baby (my grandfather, Tommy) and her younger sister were within a few months of being the same age, she and her Mama often shared the responsibility of breastfeeding. I know that in this day and age, such a thing is nearly unheard-of; but to them it was nothing out of the ordinary. Today, when so many moms choose not to breastfeed at all, can you imagine helping your mother nurse your baby sister? A baby sister who also has Down’s syndrome, no less.
I’ve often heard it said that everyone has a gift. A talent, if you will, that is God-given. Not necessarily unique but is innate in each and every one of us. If that’s so then Grandma Helen is a teacher.
Don’t know how to shell peas? Well, child, pull up a chair, I’ll get you a pan full of peas and you’ll learn.
Don’t know how to make ice cream? Well, let’s go get the churn and I’ll show you.
Don’t know how to clean? Well, let me get you a bottle of Windex and a rag; I’ll show you how to clean.
I can’t recall a time I spent with Grandma that she didn’t teach me something in one way or another; even if I didn’t realize I was learning something at the time.
She’s also a care-giver. The ability to give of yourself unselfishly is a rare and special trait. My grandmother possesses the kindest, most caring soul I’ve ever known.
It didn’t occur to me until I was an adult that Grandma has been caring for someone else nearly her entire life. When she was a kid, she helped with her younger siblings. As a young woman, she had a husband and son. As the years went on, she took care of her mother and baby sister, Bobbie. In fact, Bobbie (the sister with Down’s) lived with her for many, many years and Grandma cared for her as if she were her own child.
In many ways, especially mentally, Bobbie was still a very young child. She functioned well and we could understand her but she wouldn’t have done well outside of our family circle.
I know there are days I am impatient with my boys. At 6 and 8, they can be quite a handful. I have to remind myself that they’re just little boys and will be grown before I blink again. I take bittersweet comfort in the idea that they will one day grow up, leave home and have families of their own.
As I look back, I can rarely remember a time when Grandma was impatient with Bobbie. Unlike me, she didn’t have the preconceived notion that Bobbie would one day grow up and leave home. When Bobbie came to live with her, she took on the responsibility of an adult-child. That alone gives me a respect for her the likes of which I cannot describe.
Grandma has taught me the value of visitin.’ Few things are better for the soul than sittin’ & visitin’ for a while. You can sit & visit over sweet tea or coffee or blueberry cream pie. There are few better places to sit & visit than the orange booth in the kitchen of her house.
No where else smells the way Grandma’s house smells. It’s a heady combination of old linoleum, lemon Pledge and something cooking. Bizarre, I know, but every once in a blue moon I’ll get a random whiff of that scent and suddenly I’m seven years old again, running through her backdoor with my pigtails flying. I can almost hear the rattle of the screen door slamming against the door frame at the same time her voice calls out, “Don’t slam that door!”
It’s a wonderful reminder that somewhere in a simpler time I will always be that same barefoot little girl in blue overalls and pigtails.
When I was in elementary school, Mama dropped me off at Grandma’s every morning. She would make me breakfast and then put me on the bus. If memory serves, the bus came at 8:20 so I had to be finished with my French toast by then. But for those thirty or so minutes that I was with her every morning, I was the Queen of the Known Universe.
She sat me down in the booth, fixed me whatever I wanted for breakfast, quizzed me on the times-tables and then either put me on the bus or drove me the three miles to school. Every morning, she waited on me like my hands were glued on and gave me her full and undivided attention. Those mornings with Grandma taught me that it doesn’t take much to make someone feel incredibly special.
She’s also taught me the value of listening and hearing. There is a difference. Listening means you heard someone, hearing means you understood them. Grandma has always heard me. Always. No matter what cockamamie idea I come up with, she’s always heard me.
She’s taught me the importance of being able to laugh at yourself. She’ll be the first to admit she isn’t eloquent or very well-spoken but she has a way of getting her point across just the same.
Out in the field in front of her house there is a line of pear trees and one peach tree that Grandpa planted many years ago. I think they’re mostly dead today but a few years ago, Marcee and I were in Grandma’s kitchen sittin’ & visitin.’ The subject of pears came up and Grandma commented that we really should go pick all those peaches off that pear tree. Marcee and I exchanged a confused look and then burst out laughing. Realizing what she said, Grandma joined in the laughter, too. To this day, peaches-off-a-pear tree remains one of those things I can say to Marcee that makes her laugh.
Grandma has taught me that there are few foods more comforting than chicken & dumplin’s, buttered biscuits, collard greens, blueberry cream pie & sweet tea.
Chicken & sticky rice will work in a pinch, but there’s nothing else in the world quite like Grandma’s chicken & dumplin’s.
Along that same line, she’s also taught me that there are few foods worse than unsalted & unbuttered grits. Blech.
Even though I’ve tried to make my chicken & dumplin’s turn out like hers, I know I will never be able to manage it because hers have an ingredient I can’t possibly include- a grandmother’s love.
She’s taught me that when you look back over your life, it’s the little things that will matter the most. She once told me, “Always sit & hold a baby when you have the chance. There will always be housework to do but babies don’t keep.”
She’s shown me that it’s ok to be mad at someone, just don’t let them make you mad at the world. It’s also perfectly acceptable to slam the screen door every once in a while.
She’s taught me not to judge. A banana-mayonnaise sandwich sounds awful until you’ve tried one.
As a woman who was married for more than fifty years, I figured I’d better take heed when she gave me marriage advice. She told me two things when I got married: “Don’t let the sun set on your anger” and “Don’t start anything now that you don’t want to have to do for the rest of your married life.”
I sure wish I’d listened to that last one!
Of course, she also said, “You love him so much now and you just want to eat him up. One day you’ll wish you had.” As it turns out, Grandma is also one of the funniest and smartest people I’ve ever known!
Indeed, I have been extraordinarily blessed. Don’t think I don’t know- I do! There will never be another person who will love me the way my Grandma Helen does. It’s more than unconditionally; it’s with her whole being.
Not too long ago, several of the grandchildren were sitting around chatting when one of us (I don’t remember which) said, “Well, I know she loves ya’ll, but I’m her favorite.”
The others looked at each other and narrowed their eyes as if to say, “Oh? Is that so?”
I think it was Marcee who spoke up and said, “Uhm, I thought I was her favorite.”
Then I think I said, “Nope, it was definitely me.”
Then one of the others said, “Ya’ll are all wrong. It was me.”
As I think back on that, I realize that even though we all have different memories and see her from our individual perspectives, we all feel that same special love that makes us each her favorite.
Even so, I’m still quite sure I was the one who was right… I’m certainly her very favorite. ;)
Today, on her 94th birthday, I want her to know just how much she’s shaped and impacted me. Because of her, I am a better mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and person than I would have been without her in my life. She has helped me become who I am today and I am humbly grateful. In all the years I am given, I know I will never find another person who loves me like she does.
Thank you, God, for giving me one of your dearest and best angels.
I love you, Grandma! Happy Birthday to you!
Honestly, if everyone had a Grandma to love them like mine, there would be no wars because everyone would know better. They’d worry that Grandma would find out and pinch their ears for misbehaving.
You’ve heard the expression, “they don’t make ‘em like that anymore”? That’s the kind of stock my Grandma Helen comes from.
 |
| ©2011 All Rights Reserved Photo courtesy of Ford Family Library |
Grandma can tell you all about ration stamps, oleo, cans of Klim, and the many uses of the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
She’s the epitome of strength & perseverance. Can you imagine the world she was a kid in? I can but at the same time, I really can’t. There was radio, but only a few folks actually had one. Even less had a car.
There was no TV, no internet, and no video games. No one had a telephone in their house- what on earth would you need to tell someone that is so important that it can’t wait till you see them at church on Sunday?
Growing up in the middle of the sticks, there were no indoor bathrooms. If you had to go, you went in the outhouse. Hence, one of the many uses for the aforementioned Sears-Roebuck catalogue. If you had to go at night, either you lit a kerosene lamp, put on your shoes and trudged outside, or you went in a pot that was kept under the bed. Someone would have to empty that pot in the morning but that was just how things were done.
When she was a young girl, the simple things in life still mattered and she could appreciate them in a way that few of us today ever could. Going to the neighbor’s house to eat dried lima beans and floury biscuits was a treat. I remember her telling me that those beans weren’t even really done cooking. When you poured them from the pot, they actually clinked against the bottom of the bowl. Her brother, Uncle Alton, once told me that when you bit into one of the biscuits, flour poofed out of your mouth like a cloud.
As they told me these stories when I was a child, I could almost see those biscuits and beans. Didn’t want to try them, mind you, but I can understand why she treasured getting to go to the Ryalls’s for dinner.
Dinner is the meal you eat in the middle of the day, by the way. Supper is the evening meal. There is indeed a difference.
Some of my oldest and best memories of childhood revolve around Grandma in some way. Whether it was being at her house or playing in the old oak tree in her yard or her just being there, she plays a role in nearly all of my childhood memories.
One thing that sticks out clearly in my mind is the whole reason behind this blog: Flour-sack dresses.
When Grandma was a little girl, her Daddy was the switch-man on the train that went from one end of the county to the other. Back then, very little was disposable; you reused everything you could. As such, flour (and other commodities) came in huge printed fabric sacks. The ladies would then make clothes from that fabric. Often, it was a pretty calico print that was best used for a dress.
As the train conductor, her father (Grandpa Parker) was the one who’d go pick up the shipment when it came in. She said he’d always choose the prettiest patterns and set them aside for his wife and girls.
As a little girl, I wanted a “flower” sack-dress so badly that I begged my Mama to make me one. She said she couldn’t because they didn’t make flour-sacks like that anymore. I was convinced that if we just went to the fabric store, we’d be able to find flowers that would work nicely on my sack-dress. When I realized she meant a flour-sack dress, and not a flower sack-dress, I was undaunted. I wanted one anyway. Still do, actually.
When my first baby was born, I remember her telling me that since her baby (my grandfather, Tommy) and her younger sister were within a few months of being the same age, she and her Mama often shared the responsibility of breastfeeding. I know that in this day and age, such a thing is nearly unheard-of; but to them it was nothing out of the ordinary. Today, when so many moms choose not to breastfeed at all, can you imagine helping your mother nurse your baby sister? A baby sister who also has Down’s syndrome, no less.
I’ve often heard it said that everyone has a gift. A talent, if you will, that is God-given. Not necessarily unique but is innate in each and every one of us. If that’s so then Grandma Helen is a teacher.
Don’t know how to shell peas? Well, child, pull up a chair, I’ll get you a pan full of peas and you’ll learn.
Don’t know how to make ice cream? Well, let’s go get the churn and I’ll show you.
Don’t know how to clean? Well, let me get you a bottle of Windex and a rag; I’ll show you how to clean.
I can’t recall a time I spent with Grandma that she didn’t teach me something in one way or another; even if I didn’t realize I was learning something at the time.
She’s also a care-giver. The ability to give of yourself unselfishly is a rare and special trait. My grandmother possesses the kindest, most caring soul I’ve ever known.
It didn’t occur to me until I was an adult that Grandma has been caring for someone else nearly her entire life. When she was a kid, she helped with her younger siblings. As a young woman, she had a husband and son. As the years went on, she took care of her mother and baby sister, Bobbie. In fact, Bobbie (the sister with Down’s) lived with her for many, many years and Grandma cared for her as if she were her own child.
In many ways, especially mentally, Bobbie was still a very young child. She functioned well and we could understand her but she wouldn’t have done well outside of our family circle.
I know there are days I am impatient with my boys. At 6 and 8, they can be quite a handful. I have to remind myself that they’re just little boys and will be grown before I blink again. I take bittersweet comfort in the idea that they will one day grow up, leave home and have families of their own.
As I look back, I can rarely remember a time when Grandma was impatient with Bobbie. Unlike me, she didn’t have the preconceived notion that Bobbie would one day grow up and leave home. When Bobbie came to live with her, she took on the responsibility of an adult-child. That alone gives me a respect for her the likes of which I cannot describe.
Grandma has taught me the value of visitin.’ Few things are better for the soul than sittin’ & visitin’ for a while. You can sit & visit over sweet tea or coffee or blueberry cream pie. There are few better places to sit & visit than the orange booth in the kitchen of her house.
No where else smells the way Grandma’s house smells. It’s a heady combination of old linoleum, lemon Pledge and something cooking. Bizarre, I know, but every once in a blue moon I’ll get a random whiff of that scent and suddenly I’m seven years old again, running through her backdoor with my pigtails flying. I can almost hear the rattle of the screen door slamming against the door frame at the same time her voice calls out, “Don’t slam that door!”
It’s a wonderful reminder that somewhere in a simpler time I will always be that same barefoot little girl in blue overalls and pigtails.
When I was in elementary school, Mama dropped me off at Grandma’s every morning. She would make me breakfast and then put me on the bus. If memory serves, the bus came at 8:20 so I had to be finished with my French toast by then. But for those thirty or so minutes that I was with her every morning, I was the Queen of the Known Universe.
She sat me down in the booth, fixed me whatever I wanted for breakfast, quizzed me on the times-tables and then either put me on the bus or drove me the three miles to school. Every morning, she waited on me like my hands were glued on and gave me her full and undivided attention. Those mornings with Grandma taught me that it doesn’t take much to make someone feel incredibly special.
She’s also taught me the value of listening and hearing. There is a difference. Listening means you heard someone, hearing means you understood them. Grandma has always heard me. Always. No matter what cockamamie idea I come up with, she’s always heard me.
She’s taught me the importance of being able to laugh at yourself. She’ll be the first to admit she isn’t eloquent or very well-spoken but she has a way of getting her point across just the same.
Out in the field in front of her house there is a line of pear trees and one peach tree that Grandpa planted many years ago. I think they’re mostly dead today but a few years ago, Marcee and I were in Grandma’s kitchen sittin’ & visitin.’ The subject of pears came up and Grandma commented that we really should go pick all those peaches off that pear tree. Marcee and I exchanged a confused look and then burst out laughing. Realizing what she said, Grandma joined in the laughter, too. To this day, peaches-off-a-pear tree remains one of those things I can say to Marcee that makes her laugh.
Grandma has taught me that there are few foods more comforting than chicken & dumplin’s, buttered biscuits, collard greens, blueberry cream pie & sweet tea.
Chicken & sticky rice will work in a pinch, but there’s nothing else in the world quite like Grandma’s chicken & dumplin’s.
Along that same line, she’s also taught me that there are few foods worse than unsalted & unbuttered grits. Blech.
Even though I’ve tried to make my chicken & dumplin’s turn out like hers, I know I will never be able to manage it because hers have an ingredient I can’t possibly include- a grandmother’s love.
She’s taught me that when you look back over your life, it’s the little things that will matter the most. She once told me, “Always sit & hold a baby when you have the chance. There will always be housework to do but babies don’t keep.”
She’s shown me that it’s ok to be mad at someone, just don’t let them make you mad at the world. It’s also perfectly acceptable to slam the screen door every once in a while.
She’s taught me not to judge. A banana-mayonnaise sandwich sounds awful until you’ve tried one.
As a woman who was married for more than fifty years, I figured I’d better take heed when she gave me marriage advice. She told me two things when I got married: “Don’t let the sun set on your anger” and “Don’t start anything now that you don’t want to have to do for the rest of your married life.”
I sure wish I’d listened to that last one!
Of course, she also said, “You love him so much now and you just want to eat him up. One day you’ll wish you had.” As it turns out, Grandma is also one of the funniest and smartest people I’ve ever known!
Indeed, I have been extraordinarily blessed. Don’t think I don’t know- I do! There will never be another person who will love me the way my Grandma Helen does. It’s more than unconditionally; it’s with her whole being.
Not too long ago, several of the grandchildren were sitting around chatting when one of us (I don’t remember which) said, “Well, I know she loves ya’ll, but I’m her favorite.”
The others looked at each other and narrowed their eyes as if to say, “Oh? Is that so?”
I think it was Marcee who spoke up and said, “Uhm, I thought I was her favorite.”
Then I think I said, “Nope, it was definitely me.”
Then one of the others said, “Ya’ll are all wrong. It was me.”
As I think back on that, I realize that even though we all have different memories and see her from our individual perspectives, we all feel that same special love that makes us each her favorite.
Even so, I’m still quite sure I was the one who was right… I’m certainly her very favorite. ;)
Today, on her 94th birthday, I want her to know just how much she’s shaped and impacted me. Because of her, I am a better mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and person than I would have been without her in my life. She has helped me become who I am today and I am humbly grateful. In all the years I am given, I know I will never find another person who loves me like she does.
Thank you, God, for giving me one of your dearest and best angels.
I love you, Grandma! Happy Birthday to you!
February 4, 2011
Blueberry Cream Pie
In the South, blueberry cream pie goes with summertime in much the same way that white goes with rice; they just go together. I can't remember a summer in my life that we didn't make this pie.
When I was a little girl, I'd go visit Grandma Helen and she'd always have one in the fridge waiting for me- summertime or not. If you read more than one page of this blog, you're going to hear a lot about blueberry cream pies so I figured I'd better post the recipe.
Ingredients:
1 8oz. block cream cheese (softened)
1 can condensed milk
1/4 cup lemon juice
1 9-in. graham cracker pie crust (see notes)
1 can blueberry pie filling
In a medium bowl, blend the softened cream cheese with the condensed milk until combined. Add lemon juice and mix well. Pour into pie crust and refrigerate until set- about 2 hours.
When the pie is set, carefully spoon the blueberry pie filling over top and serve.
Notes-
Grandma's recipe calls for a graham cracker crust, but I've found that using a Nilla Wafer crust is just as good.
Do not try to put the pie filling over top of the pie until it's set or it will sink to the bottom. It will still be good, it just won't be pretty.
When I was a little girl, I'd go visit Grandma Helen and she'd always have one in the fridge waiting for me- summertime or not. If you read more than one page of this blog, you're going to hear a lot about blueberry cream pies so I figured I'd better post the recipe.
Ingredients:
1 8oz. block cream cheese (softened)
1 can condensed milk
1/4 cup lemon juice
1 9-in. graham cracker pie crust (see notes)
1 can blueberry pie filling
In a medium bowl, blend the softened cream cheese with the condensed milk until combined. Add lemon juice and mix well. Pour into pie crust and refrigerate until set- about 2 hours.
When the pie is set, carefully spoon the blueberry pie filling over top and serve.
Notes-
Grandma's recipe calls for a graham cracker crust, but I've found that using a Nilla Wafer crust is just as good.
Do not try to put the pie filling over top of the pie until it's set or it will sink to the bottom. It will still be good, it just won't be pretty.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)