Grandma had the power. She could make boo-boos feel better and mend a shattered, little girl's self-esteem.
Grandma, pronounced gramma, was my role model; I admired her so. She lavished affection upon me; cuddles, hugs, kisses, and pats; I sucked it in like air to a drowning man. Sugar Foot, I would learn years later, was the name bestowed upon all of her grandchildren. For awhile, I was the sole recipient.
Avocado, denied to me in our home, unless bastardized into a red peppered dip for chips; Grandma understood and despite the expense, bought some to mix with mayonnaise for a sandwich spread. Avocado sandwiches are comfort food, to me, to this day. We had dessert every evening, during TV time; The Carol Burnett Show, Lawrence Welk, Hee-Haw, Flip Wilson, Donny and Marie, or Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In. Shows were more enjoyable with a modest dish of ice cream, cottage cheese, a peach half, jello, or cooked pudding, served on a TV tray, sitting on the divan, and hand-delivered by Grandma.
Grandma was a housewife, as such, she never was idle; chores were scheduled, running the canister vacuum and rake over the latest shade of gold, wall-to-wall, shag carpeting, and dusting the mid-century modern furnishings, was every other day. Grandma did the meal planning and marketing once a week, cooking was a three times a day endeavor, without microwaves. Laundry was her solitary duty, including traipsing up and down the stairs, lugging the baskets of clothing, and the ironing.The beds were made daily, sheets changed weekly, blankets monthly. Dishes were washed, dried, and put away following every meal, and Grandpa had trash duty. Grandma cleaned windows! This would become a boilerplate for my own home. She modeled good housekeeping, organization, and diligence. The heady scents of clothing freshly-washed in Tide, Niagara starch, Pledge Furniture Polish, or Windex take me back.
Grandma kept herself up. Five foot two; liquid chocolate-brown eyes; short, wavy, chocolate-brown hair; high cheekbones, giving clue to her Native American heritage; slight of build; trim and stylish. Clothing bought at the 5-7-9 Shop, shoes from The Wild Pair, both trendy, upper-level mall stores. No frumpy old lady clothing for her, neither was she a clothes horse. True to her depression-era, Dust Bowl roots, she bought quality, then treated them gently, getting many years of usage.
She had a sweet tooth; Grandma's pocketbook and glove compartment told the tale: Lifesaver's, Luden's Cherry Cough Drops, Butterscotch Disks, and Coffee Nips were favorites. Whole candy bars were sometimes parsed out of that purse, Three Musketeers, pre-opened with nibbles taken out and re-wrapped.
Grandma's "little yella fliver", a 1965 Ford Fairlane Coupe, black vinyl over soft yellow, whisked her about town. Family lore holds that she was cited for speeding, going 20 over. This was juicy gossip that made us tsk tsk The Little Old Lady from Pasadena as The Beach Boys harmonize.
An accomplished, but unsung, artist creating delicate, porcelain lace dolls, rivaling Irish Dresden, which she displayed in her breakfront. She studied china painting for years, setting poppies, violets, daisies, lilacs, roses, pinecones, holly, and birds upon decorative plates, before graduating to portraits on porcelain plaques; I'm honored to own two wood-mounted ovals, sporting bucolic scenes. I have fond memories of grandma hunched over, painting, wiping clean, then re-painting to get it just right. Her talent was amazing!
Grandma switched it up to painting ceramics, and tole painting. That was good for a growing granddaughter, I got to learn ceramics and even managed to paint strawberries on a small wood plaque. I'll never forget her gentle tutelage.
Grandma's hands guided my little fingers to accept the initial awkwardness of the crochet hook. Little projects held my limited attention span; Chain stitches led to single crochets, led to turning, led to slip stitches, led to double crochets, led to granny squares. Grandma crocheted beautiful shawls and afghans. She was my inspiration.
Grandma was always ready to teach me her crafts. I learned needlepoint, crewel embroidery, and macrame at her feet; plant hangers, owls, and wearables were knotted side-by-side with my precious grandmother.
I learned to appreciate nature and wander by her side; hiking to Timpanoga's cave, collecting and drying
wildflowers from big and little Cottonwood Canyons (UT), at 7-years old, trekking to Mesa Verde (NM), or road tripping to Yellowstone National Park (WY), from San Diego (CA), when I was 10. Grandma made sure I took time to smell the flowers, stretch my legs, and look up. As a result, I've seen some of the "purdiest" sights America has to offer.
I got to see the tropical blue of Morning Glory pool in Yellowstone, before it was vandalized, behold a sunrise from atop Haleakala in Maui, photograph wildflowers on Mt. Rainier, snowmobile throughout Yellowstone, be amazed by the granite cliffs of Yosemite, experience awe while viewing the Grand Canyon, tour Glacier National Park on a Harley.
I've never forgotten my dear Grandma, I've been her living legacy. One of many... .
Grandma, pronounced gramma, was my role model; I admired her so. She lavished affection upon me; cuddles, hugs, kisses, and pats; I sucked it in like air to a drowning man. Sugar Foot, I would learn years later, was the name bestowed upon all of her grandchildren. For awhile, I was the sole recipient.
Avocado, denied to me in our home, unless bastardized into a red peppered dip for chips; Grandma understood and despite the expense, bought some to mix with mayonnaise for a sandwich spread. Avocado sandwiches are comfort food, to me, to this day. We had dessert every evening, during TV time; The Carol Burnett Show, Lawrence Welk, Hee-Haw, Flip Wilson, Donny and Marie, or Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In. Shows were more enjoyable with a modest dish of ice cream, cottage cheese, a peach half, jello, or cooked pudding, served on a TV tray, sitting on the divan, and hand-delivered by Grandma.
Grandma was a housewife, as such, she never was idle; chores were scheduled, running the canister vacuum and rake over the latest shade of gold, wall-to-wall, shag carpeting, and dusting the mid-century modern furnishings, was every other day. Grandma did the meal planning and marketing once a week, cooking was a three times a day endeavor, without microwaves. Laundry was her solitary duty, including traipsing up and down the stairs, lugging the baskets of clothing, and the ironing.The beds were made daily, sheets changed weekly, blankets monthly. Dishes were washed, dried, and put away following every meal, and Grandpa had trash duty. Grandma cleaned windows! This would become a boilerplate for my own home. She modeled good housekeeping, organization, and diligence. The heady scents of clothing freshly-washed in Tide, Niagara starch, Pledge Furniture Polish, or Windex take me back.
Grandma kept herself up. Five foot two; liquid chocolate-brown eyes; short, wavy, chocolate-brown hair; high cheekbones, giving clue to her Native American heritage; slight of build; trim and stylish. Clothing bought at the 5-7-9 Shop, shoes from The Wild Pair, both trendy, upper-level mall stores. No frumpy old lady clothing for her, neither was she a clothes horse. True to her depression-era, Dust Bowl roots, she bought quality, then treated them gently, getting many years of usage.
She had a sweet tooth; Grandma's pocketbook and glove compartment told the tale: Lifesaver's, Luden's Cherry Cough Drops, Butterscotch Disks, and Coffee Nips were favorites. Whole candy bars were sometimes parsed out of that purse, Three Musketeers, pre-opened with nibbles taken out and re-wrapped.
Grandma's "little yella fliver", a 1965 Ford Fairlane Coupe, black vinyl over soft yellow, whisked her about town. Family lore holds that she was cited for speeding, going 20 over. This was juicy gossip that made us tsk tsk The Little Old Lady from Pasadena as The Beach Boys harmonize.
An accomplished, but unsung, artist creating delicate, porcelain lace dolls, rivaling Irish Dresden, which she displayed in her breakfront. She studied china painting for years, setting poppies, violets, daisies, lilacs, roses, pinecones, holly, and birds upon decorative plates, before graduating to portraits on porcelain plaques; I'm honored to own two wood-mounted ovals, sporting bucolic scenes. I have fond memories of grandma hunched over, painting, wiping clean, then re-painting to get it just right. Her talent was amazing!
Grandma switched it up to painting ceramics, and tole painting. That was good for a growing granddaughter, I got to learn ceramics and even managed to paint strawberries on a small wood plaque. I'll never forget her gentle tutelage.
Grandma's hands guided my little fingers to accept the initial awkwardness of the crochet hook. Little projects held my limited attention span; Chain stitches led to single crochets, led to turning, led to slip stitches, led to double crochets, led to granny squares. Grandma crocheted beautiful shawls and afghans. She was my inspiration.
Grandma was always ready to teach me her crafts. I learned needlepoint, crewel embroidery, and macrame at her feet; plant hangers, owls, and wearables were knotted side-by-side with my precious grandmother.
I learned to appreciate nature and wander by her side; hiking to Timpanoga's cave, collecting and drying
wildflowers from big and little Cottonwood Canyons (UT), at 7-years old, trekking to Mesa Verde (NM), or road tripping to Yellowstone National Park (WY), from San Diego (CA), when I was 10. Grandma made sure I took time to smell the flowers, stretch my legs, and look up. As a result, I've seen some of the "purdiest" sights America has to offer.
I got to see the tropical blue of Morning Glory pool in Yellowstone, before it was vandalized, behold a sunrise from atop Haleakala in Maui, photograph wildflowers on Mt. Rainier, snowmobile throughout Yellowstone, be amazed by the granite cliffs of Yosemite, experience awe while viewing the Grand Canyon, tour Glacier National Park on a Harley.
I've never forgotten my dear Grandma, I've been her living legacy. One of many... .
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