She was the toughest woman I will ever know. Her dad and one of her brothers died before she was born and her mom was left pregnant and with six hungry mouths to feed and no income. She worked, raised three daughters, helped raise seven grand-kids whenever she could, and would never stop until the job was done. The world drastically changed before her eyes and she kept up with it all. What a life she lived! From having nothing to learning to use her Apple products. She was there when you needed her and was never opinionated. Loved sports of any kind and was overly excited to hear how a game went and what the score was. And I miss her each day.
If I close my eyes I can picture her, she's sitting at her kitchen table, the sun pouring in the windows, the rays bouncing off the natural maple cabinets. Deep yellow Velcro rollers in her hair, a cup of tea on the table with a napkin folded in half next to it....she has already drank all of the bubbles in the cup or as she called them...money. A Kleenex is in her hand, she wipes her nose and places the slightly used tissue back under her bra strap that is hiding under her pink flowered house coat. She's had a bath and decided to set and curl her hair this morning. The air around her has a hint of scented body powder from Avon. A crib-board sits on the table between her and her opponent, the little red pegs are showing that if she gets a good hand she'll win the game. It's her turn. She moves the cards around in her hand, "oh well now that's just what I needed" she says trying to sound like her card playing is all luck and not talent. Cards are counted out loud, her pegs get moved and then you hear it.....her distinctive laugh as she exclaims "I skunked ya!"
I have almost 40 years of memories of this amazing woman. Each one just as strong as the next. Each night as I drive home from work a different memory floods my brain. You see I used to call her while I drove home. We would talk about the weather to start and then she would tell me about her day and ask about the kids. Let me know what she was going to be having for supper and I'd let her know if I wish I was eating with her or wasn't a fan of her food choices. My generation has never really caught on to liver or turnips. We would chat about sports and laugh about silly things either of us had done recently and the next thing I'd know I would be in my driveway and saying good bye until the next call.
Her quick wit and willingness to laugh at herself always made each conversation memorable. I still smile at her sending me funny Christmas cards and her laughing at the ones I would send her.
The farthest back that I can remember is from the early 80's. Driving west towards Carievale to go see Grandma and Grandpa, its winter and its dark out. There is nothing to see out of the windows of the car other than the usual trees, snow, open fields and headlights passing us. We would travel out in our big green Mercury. My older sister (Jill) and I would be able to lay down on the fuzzy pale green seat cover and just barely touch each other. That was as long as Jeffrey (the baby brother) was sitting in the middle of the front seat. We would listen to music on our Walkman's or books on tape. I was so young that the headphones would be too large for my head. Mom would bend them at the top to bring the ear pieces together to fit me better. Winter boots would be off, our jackets used as blankets or a pillow, Cheesies and a bottle of either orange or grape crush as a snack and we were all set. You had to be careful not to drink all of your own pop because the only other drink would be Jeff's back-washed orange pop with floaties.
Getting closer to Carievale, Dad would ask "who can see the elevators first?" For years I never knew what a grain elevator was, I'd always hope Jill would see it first and then I could try and see what she saw! Minutes before we would turn into town, we would pass Gordie's place. Travelling during the daylight, I always hoped someone would be outside practicing roping or just riding horses and give a wave. It would make me feel like we were home. We'd slow down and turn right, drive past Grandpa's gas station/garage, past Jack and Donna's grocery store and another left turn down Broadway. Dad would park on an angle in front of the house with white and yellow siding with the perfectly shoveled front walk. Jill and I race to put on our boots and tidy up the backseat. Before we could get the car door open, the light in the front porch would come on and you would sometimes see a head pop out of the screen door. It was Grandma.
Summer trips were the same, but when we would get to the house, walk down the front walk, all you could smell was petunias. Grandma would plant a row of flowers on each side of the walk. A ceramic planter that looked like a donkey sat at the front door with more flowers. From the kitchen window you could watch humming birds feed as the flower petals ruffled in the wind causing their scent to fill the air.
Each trip to Carivale was guaranteed a few things. Baking, card playing, laughter and in the summer months a ride in the back of the truck.
The grandkids would go "up town" to see Grandpa before lunch at the garage. We would pretend we had a job to do and play with the few things we knew we were allowed to touch. There were times we were allowed to have a pop out of the old cooler. Sliding that glass bottle to the edge and lifting it up out of the case was the coolest thing. Then opening it with the bottle opener on the outside of the cooler for some reason made me feel special. Then we would pour it into the cylinder paper cups if we had to share. When it was time to go back to the house, the kids would climb into the back of the truck. Grandpa would check that we were all holding on and sitting down. Then with the back window of the cab open, he would slowly drive the .2 of a mile back to the house. Once he had parked we would climb out and run into the house... back to Grandma.
I could write about each and every memory I have of my grandparents or even of just Grandma and I would never be able to give enough detail to each story or explain how much she meant to me....to us. My last memory is of holding her hand as she lay in the hospital in her final days. I dropped everything to be there with her. I miss her, I will always miss her. We all miss her. She was one amazingly special lady.
I love you Grandma.
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