Grandparents are made in heaven. I love being a grandma or rather Mimi to my five girls. There is nothing sweeter than a phone call in the morning and hearing their little voices across the miles. Our NE girls called today to sing happy birthday to Papa cause they ran out of time yesterday. Our AZ girls called yesterday and sang to him. My parents started this tradition years ago - mom singing soprano, and dad singing in bass. It started with them singing Happy Birthday to Charley and I, then continued to our kids. Our kids have continued the tradition. We can't wait for our singing phone call. Makes our day. We continue the tradition and call both kids, spouses and all five grandchildren on their birthday.
All this got me to thinking about grandparents. About how much I loved mine. Two sets, two different lives and two different states - but one thing in common. They loved us unconditionally. I can only write about one set of grandparents at a time, because the memories are so numerous.
My paternal grandmother lived in the OK panhandle with my grandpa (step grandpa actually, but I never knew my other grandpa). I am in absolute awe about how my grandma made it during the depression days, raising 3 children without a daddy. My grandpa was kicked by a horse when grandma was pregnant with my dad. He died a week later, leaving my grandma with a 2 year old, a 1 year old and a baby on the way. I never fail to be amazed that for 10 years, she was mom and dad to her three kids, and ran the farm, the house, paid the bills, milked, gathered eggs, sewed, made clothing, quilts and still kept her sanity.
She did remarry and had 4 stepchildren and then one "theirs". When we got to visit her from Kansas, us kids would pile out of the car and grab grandma and nearly knock her down. She'd bake bread on Saturday night for Sunday, and take one look at our faces as it was baking and just laugh. She'd get out the butter and let us tear into a fresh loaf just out of the oven on Saturday night. Oh my! She always asked us what we wanted for Saturday morning breakfast. My mom warned us to not make her extra work, but I guess we kids never listened. We always asked for buckwheat pancakes. This required making the starter the night before and letting is rise, then mixing the final batch on Saturday morning. OH MY - I can still taste them with her Dutch Honey she made, and butter. Nothing comes close to them now!
Daddy said that many times there would be no food other than what the farm provided. They had lots of chickens so many times their meal would be fried eggs - as many as they could eat. He had vivid memories of the dust bowl days when grandma would try her best to keep the dust out. She would turn the plates upside down on the supper table, to keep the dust off. When they would turn them over to eat, there would be a huge white ring where they had been, surrounded by dust.
Grandma was an avid quilter. I was lucky enough to get one of her old calendars when she passed away. It was her journal, and she wrote on it each day. Lots of times she wrote about piecing together a quilt top, and then quilting for long hours at a time. She must have been fast according to her journal and the length of time it took her to finish it. All of us kids got a quilt from her. It is my prized possession.
My grandpa always did the honors by chopping off the chickens heads and cleaning them so we could have fried chicken for Sunday dinner. We went to church with them occasionally, and prayed all the way to the church. My grandpa was a horrible driver - his idea of staying on the road was from ditch to ditch. One time he got mad because there was a fly in the car and proceeded to swat at the fly for miles as we jerked back and forth between the ditches. I was ready to kiss the ground when we finally got to the church!
Grandma started the tradition of the Christmas Pie of presents. Money was really tight back then - not an extra cent for anything. So she would gather small presents all year long as she could afford it, and store them. At Christmas, she would wrap them and put them in a huge tub. She attached a string to each one, and ran it outside the rim. Then she covered the top with a piece of brown paper, marked to look like a pie. At present time, we would all get a string and pull. The presents weren't much - maybe cost a dime back then, but that was the highlight of our Christmas. I will never forget the thrill of pulling a string from the pie and seeing what I got. I still don't know how she did it, because grandma had a huge family and lots of grandkids.
Grandpa and grandma cleared out the old brooder house, and painted it, and then put in a bed and amenities for company. That, plus the old dugout connected to their house, provided lots of sleeping space. Crawling into the bed with crsip, clean white sheets smelling of outdoors was imprinted on my memory from a tiny child.
Grandma had a beautiful set of depression glasses in a rose color. The only thing I wanted from her house when she passed away, was a glass to remember her by. When we got to the house, most of her things were already gone to other members of the family. There was ONE glass left which I got. It has been in my kitchen ever since.
Grandma made ice cream in the ground. Yep, you read right, in the ground. They would dig a huge hole, line it was straw, put in the ice cream mix in a container and put it in the middle of the straw. Then they packed ice and salt around the container. Within hours it was frozen, creamy and out of this world. They did get a crank freezer eventually, and the ice cream was still fabulous - but I still remember that ice cream from the ground. Kind of magical.
So saying this - grandparents are the center of our extended family lives. When my grandma passed away, the pastor at her funeral gave us the analogy of a wheel. Grandma was the hub of the wheel, and we as her family were the spokes scattered around the hub. He said since grandma was gone, we were now tasked with making our own wheels with us as a hub, and our children and loved ones around us.
Rest in peace grandma. I still miss you after 28 years.
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