The Day After Washington's Birthday
If she were still alive, today would have been my grandmother's birthday. I won't say how old she would have been. She was very private person on that front and she didn't like to have her age announced to the world.
I live in the house she purchased with my grandfather in 1924. She lived here until her death at the end of 1994. I moved in to the house in June of 1995 and my husband (then fiance) followed in September.
We've changed many things in the house since 1995. Sometimes I forget that this was once her house. That the room that we call an office (where I sit typing this blog), was once her sewing room. That the room that we use for storage was once her sun parlor where she would sip her evening cocktail. And that my son's room was once my mother's bedroom...and is also the room where my grandmother spent the last several years bedridden.
But there are still a few things in the house that remind me of my grandparents, or more specifically my grandmother. The small frying pan that we hung on the kitchen wall to keep her spirit alive. The sideboard in the where she stored liquor (and where I do too). But most of all, there's something about the front door. Call me crazy, but sometimes there is a slight scent when I get near it. And it just reminds me of her.
I loved my grandmother. I love my grandmother. Even after all these years, there is a very strong picture of her in my mind. She was small in stature (and although I am quite short, I can still remember the day that I finally was taller than she). But as most grandmothers are, she was strong in spirit. She instilled in me a keen sense of financial responsibility. It was assumed that you had a savings account; and that you never touched your principle. Also, you never sold your AT&T stock. (Not that I ever had any.) You pay all your bills on time and you pay them in full.
She was stern, but kind. I remember I borrowed $6 from her once, either to buy a record for myself, or something for my brother's birthday (or maybe both...it was a long time ago). Every week I paid her a dollar until the debt was done. Then she gave me back the $6.
I think my grandmother was an extraordinary woman. She met my grandfather on a train bound for California (during my lifetime I never knew her to travel far and she never got on an airplane). She must have made some impression. He was headed for a job in Montana (or maybe it was Wyoming) and she and her family were headed for a vacation in California. (My mother still has the photo album from this trip that took place in the early 20th century). When the job didn't pan out, he somehow made his way to New Jersey (he was born and raised in Ohio) and ended up marrying my grandmother. They lived for a year in Chicago (something I didn't know until my mother told me when I was an adult) before moving back to New Jersey and buying the house that I now live in...it was the same town she was born and raised in and only 2 blocks away from where she grew up.
My mother was her only child. She wasn't supposed to be able to have children, so it was quite a surprise when my mother came along rather late in life.
She lived through two world wars and the great depression. Although she never went to college (that was something that was reserved for her two brothers), she was smart as a whip. She was better at math than I will ever be (even with a calculator and financial software). I still have one of her ledgers. I don't know why. I think I just like to have something in written in her hand. (I also have pages from a book of some of her recipes. The book fell apart, but I kept the pages even though I'll never make any of them. There were definitely some strange recipes out there in the 1930s and 40s. But then again I'm sure if she saw what we eat today she'd say the same thing).
The two places my grandparents liked to travel to (at least when I was around) was the Melrose Inn in Harwichport, MA which is now a retirement home. (I wish it was still there because I have some faint memories of the place, but they are so faint and there are very few photos and I'm afraid they will fade away). They other place they visited, often for a month at a time was Skytop Lodge in Pennsylvania...which I'm glad to say still survives. My husband, son and I went there for a long weekend last fall and although it has changed somewhat, it has also stayed the same. Again in my mind, I can see my grandparents dancing on Saturday night in the Pine room, just as my son and I did this past November.
When it comes to my grandmother, my biggest regret is that I didn't notice that her house was dark the evening she had a stroke. Neither did my mother, until it was after 8 pm. And when we hurried to the house and found her lying on the kitchen floor...that's a memory I wish I could forgot. And I hope she knew how very sorry I am that she was alone for so long.
My grandmother feared having a stroke. Not dying, but having a stroke and then being trapped in a life that was not her own. That is exactly what happened. She had a stroke, a massive one, but lived on, bedridden for over 4 years. I didn't visit enough. I was a selfish young adult. I did occasionally come and sit by her bed and read out loud from Yankee magazine. I don't know if she heard me; I hope she did and I hope that she knew I loved her, even if I didn't show it enough. (And I hope she knows that I love her still.)
It will be 20 years this December since she passed away. I have her wedding ring. I wear it along with my own and with her mother's on my left hand. I've "lost" it a couple of times. When I say "lost" I mean it's slipped out of my hand and fallen somewhere in the house (usually in the bedroom). The first time it happened I got upset. My husband eventually found it. The last time it happened, I was quite blase about it. I knew that it wasn't really lost; just misplaced and when she was ready for me to find it, it would turn up. (And it did).
The house that she lived in for all those year has changed. And it's stayed the same. There's not alot of money to fix the many things that need to be fixed. Plaster is falling from the walls; wallpaper peels; floors needs to be refinished; and there's a big hole in the garage where the wood has rotted and the snow comes in. But I still love this house with all my heart. For it's many imperfections, it has kept me dry, warm and safe. It is my home. It is my grandmother's home. It is my history. And within these walls, I hope my grandmother watches over me and my family. I hope she is proud of me. I hope she knows how much I love her and think of her still.
Especially on this day, her birthday. We used to tease her and say that she was one day younger than George Washington. And if I spy a robin today I'll know it's a sign; because my grandmother, mother and I were always in a race to see who would spot the first robin of the season. While I've already seen several this year (who knows what they are thinking with all the snow we have had), if I see one today it will be different. It will be different because today was her birthday.
I love you Grandma.
I live in the house she purchased with my grandfather in 1924. She lived here until her death at the end of 1994. I moved in to the house in June of 1995 and my husband (then fiance) followed in September.
We've changed many things in the house since 1995. Sometimes I forget that this was once her house. That the room that we call an office (where I sit typing this blog), was once her sewing room. That the room that we use for storage was once her sun parlor where she would sip her evening cocktail. And that my son's room was once my mother's bedroom...and is also the room where my grandmother spent the last several years bedridden.
But there are still a few things in the house that remind me of my grandparents, or more specifically my grandmother. The small frying pan that we hung on the kitchen wall to keep her spirit alive. The sideboard in the where she stored liquor (and where I do too). But most of all, there's something about the front door. Call me crazy, but sometimes there is a slight scent when I get near it. And it just reminds me of her.
I loved my grandmother. I love my grandmother. Even after all these years, there is a very strong picture of her in my mind. She was small in stature (and although I am quite short, I can still remember the day that I finally was taller than she). But as most grandmothers are, she was strong in spirit. She instilled in me a keen sense of financial responsibility. It was assumed that you had a savings account; and that you never touched your principle. Also, you never sold your AT&T stock. (Not that I ever had any.) You pay all your bills on time and you pay them in full.
She was stern, but kind. I remember I borrowed $6 from her once, either to buy a record for myself, or something for my brother's birthday (or maybe both...it was a long time ago). Every week I paid her a dollar until the debt was done. Then she gave me back the $6.
I think my grandmother was an extraordinary woman. She met my grandfather on a train bound for California (during my lifetime I never knew her to travel far and she never got on an airplane). She must have made some impression. He was headed for a job in Montana (or maybe it was Wyoming) and she and her family were headed for a vacation in California. (My mother still has the photo album from this trip that took place in the early 20th century). When the job didn't pan out, he somehow made his way to New Jersey (he was born and raised in Ohio) and ended up marrying my grandmother. They lived for a year in Chicago (something I didn't know until my mother told me when I was an adult) before moving back to New Jersey and buying the house that I now live in...it was the same town she was born and raised in and only 2 blocks away from where she grew up.
My mother was her only child. She wasn't supposed to be able to have children, so it was quite a surprise when my mother came along rather late in life.
She lived through two world wars and the great depression. Although she never went to college (that was something that was reserved for her two brothers), she was smart as a whip. She was better at math than I will ever be (even with a calculator and financial software). I still have one of her ledgers. I don't know why. I think I just like to have something in written in her hand. (I also have pages from a book of some of her recipes. The book fell apart, but I kept the pages even though I'll never make any of them. There were definitely some strange recipes out there in the 1930s and 40s. But then again I'm sure if she saw what we eat today she'd say the same thing).
The two places my grandparents liked to travel to (at least when I was around) was the Melrose Inn in Harwichport, MA which is now a retirement home. (I wish it was still there because I have some faint memories of the place, but they are so faint and there are very few photos and I'm afraid they will fade away). They other place they visited, often for a month at a time was Skytop Lodge in Pennsylvania...which I'm glad to say still survives. My husband, son and I went there for a long weekend last fall and although it has changed somewhat, it has also stayed the same. Again in my mind, I can see my grandparents dancing on Saturday night in the Pine room, just as my son and I did this past November.
When it comes to my grandmother, my biggest regret is that I didn't notice that her house was dark the evening she had a stroke. Neither did my mother, until it was after 8 pm. And when we hurried to the house and found her lying on the kitchen floor...that's a memory I wish I could forgot. And I hope she knew how very sorry I am that she was alone for so long.
My grandmother feared having a stroke. Not dying, but having a stroke and then being trapped in a life that was not her own. That is exactly what happened. She had a stroke, a massive one, but lived on, bedridden for over 4 years. I didn't visit enough. I was a selfish young adult. I did occasionally come and sit by her bed and read out loud from Yankee magazine. I don't know if she heard me; I hope she did and I hope that she knew I loved her, even if I didn't show it enough. (And I hope she knows that I love her still.)
It will be 20 years this December since she passed away. I have her wedding ring. I wear it along with my own and with her mother's on my left hand. I've "lost" it a couple of times. When I say "lost" I mean it's slipped out of my hand and fallen somewhere in the house (usually in the bedroom). The first time it happened I got upset. My husband eventually found it. The last time it happened, I was quite blase about it. I knew that it wasn't really lost; just misplaced and when she was ready for me to find it, it would turn up. (And it did).
The house that she lived in for all those year has changed. And it's stayed the same. There's not alot of money to fix the many things that need to be fixed. Plaster is falling from the walls; wallpaper peels; floors needs to be refinished; and there's a big hole in the garage where the wood has rotted and the snow comes in. But I still love this house with all my heart. For it's many imperfections, it has kept me dry, warm and safe. It is my home. It is my grandmother's home. It is my history. And within these walls, I hope my grandmother watches over me and my family. I hope she is proud of me. I hope she knows how much I love her and think of her still.
Especially on this day, her birthday. We used to tease her and say that she was one day younger than George Washington. And if I spy a robin today I'll know it's a sign; because my grandmother, mother and I were always in a race to see who would spot the first robin of the season. While I've already seen several this year (who knows what they are thinking with all the snow we have had), if I see one today it will be different. It will be different because today was her birthday.
I love you Grandma.
Well written. I'm especially close to mine, we talk everyday and I know how lucky I am!
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