Grandma

When I hear the word Grandma I think of a little woman, soft chin length gray hair held back with two bobby pins, not fat, just plump in all the right places to allow for the most pleasing hugs. Her back is bent from years of hard work and calcium worn bones, but her face is that of an angel, soft cheeks, warm eyes that crinkle when she smiles and twinkle even when she tries to be stern.

My Paternal Grandmother raised me from the age 3 until my dad remarried when I was 7. She was well into her 60's when she took on the duties of motherhood again and I wish she were alive today so I could tell her how grateful I am for making those years so special for me. In the morning we would watch 'Romper Room' together. I would help in the garden as she took time to help me memorize the names of the flowers ('Morning Glories' always being my favorite, because of their name and their large, bright blue faces.) Together we named the 'horned (horny) toads' who lived under the garden hose. For lunch I would eat the world's best peanut butter & jelly sandwiches (no one will ever make them as delicious as my Grandma!) I remember playing post-office and banker under the kitchen table, scribbling on canceled checks and old envelopes. I would feed them back out to her through the rungs of the chairs, as she worked in the kitchen, doing laundry or preparing dinner. Afternoon meant quiet time while Grandma watched her show. 'General Hospital' was the only vice I ever knew my grandma to possess. Dinner usually consisted of roast or some sort of beef and I would help make the salad, which was more often than not a pear half, on a bib of lettuce, with a maraschino cherry tucked in the middle. My favorite dessert was often a mixture of cottage cheese & apple sauce.

When I started Kindergarten, Grandma would walk me the 3 1/2 blocks to school and be there in the afternoon to pick me up. She never learned to drive, but rain or shine she would be there waiting for me and ready to hear about my day. She didn't talk a lot but she listened carefully to everything I had to say.

By the time I was in 1st grade, I was old enough to walk to and from school on my own (this was many, many, years ago when the streets were safe for little kids.) I remember quite clearly the day one of my classmates brought polliwogs (tadpoles) for show n' tell. At the end of the day my teacher put them into dixie-cups and handed them out to the students as we waited in line. Some of the kids pushed and shoved and were scolded for not waiting patiently. Always the people pleaser, I waited near the end of the line for my very own polliwog. I was so excited to take him home and raise him into my very own little frog. However, by the time I reached the front of the line the dixie-cups had run out. I didn't care, I cupped my hand and waited as my teacher placed the treasure there along with a small puddle of water.

The walk home was longer than I ever remembered it being. I hurried as best I could, trying not to spill any of the water but really not succeeding. Eventually I took to spitting on the poor thing, not knowing this would likely hasten his demise. When I got home I ran into the house frantic for a glass of water for my little friend. My grandma must have been terribly confused by my tearful explanation but she grabbed a glass, quickly filled it with water and together we watched as the little polliwog lay perfectly still and sank to the bottom of the glass. We waited there a long time before my grandma explained that my little 'pet' had died. I don't remember the exact conversation we had about death but I do remember going out to the garden. My grandma allowing me to choose exactly where I wanted to bury my little friend. I chose a spot by the geraniums which were in full bloom at the time. My grandma dug a little hole with the trowel and together we said our goodbyes. I cried a little bit more, wondered about the mysteries of it all, but as little kids do, I moved on rather quickly. I never forgot it though. I'll always remember how tender and caring my grandma was about the whole event. My own mother might have laughed at me for being so silly. My step-mother would've certainly berated me for being upset over something so small. I guess that's why it's all the more meaningful.

I hope to be a Grandma someday. I hope my hair will be soft and gray, I plan to wear it back in bobby pins. I might wear bobby sox with a pair of mary janes. I'll probably wear a house dress and carry a dish towel over my left shoulder. I hope my cheeks are like soft apples and my eyes crinkle when I smile and twinkle even when I'm stern. I hope I'm patient and kind. I hope I don't talk too much but listen a lot... And I hope I make the world's best peanut butter & jelly sandwiches.

Miss you Grandma.