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| My Grandma G and I at my college graduation, the day my brilliance was confirmed. Or maybe just my ability to take notes and regurgitate information well. |
Sometimes I get these
Recently, I had these thoughts about rearranging my living room. I decided the other day that I need change in my life. New windows for the house? Different color pillows for the couch? Redo on the bathroom? I decided the cheapest (FREE) change I could do was to rearrange the furniture.
I live in a teeny-tiny 1000 square foot house. Buying a lipstick means we have to rearrange the bedroom. Buying furniture pieces or a picture typically requires getting rid of something else. The problem with rearranging my living room was a china cabinet that was my grandmother's There are only so many places a huge piece like that can go. I thought of letting it go, but it was Grandma's. I don't have much that was hers.
Years ago, when my grandmother passed away from Alzheimer's, all her kids and grandkids, myself included, went through and picked out a memento or two of hers. Grandma G had been a professional seamstress by trade and made beautiful wedding dresses and clothing out of the business in her house. We kids weren't allowed to go into her sewing room, but I remember always seeing that little tomato pin cushion with a thousand multicolored pins stabbed into it. It reminded me of a tomato covered with ice cream sprinkles. It represented Grandma to me, and when no one wanted a stupid pin cushion, I gladly brought it home.
Grandma also had a hutch. It was not something that I grew up looking at and associating with her. It was something that she got after Granddaddy passed away, after I was older. It wasn't expensive. It's not incredibly stylish, but it was hers, and it was something that I could pass on to my daughter, someday, from her great-grandmother. No one wanted it, either, so I took it home. It now houses some milk glass from my grandmother and some from both of Big Daddy's grandmas.
Rearranging the room and moving that mammoth piece made me start thinking of Grandma G....
How she always seemed to have some sort of cake made....awesome lemon cake with thick lemony icing or a chocolate Texas sheet cake. How she was the best cook ever, but how I hated the taste of her iced tea. How every morning she would always fix a cup of coffee with milk and sugar in a tea cup and saucer for her grey poodle, Spooky. How she used Sweet N Low in tea, but wanted sugar in her coffee. How she had the meanest Siamese cat I have ever met. How she and Granddaddy used to always watch MASH and Grandpa would hum along with the theme song. How she would let me eat ice cream for dinner when I spent the week with her. The funny way she said "outside" and "furniture." How, at my baby shower, the last time I ever saw or spoke to her, she called me a bitch.
Yeah. That's right. My sweet, little grandmother cussed me out at my own baby shower.
In her defense, it wasn't her fault. She was easily confused by that point, and there were lots of people there, so she was anxious.
There I was, bigger than the Hindenburg, swollen, unrecognizable, sipping on some sherbet punch and munching on a plate of cookies and those tiny tortilla roll up slicey things that people only make for showers. Up walked my grandmother, drinking some punch. She rubbed my belly, and said, "Pretty big party, huh?"
"Yep. Lots of people showed up," I said, smiling.
"You know, I don't even know the girl the party is for," Grandma said, with a shake of her head, "but I hear she's a real bitch. I can't wait to leave."
Then she drained her punch and walked away. It was the last words she would ever speak to me.
I know it wasn't her saying those words. I know it was the sickness.
At least, I hope so.
Then again, maybe she was just saying what everyone was thinking.
Grandma also had a hutch. It was not something that I grew up looking at and associating with her. It was something that she got after Granddaddy passed away, after I was older. It wasn't expensive. It's not incredibly stylish, but it was hers, and it was something that I could pass on to my daughter, someday, from her great-grandmother. No one wanted it, either, so I took it home. It now houses some milk glass from my grandmother and some from both of Big Daddy's grandmas.
Rearranging the room and moving that mammoth piece made me start thinking of Grandma G....
How she always seemed to have some sort of cake made....awesome lemon cake with thick lemony icing or a chocolate Texas sheet cake. How she was the best cook ever, but how I hated the taste of her iced tea. How every morning she would always fix a cup of coffee with milk and sugar in a tea cup and saucer for her grey poodle, Spooky. How she used Sweet N Low in tea, but wanted sugar in her coffee. How she had the meanest Siamese cat I have ever met. How she and Granddaddy used to always watch MASH and Grandpa would hum along with the theme song. How she would let me eat ice cream for dinner when I spent the week with her. The funny way she said "outside" and "furniture." How, at my baby shower, the last time I ever saw or spoke to her, she called me a bitch.
Yeah. That's right. My sweet, little grandmother cussed me out at my own baby shower.
In her defense, it wasn't her fault. She was easily confused by that point, and there were lots of people there, so she was anxious.
There I was, bigger than the Hindenburg, swollen, unrecognizable, sipping on some sherbet punch and munching on a plate of cookies and those tiny tortilla roll up slicey things that people only make for showers. Up walked my grandmother, drinking some punch. She rubbed my belly, and said, "Pretty big party, huh?"
"Yep. Lots of people showed up," I said, smiling.
"You know, I don't even know the girl the party is for," Grandma said, with a shake of her head, "but I hear she's a real bitch. I can't wait to leave."
Then she drained her punch and walked away. It was the last words she would ever speak to me.
I know it wasn't her saying those words. I know it was the sickness.
At least, I hope so.
Then again, maybe she was just saying what everyone was thinking.
She was thinking of that lady from the "other" party. I love your stories and your humor, thanks for sharing them both!
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