*Remember in that last post when I said I wasn't a poet? That I needed more words? Well, here come the words. That short poem about my grandmother just wasn't enough to say who she was and what she taught me in my early life. Some of my best childhood memories are the times I spent with her. I wrote this many years ago and decided it was worthy of some quick edits and then sharing with you. Fix a cup of coffee and take a walk back in time with me. I hope it stirs some good memories for you too.
Wanda Elizabeth Dickinson Lynch
She was born in 1906. That would make her 110 if she were still alive today. I like to imagine that she could be. I gave my oldest daughter the name Heidi Elizabeth to honor her.
Life at my Grandmother's house was easy and peaceful. The first thing you did after opening the door into the kitchen was go straight to the fry cake jar. Fry cakes are donuts but better. What I wouldn't give for just one more of those delicious wonders. She always put extra cinnamon on mine.
Grandma never wore pants. She had house dresses and good dresses. Good dresses were mostly for church or the occasional wedding or party. She never drove a car and did not own a TV until one of daughters bought her one in 1957. My mother tells me that before they had the TV they would go to a neighbor's house to watch the Arthur Godfrey show. Try to imagine neighbors sharing a TV today. If it was ok for my mom and her siblings to come up the hill to watch TV they would hang a sheet on the line. That was the green light to come on up. Isn't that the loveliest image in your mind?
My Grandmother was part of the Ladies Aid (they made quilts I think), the Rebekkah Lodge (I have no idea what they did), she taught piano lessons out of her home, she was the choir director and the organ player at her church. She had a multitude of friends. So many, in fact that the State Police had to direct traffic at her funeral.
Every Easter the men from the church would haul the church piano up onto the back of a pick up truck and drive it to the cemetery. We would be there before sunrise, waking and driving while it was still dark and then huddle up together in the cold morning air to watch the sun come up. My grandmother use to get right up on the back of that pickup, play the piano and sing "The Old Rugged Cross". I can still hear it now. What a voice she had. It was a voice for the opera and I imagine in a different time and place that she could have had some pretty big opportunities. I wonder if she ever wondered about that. My guess is no. She seemed to make the very most of the life that she had been given. You might say she bloomed where she was planted. As far as I could tell then, and now looking back, I would say she was one of the most content people I have ever known.
Sometimes when I think of these memories my head spins at how different life is today. I can feel an ache and a longing for those sweet and simple days spent with my grandmother. Neighbors stopping by for a chat, clothes hanging on the line, eating Neopolitan ice cream, watching her can vegetables from the garden, resting on the couch with a cool washcloth on our foreheads on hot summer days.
When I was little my Grandmother would sometimes reach into her pocketbook, take out her change purse and give a dime each to my cousin and I. This was a lot of money for her to part with. She never had much and yet she seemed like one of the richest people in the world. She had a warm and cozy home, good food, wonderful friends, God, flowers growing all around her house, books to read, songs to sing, a piano to play and a grateful heart. We would walk with our shiny dimes down to the corner store, the floors were wooden and the storekeeper knew us by name. There was a glass front case with penny candy and a small chest freezer with popsicles and fudgesicles. A dime allowed us to get a frozen treat and FIVE different pieces of candy. We were so happy walking back to our Grandma's house waving to the neighbors as we went. Hello Myrtle. Hello Marilyn. Hello Virginia. So content without a care in the world.
I use to sit for hours and play canasta with my Grandmother. This game could go on for days and it often did. We would set the game up on the dining room table and then eat in different places. "Where would you like to eat today dear?"
On the TV trays, on the front porch, the side porch or the little kitchen table? I loved all of these choices and each spot had it's own special magic. I took these decisions very seriously. The side porch was often where we would eat our lunch, the front porch was for afternoon snack and a rest. Grandma would say "come on dear, let's sit a spell." So we did. We smelled the peonies that lined the front walk, we watched the neighbor Virginia work in her garden, the neighbor boys being boys and the occasional car go by. We were in no hurry to get anywhere, there was nowhere to go. We were present to the moment and we didn't have to meditate or read a book to know how to do this. We would shuck peas and drink lemonade. The TV was not on and we didn't have the radio on either. We just listened to the sounds of life. Sometimes for a treat we would use the TV trays to eat our dinner and watch TV. Trapper John, MD was a big favorite. We never wondered if this was bad for us or if we weren't connecting as a family. We just thought it was fun.
Popcorn was the standard evening snack. If I was there she would holler from the kitchen "dear, I will put butter on it since you are here, I normally don't". I always had my doubts about this and still do. I am pretty sure melted butter on the popcorn was a regular thing at Wanda's even if she was all alone. We would always put the leftover popcorn in the gas oven and the pilot light kept it fresh for the next day's snack. After playing cards or watching a little TV we would go to bed. She always prayed on her knees. She had two twin beds in her room and I would kneel with her next to her bed. She prayed aloud with just a little light coming from the bedside. Her version of a night light was a hankie over a lamp. A fire hazard I suppose but we never thought about that. The soft glow that was cast around the room from whatever color hankie she would choose was so beautiful to me. I can see that room in my mind instantly and just the memory of it comforts me. Chenille bedspread, windows that looked onto the front porch, a bible and a jewelry box on the dresser. Simple, organized, cozy and most importantly, safe.
She never called pajamas by that name, they were night clothes. She wore an apron as part of her outfit and only removed it if we went somewhere. Sometimes she even forgot and would wear it to the store under her coat. Going somewhere meant getting a ride because my Grandmother lived almost twenty years beyond her husband and she still managed to have a beautiful and full life without driving or owning a car. Her common phrase for children was "Bless their heart." I didn't think anyone said that but my grandmother until I spent a year living in the South. Even though that phrase can be used sarcastically I think it is a pretty good idea to go around blessing hearts.
The last time I spent the night with my grandmother was about eight weeks before she died. It was 1986. I was a junior in high school. It was January and I just felt like having a good old-fashioned sleepover with my grandmother even though I had my own car, a job, a boyfriend and lots of social commitments. I called her and asked if I could visit. She said "come on over, dear, I'll be here". That was the last time I would ever hear those words. We had fry cakes and played canasta. I drove her to the store myself. We had dinner on TV trays. We watched a little TV and popped some corn. She never said "do you want some popcorn", she would just get up from her rocking chair and say "I think it is time to pop some corn." And of course, we had butter on it. We drank Faygo soda and ate the popcorn out of the blue melmac bowls one last time. When it was time to put on our nightclothes and pray, she said "come sit beside me on the bed dear, my knees are aching me tonight." This was the first time I ever saw her not pray on her knees at bedtime. So we sat side by side on her chenille bedspread with our handkerchief nightlight. And we prayed. The next morning came and we got ready for church. She let me wear a special pair of earrings from her jewelry box and she told me to keep them. She had never done this before out of the countless times I had sorted her jewelry box and played dress up with my cousin. I was happy she gave them to me but something inside me knew. I drove her to church where we sang and prayed some more. We came back to her house, had a snack and then it was time for me to go. We hugged goodbye and I told her that I loved her. She said, "I love you too dear." A month later she was diagnosed with cancer and the month after that she died.
I still miss her like crazy sometimes. There are moments I smell her or the smell of her home and I wonder if I am being paid a little visit. Her apron hangs on a hook in my kitchen. She missed my graduation from high school and college, my wedding, my children, my entire adult life. She would have added such richness to the lives of my children. They don't even know what they have missed. I hope somehow that there is at least a small part of me that reflects her and they can feel the strength and grace and wisdom of a woman they never knew.
Many years ago while looking out the screen door at my family celebrating my mother's birthday my Aunt took me aside. She said she had never seen this before but she had to do a double take when looking at me. She saw me standing at the door and for a moment she saw her mother. She looked again and still she saw it. She came inside to take a closer look and once more she saw the face of her mother.
And so it goes.
