Mean Grandma

I loved my father's mother. Much of the time I did not like her very much. She was a mean-spirited woman who's biggest joy in life seemed to be talking bad about someone, anyone, everyone else.

I do understand that she had a rough time of things. I don't think her marriage was a happy one. My grandfather drank from what I've been told. I did not know him. I have a feeling he probably was physically violent too but I do not know that.

Grandma had 11 children. Two died at birth or as babies. The Depression was a hard time for families in this country when her children were young.

One uncle had epilepsy. Back then it had such a stigma and there was little that could be medically done. He was put in a home and everyone was told that he was in a reform school. It was better to have a bad boy than an epileptic. He died there. I don't know if he knew whether anybody cared about him or not. It was way before my time.

Grandma was either the first baby in her family born in the United States or the last one born in Denmark. I can never remember which. She tried to teach me a little Danish but I only remember the word for hen.

Perhaps because she had so little when she was younger my grandmother was a collector. She had hundreds of sets of salt and pepper shakers on display in her house.

It was a small two-story house. Half of the upstairs was finished into an extra bedroom. The other half was for storage. And boy did she store a lot.

She lived in a little bitty town. The department store there actually was just a mail order hook-up. They displayed all the various mail order catalogs of the time. Grandma ordered sets of dishes, pots and pans, linens, and who knows what all. When the boxes came in she would promptly have them put upstairs. Most were never opened.

She was like that. She had things just to have them. It is such a shame they were never used. My aunt asked me what I would like as a wedding gift and I told her something of my grandmother's. I received a set of beautifully embroidered sheets. Sadly my husband went to plump his pillow and his hand went right through the material.

She did like working with cloth. She embroidered and did needlepoint. She also made the loveliest silky covers for her throw pillows.

Grandma would buy bananas and let them sit and rot rather than eat them. Heaven forbid if one of us was hungry. Whatever it was we asked for she was saving it.

My aunt had a scar on her hand. It seems that grandma was peeling potatoes for supper and my aunt asked for a piece for a snack. As she asked she reached to take a piece, grandma whacked her hand with the knife. It was a nasty cut. Grandma was stingy.

I remember once when we were visiting her she made oatmeal for breakfast. I love oatmeal. When we started to eat it we found all these tiny nails in it. Apparently she bumped the box of nails as she was making the oatmeal and it fell into the pan. Instead of throwing it out she expected us to eat around the nails.

Another time she made oatmeal again. When she served it to us we saw "things" floating in it and wiggling. She had mealy worms and saw no sense in letting the food go to waste.

She was not very nice to my mother either and that is something a child cannot forgive. She always made it clear that Mom was not a part of the family. More on that another time.

I did love her though. When I was in second grade we were working with modelling clay. I made the bust of a woman. When I finished it looked like Grandma. We went to visit her over the Christmas holidays and I took my little grandma to show her. She actually liked it and asked if she could keep it. Being an honest child I said she could as long as everyone understood that I got it back when she died.

All the rest of her life she kept it on the table by her bed. Sadly when she died it disappeared. I never saw it again.

None of my children knew Grandma. She died shortly before I married. When they were small we would look through family pictures and every time one of the kids would ask who that mean looking woman was.

I do miss Grandma. Maybe I could have known more about my father's side of the family if I had been able to ask her about it. Maybe I could have understood her better.

My Mom, The Carpenter

My mother was so creative. She could do just about anything she set her mind to do.

My grandmother played the piano but Mom never learned how. One day she decided that she wanted to be able to play. She got some instructional books from the library and got to work. She was not a concert pianist or anything but she could play. I can play with one finger but she uses both hands. She was so talented.

Mom, my youngest sister, and I had talked about someday moving back to the part of the country I am living in now. We would open a little shop selling souvenirs and fun little trinkets. We would call it The Tourist Trap. Of course we never got beyond the talking stage but it was a fun idea.

Eventually Mom decided that she had enough of the cold winters she had experienced her whole life. She tried Florida and did not like it there.

My youngest sister was living in Kentucky. Kentucky had a more moderate climate. They do have a bit of snow now and then and the temperature gets cool. But as a rule they do not have the bitter cold weather of the midwest and plains states. Mom was going to live in Kentucky.

Mom and I had taken a nice vacation together driving through New England. We stopped and saw what we wanted to. We slept when we wanted to. It was a great vacation and we ended it in Kentucky at my sister's house.

Mom went out one afternoon and rented a place. We were surprised because she had said nothing before she left.

It was a nice little mobile home set on a piece of property between a highway and a drop-off that ended with a stream below. There were a lot of trees. It was small but she was alone and needed nothing larger.

The problem was that there was no furniture. Mom had kept nothing of her old furniture because she had been staying in Florida with our other sister and had no need for it.

She had limited funds. She would not starve or anything but she did have to pay attention. And she liked to stay busy and creative.

So she needed furniture. Mom decided to make her own. She went out and purchased a power saw, a hammer, nails, screws, and a screwdriver. She had to buy other tools but those were the main ones. Then she bought two-by-fours and one-by-fours.

Mom designed everything herself. She took measurements and made the furniture to her own specifications. The first was her bed.

She had to make it to accommodate a regular mattress and box springs. She did not feel like she wanted to be quite that creative to make a mattress. The bed was basic. She made a headboard and footboard and side board with edges at the bottom to hold the slats that the box springs would sit on. How she fastened the legs on I cannot tell you. I am not the creative one.

She sanded all the wood to smooth it. Then she lacquered it to give it a nice sheen. She wanted no artificial color. She wanted the wood to have the color it came with. She had a nice sturdy bed.

Living room furniture was next. She started with the couch. She made a bench style piece. The seat is slanted slightly to allow for comfort. The arms are wide and comfortable. They are wide enough to place a drink safely. She made it the size she wanted it to be. It need not be a conventional size.

Again she sanded and lacquered. The wood was a nice and clean looking.

A comfy chair was next. The same process was used. It is a sturdy chair. Mom liked to read and do her handicrafts while sitting in a big comfortable chair. Now she would have one.

You might think that all that wood would not be terribly comfortable. You are right. Not to worry. Mom had it well in hand.

She bought some strong but attractive material. It felt good to touch. She made the coverings for big, firm, comfortable cushions. Then she filled them with whatever big, firm, comfortable cushions are filled with.

She did not make kitchen furniture. My youngest brother had all of Daddy's woodworking tools. That included the ones that would turn legs for chairs and a table. Mom did want to invest that much money into tools she might never use again so she bought something that she liked.

Mom never ceased to amaze me. She was so capable. I really wish I was more like her that way.

Because of circumstances I will tell at another time, Mom moved back in with my sister. She took her furniture with her. My sister has it now. It is still just as strong as it was when it was built. I am hoping that it will be passed down through my sister's family and the story of its origin will be passed along with it.

In The Water

I love to swim. It is the closest thing to being able to fly. That feeling of floating along and feeling free... like I said I love it.

Not everyone in my family feels the same way. My mother, for instance. She never did learn to swim. She said she felt claustrophobic when her face was covered with water.

I was working and could not be with my family when they went camping for a weekend. Not that I missed it. Camping is not a favorite activity of mine. There are no indoor toilets.

They were near a lake and decided to go swimming. Mom was content to sit on the edge with the baby and read a book. Daddy was there in case of an emergency.

The kids were happily romping in the water and making a lot of noise. Someone called Daddy to come help them with something. He told Mom he would be right back and disappeared over the hill. Mom nodded and went on reading.

The kids started calling for help and Mom told them not to ask for help unless they meant it. They kept yelling. She finally realized there was something wrong. She sent my oldest brother to get Daddy but she knew he could not make it in time.

My sister and brother had been wading and hit a drop-off in the water. My sister could not swim at all, my brother just a little. My brother was trying to help my sister get back to where she could stand but they were both in trouble.

Mom told the baby to stay where he was. She started to the water. On the way she saw a medium sized stick and grabbed it up. She got brave and waded into the water.

She went out to where my brother and sister were struggling. She told them to grab the stick. My sister reached for it but went under the water instead. My brother managed to get out by himself and went back to the blanket and fell exhausted, trying to catch his breath.

My sister surfaced again and Mom tried again. She told my sister to grab the stick. My sister tried but just went under again.

Mom was right at the edge of where the drop-off was. She knew she could not help anyone if she was drowning herself. She tried to dig her toes in but of course she could not. My sister surfaced again. Mom saw that her eyes were starting to glaze over and knew this was probably the last chance.

She yelled for my sister to grab the stick. Somehow she got through and my sister reached for the stick. As soon as she had her hands around it my mother jerked towards herself. The stick was rotten and broke. But there was enough force that my sister floated forward a little and Mom was able to grab her and get her out of the water.

Daddy came running over the hill just in time to see them connecting and coming out of the water.

The town we were living in was building a swimming pool. I was so excited. Then they announced that they would be selling season tickets for admission to the pool.

I was disappointed. I knew if there was a fee we would not be going swimming often. We had very little money and there were so many of us.

Then they announced a contest. If I could sell a certain number of season passes, I would receive a season pass for myself. Double the sales and I could get a family pass and we would all get to swim.

I sold my little heart out. I was in the fifth grade at school. I think a lot of the people who purchased from me thought it was cute that I was trying to sell them. And I had people that I did yard work and other odd jobs for who I got to before anyone else did. We had our family pass.

We lived at the pool that summer. We were there when it opened and went home when they were closing.

The Red Cross gave free swimming lessons to all the children. My oldest brother took them along with the rest of us. He just did not like taking the chance. He always said that sticking your face in the water was a good way to drown.

The instructors tried hard with him but he just did not like it. Then came the day that they came to my second brother and me and told us to take him out to the deep end and leave him. They said he would learn to swim that way. Even we knew that was a stupid idea. We refused. He did learn to swim a bit in the Army but he did not enjoy it.

My high school had a swimming pool. Everyone was required to take at least one semester of swimming. It was part of the physical education program.

We learned to dive and do fancy turns. We learned all the different strokes, like the butterfly and breast stroke. I received my junior lifesaving badge in high school.

My husband learned to swim when he was young. His brother and his brother's friend tossed him into the water and told him to swim. He did not swim that time. He did finally learn to slap his arms in the water and move around a little. I do not know if he could have been able to do any real swimming if the occasion called for it.

But he enjoyed taking us swimming. He would gamely get in the water. Then he would start to shiver and turn blue. He would spend most of the time sitting on a blanket and wrapped in a towel while we had a good time.

When my oldest son was a baby I was amused by the fact that he hated to have his face washed. When I would take the cloth and start to wash him he would gasp for breath. I soon discovered that all I had to do was cover his eyes with my hand for the same effect. Naturally he did not like the water for recreation either.

Then when he about 5 years old he asked if he could take swimming lessons. I immediately signed him up. He worked so hard to try to be able to put his face in the water. I sat in an observation room for the parents of the would-be swimmers and watched.

When the series of lessons were over he still could not swim. He wanted to try again. This time his little brother wanted to learn too.

I sat in that observation room and watched my sons taking swimming lessons. My first son was trying so hard. My second son was right at home.

When they were learning to dog paddle my oldest son was trying. The instructor was working with him and the other children watched. All except for my second son. There he was down at the deep end of the pool paddling along with a big grin on his face. I was up banging on the window for someone to notice that my baby was trying to kill himself.

The last day of that series one of the fathers offered to help by dropping the children from the diving board so they could dog paddle back to the shallow end. One by one each child walked to him and he gently dropped them into the water. My oldest son was last.

The man took him by the arms and lowered him toward the water. My son was terrified. The man let go. Have you ever seen someone climb air? My son did. He made it back to the man and held on for dear life. The man finally gave up and carried my son back to the side of the pool.

My son tried so hard to learn how to swim. He still cannot and he says he has no regrets.

But his cousin was not convinced. My son did like going to the pool and splashing around at the edge of the shallow end. His cousin somehow got him out in the middle of the deep end. Her intention was to let go of him and make him swim to the edge. (Her father is the older brother of my husband who tossed him in the water. It runs in their family I guess.)

So she got him out there and tried to let go. He clawed and scratched and held on. She was covered with wounds when they came home. She said she would not have tried that if she had known he was going to maul her.

My children were growing up. I knew it would not be long and it would be difficult for us to do things together. I planned a trip. It was just a weekend at a nearby amusement park.

My two older sons were friends so I knew they would hang out together. I told my youngest son and my daughter that they could each invite a cousin to do things with.

We got two rooms at the motel. The boys stayed in one and we girls were in the other. I made sure to get a place that had a pool so the children could swim in the evening after we left the park.

I wanted a shower but the kids wanted to swim. My second son could swim so I asked him to keep an eye on them until I came out. He did not want to swim but he said he would watch them.

I took a shower and was drying my hair. I looked out the door to check on the children. They were fine.

Then my nephew got into the deep end and was having trouble. My son gave a soft curse and jumped in. He was fully dressed so he was not happy.

My son fished my nephew out of the water. Everyone was fine. I told them that was enough excitement for the night and it was time to come in.

I think everyone should know how to swim. It is like knowing how to do first aid. You should know. But watching my son try to learn to swim I have realized that not everyone can.

Mean Grandma

I loved my father's mother. Much of the time I did not like her very much. She was a mean-spirited woman who's biggest joy in life seemed to be talking bad about someone, anyone, everyone else.

I do understand that she had a rough time of things. I don't think her marriage was a happy one. My grandfather drank from what I've been told. I did not know him. I have a feeling he probably was physically violent too but I do not know that.

Grandma had 11 children. Two died at birth or as babies. The Depression was a hard time for families in this country when her children were young.

One uncle had epilepsy. Back then it had such a stigma and there was little that could be medically done. He was put in a home and everyone was told that he was in a reform school. It was better to have a bad boy than an epileptic. He died there. I don't know if he knew whether anybody cared about him or not. It was way before my time.

Grandma was either the first baby in her family born in the United States or the last one born in Denmark. I can never remember which. She tried to teach me a little Danish but I only remember the word for hen.

Perhaps because she had so little when she was younger my grandmother was a collector. She had hundreds of sets of salt and pepper shakers on display in her house.

It was a small two-story house. Half of the upstairs was finished into an extra bedroom. The other half was for storage. And boy did she store a lot.

She lived in a little bitty town. The department store there actually was just a mail order hook-up. They displayed all the various mail order catalogs of the time. Grandma ordered sets of dishes, pots and pans, linens, and who knows what all. When the boxes came in she would promptly have them put upstairs. Most were never opened.

She was like that. She had things just to have them. It is such a shame they were never used. My aunt asked me what I would like as a wedding gift and I told her something of my grandmothers. I received a set of beautifully embroidered sheets. Sadly my husband went to plump his pillow and his hand went right through the material.

She did like working with cloth. She embroidered and did needlepoint. She also made the loveliest silky covers for her throw pillows.

Grandma would buy bananas and let them sit and rot rather than eat them. Heaven forbid if one of us was hungry. Whatever it was we asked for she was saving it.

My aunt had a scar on her hand. It seems that grandma was peeling potatoes for supper and my aunt asked for a piece for a snack. As she asked she reached to take a piece, grandma whacked her hand with the knife. It was a nasty cut. Grandma was stingy.

I remember once when we were visiting her she made oatmeal for breakfast. I love oatmeal. When we started to eat it we found all these tiny nails in it. Apparently she bumped the box of nails as she was making the oatmeal and it fell into the pan. Instead of throwing it out she expected us to eat around the nails.

Another time she made oatmeal again. When she served it to us we saw "things" floating in it and wiggling. She had mealy worms and saw no sense in letting the food go to waste.

She was not very nice to my mother either and that is something a child cannot forgive. She always made it clear that Mom was not a part of the family. More on that another time.

I did love her though. When I was in second grade we were working with modelling clay. I made the bust of a woman. When I finished it looked like Grandma. We went to visit her over the Christmas holidays and I took my little grandma to show her. She actually liked it and asked if she could keep it. Being an honest child I said she could as long as everyone understood that I got it back when she died.

All the rest of her life she kept it on the table by her bed. Sadly when she died it disappeared. I never saw it again.

None of my children knew Grandma. She died shortly before I married. When they were small we would look through family pictures and every time one of the kids would ask who that mean looking woman was.

I do miss Grandma. Maybe I could have known more about my father's side of the family if I had been able to ask her about it. Maybe I could have understood her better.