Tag: Grandparent

“Engaging in Memories and Tiny Treasure”

~ Denise ~ 8 Comments

I was plowing right along there with my personal daily blogging challenge, until yesterday.  Had a busy day with work and meetings, and just did not have the time needed to post, nor the mental thoughts to think about a memory for “Monday’s Memories”.  By the time I got home yesterday, I was pretty much spent.

That’s okay, it was good to sit and relax, and today I figured I could just combine my “Monday Memory” with a “Tuesday Treasure”.

I was thinking how I really don’t blog about my father’s side of the family much.  Granted, most of my father’s family, with the exception of an aunt and a cousin, have no contact with me.  I was particularly thinking though I haven’t blogged about my paternal Grandmother.  We called her NanNan.

I probably spent just as much time around NanNan as I did my maternal Grandmother, however, I do not feel like I knew her.  She seemed distant to me.  I used tell my Mother that my sister was her favorite.  I used to feel like I was getting her disapproval most of the time.  I don’t recall her being affectionate.

NanNan was the person who decided that being a Jehovah’s Witnesses was the course of lifestyle for her family. My understanding is that my Grandfather did not agree.  I did not know him.  Most of my recollections of NanNan are from attending meetings, going door-to-door, conventions and other JW activities.   She lived with her daughter, my Aunt Jean, who I am very fond of.  I liked staying the weekends with Jean, however, I always needed to be up and ready to go with NanNan on Sunday mornings.

My Aunt Jean married late in life, at which time NanNan had a small home built that she moved into.  She seemed happy in her home and was independent for awhile.

The first time I heard the term rheumatoid arthritis was in connection with NanNan.  My Dad started taking her to doctor visits, and she became unable to do a lot of things for herself around the house.  The disease progressed and soon she was unable to clean her home.  I don’t recall why it was decided that I would be the one who would stay overnight on occasions to help clean and take care of her, but that is what I did.   I sort of liked cleaning her little house.  I would pretend, it was like my little cottage.  I would be very proud of my work and look to NanNan for approval, and if she smiled at the job I did, that made me feel good inside.  On really good days, she could cook the best Chicken and Dumplings   I remember when I realized that she wouldn’t be able to anymore, she couldn’t handle the pots and pans.  Some days I would cook for her.

On bad days NanNan would sit in her chair in the living room, just watching me or looking out the window.  She would sit with her hands curled up in her lap.  Every so often she would dip her hands in a hot wax treatment to help with the pain.  I remember how she moaned in pain.  Some days she would be better, but eventually she was unable to take care of her basic needs, and I recall her waking me up in the middle of the night to help her.  Even in my early teens, I knew it was very  hard for her to ask me to help her in that way, and to help her get dressed and with basic needs.  I knew she needed me.

It was on one of those visits that I was in her bedroom and cleaning her dresser and looking through her jewelry.   I asked her about a tiny, dainty pin.  It was broken and missing a little pearl, but I still thought it was just the prettiest thing.  I had never seen her wear it.

She said “Oh, that old pin, you can have it.  It’s broken though”.  I told her I thought it was pretty.  What she said next surprised me.  “That was my engagement gift from your Grandfather”.   She got quiet then.  I told her that I couldn’t take it (but inside I was hoping I could).  She told me she didn’t wear it and I should take it.

After I was home and showed it to Mom I think she was just as surprised as I was about receiving the pin.  She took me and the pin to a jeweler and they repaired it and replaced the pearl.

There a just a few things that I remember my NanNan by.  I remember her with this pin.  I remember her when I play or walk by her piano she left me.  The other thing is I try to keep moving my fingers and joints, I remember how she progressed, I have RA too.

On that evening many years ago, I felt like I saw a different side of NanNan then I had before.  One pin, given as a gift symbolizing an engagement of two people, and connecting two others.

Just a little old pin.

pin

But, it’s not the pin.  It’s the stories with it.

Trash or Treasure?

~ Denise ~ 8 Comments

I’m sure people wonder why I have some of the possessions I do.

Like this pencil cup.

It isn’t fancy, or new or anything.  The paper is peeling off, and the bottom has ink stains.

It could easily be classified as trash I suppose.

Ah, some of you are remembering why I have some pansy items.

This little cup sat on an inlaid table made by Great Uncle Bill next to Grandmom’s favorite chair.

There was a bit of family “interest” in that table after her death.

I liked the pencil cup.  She used to keep her crochet hooks there along with her pencils and pens.

It sits next to my favorite spot now.

Those little pansy faces smile on.

Tea for Two

~ Denise ~ 9 Comments

Just tea for two
And two for tea
Just me for you
And you for me

A little tinkle of a melody triggers fond memories and weaves it spell on a few of my favorite things.

As I have often said, I loved to visit and spend time with my maternal Grandmother.  One thing we did together was have tea.

When I was little, we would have what we called “Cambrick Tea”.  Perhaps it had a different name, perhaps I pronounced it wrong.  I did have a little trouble with some of my speech (but that is another story).  This is the way I remember saying it.  It consisted of warm milk, warm water, and sugar.  As I got older, my teacup started having proper tea in it.

Having tea, whether real or Cambrick was special.

Sometimes, we used little teacups, or demi cups, with the daintiest of handles.  Such petite, pretty, cups.  Now, as I’ve ahem, aged  matured, I realize older fingers aren’t as nimble as the younger ones, and wonder if she would have preferred the larger cups.  Grandmom didn’t complain though, she would get out these tiny plastic spoons for stirring sugar in the tea, otherwise we would use gold spoons.

Most times we used regular sized teacups.  There was a large assortment of porcelain cups with pastel roses.  Sometimes we used teacups with an iridescent quality that glistened like pearls.  She also had a cup that a man would use to protect his mustache.  I thought it was the funniest thing.  She told me it was used by my Great Great Grandfather.  The cup was fine white porcelain surrounded with a thin gold band.  I think about that cup when I see all the mustache things now-a-days.  I wonder what happened to that cup?

Some days we would have lunch or some sort of snack on her shell shaped plates where our cups would nestle in the ready made indentation.

I was always allowed to select the cups and the teapot.

She had different teapots, however my favorite was the one that had a wind-up music box on the bottom that played Tea for Two.  If she tired of me always picking the same one, she never complained.

I know we didn’t dress for the occasion.  Often she would sit in her comfortable chair, our tea things placed in a tray on an organ bench in front of her.  I’d sit nearby on an old settee or on my knees on the floor.

When I moved into my first apartment, she gave me a brown teapot which had been in the family for years.  I’d use it once in a while.  But mostly I made my tea in just a mug.

After I was married, and we were moving out of state, the moving truck stopped by Grandmom’s to pick up an old dresser and bed to add to the truck along with “a few things she packed”.  She told me later she “wanted to climb in the truck when she saw all our things”.

When we unpacked, the teapot, teacups and plates were among some of the things she gave us.

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We were blessed to have her visit us in that house we moved to back then, and also to stay with us for a few weeks.  She also was able to visit us in almost every move we made until her death.

Tea, warms me inside.  Somehow, tea tastes better from that little teapot.

Even though there may be only one teacup when tea is served on some occasions, there is always two in my mind and heart.

Wrapped Up in Love

~ Denise ~ 6 Comments

Cooler weather has me getting out the afghans and comforters…

So, I started organizing the top of my bathroom linen closet…

I pulled out some more of the afghans that my Grandmother made.

Now, I  had pulled out some afghans earlier when my cousin and his family visited in September.  (note to self…future blog post) I wanted to make sure that they had an afghan that my Grandmother had crocheted.  I have an assortment that Grandmom made for me and some that Grandmom made for my Mother.  They seemed pleased to be able to pick out some to take home, and I know Grandmom would have enjoyed that too.

Afghans were always something I associated with my Grandmother.  She was always crocheting or knitting.  Mostly crocheting.

Afghans were draped across every chair and sofa in her house, and across every chair and sofa in my house growing up, and I think in every home of my Aunts and Uncles.  There were lap afghans, and large afghans.  There were patterned afghans and scrap afghans, (those that were just made from the left over scraps of yarn).

Then were were the slippers.

If you had cold feet, there was always a warm pair of slippers that could be easily whipped up to warm your feet.  I still have a couple of pairs of slippers that she made.  I wear them occasionally to bed if my feet are really cold, but I don’t walk around in them, because if they wear out, I know then they are gone.  Sentimental, I know.  But she isn’t here to replace them.  She’s been gone since 1994.  I have her pattern, and I can make them…but it just isn’t the same.

The very first afghan she made for me was a blue and white chevron pattern.  It matched the colors of my bedroom.  That afghan went with my oldest son when he moved into his apartment.  Blue is his favorite color.  It is only fitting it should go there.

I have a pink and white  pattern that is long and covers me from head to toe.  She made that to keep me warm.  (She made long, huge afghans for all the tall members of my family.  We have some “tall drinks” in the family!)  The colors were to match the colors of our home at the time.  We had the 80’s colors of pink and blue.  I still use it at night, it is nice and toasty.  I don’t have those 80’s colors anymore in the house though.  🙂

Do I have a favorite afghan?  Hmm.  I can think of memories of each of them.

I have a fond memory of one in particular.  It is the white one with roses.  I saw this particular pattern in a magazine and showed it to her.  She had not crocheted this pattern before.  I asked her if she would try it.  She said she would.  I remember her making the squares and laying them across her bed in an arrangement and showing them to me to ask what I thought.  She had changed the pattern slightly.  The centers were supposed to be yellow.  She had changed them to be black, and was going to edge the whole thing in black to “make it stand out”.  She also had used left-over colors of yarn she had in the flowers.  She had changed the color palette of the pattern to something she thought she liked better, and wanted to know what I thought.  I thought it was beautiful.

I can  still mentally see us standing in her bedroom that day.  Sigh.

It isn’t the warmest afghan, but it is one wrapped up with love.  I found it in the closet, cause there were some places that needed mending.  I’m mending them.  I think it belongs out again even if to serve as a reminder of that time.

You can be warm wrapped up in love.

I still think it is beautiful.

Grandmom’s Flower Afghan