So Long For Now
My Grammy. I wish I could introduce her. She was one of kind, for sure. Spirited. Ornery at times. Bold, yet tenderhearted. My mind is still filled with child-hood memories...
Her Food
She used to make warm fresh baked bread. No bread machine -- the old fashion way. I remember her Polish cooking and big strong hands that I would watch her kneed the bread and stir her pots with. I can still hear her ask her daily survey of who wanted an egg for breakfast. No one went hungry at Grammy's house.
Her Face
I remember her denture-filled smile and subtle humor and sarcasm that made her so intriguing to me as a child. I could see that rascal behind those brown eyes of hers.
Her Care
I remember Vicks being put on my chest in the middle of the night when I was sick, and second and third 'tuck ins' while I slept to make sure I didn't catch a draft and get cold. She loved me as her own. She loved us all as her own. Even into my college years, I received letters from her -- still caring for me even then.
Her Fun
I remember bus rides on Thursdays to the town square. She'd buy us Wendy's cheeseburgers and Cabbage Patch clothes from the vendors. I remember the bountiful candy on her refrigerator door that we would invade at every visit. She had enough sweets to fill Candy Land, but insisted she was 'not a big sweet eater'. Whatever Grammy!
Her Love Song
I remember her saying I love you and singing..."I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and peck, though you make my life a wreck. Ya betcha little life I do..." She wouldn't say she had a great singing voice, but that never stopped her from expressing her love.
Her Departure
She was 94 when she moved away. She did it Grammy-style. No fuss. No scene. Don't-you-worry-about-me-I'm-fine kind of exit. She's in a new Home now where I'm sure she can cook up all her favorite dishes everyday and feed it to her neighbors. A place where she can sit and knit to her heart's content. A home she will never have to clean. A Depression Era she'll never have to live through. A better Place. A place she can finally talk to Grandpa again and give her own mom and dad and daughter a big hug. A place the rest of us here need to wait a bit longer to get to.
There was something my Grammy would always say.
She'd say, "Don't say good-bye. It sounds too permanent. Say: So Long -- because I'll see you again!"
Indeed Grammy.
And, so...this surely is not good-bye.
Her Food
She used to make warm fresh baked bread. No bread machine -- the old fashion way. I remember her Polish cooking and big strong hands that I would watch her kneed the bread and stir her pots with. I can still hear her ask her daily survey of who wanted an egg for breakfast. No one went hungry at Grammy's house.
Her Face
I remember her denture-filled smile and subtle humor and sarcasm that made her so intriguing to me as a child. I could see that rascal behind those brown eyes of hers.
Her Care
I remember Vicks being put on my chest in the middle of the night when I was sick, and second and third 'tuck ins' while I slept to make sure I didn't catch a draft and get cold. She loved me as her own. She loved us all as her own. Even into my college years, I received letters from her -- still caring for me even then.
Her Fun
I remember bus rides on Thursdays to the town square. She'd buy us Wendy's cheeseburgers and Cabbage Patch clothes from the vendors. I remember the bountiful candy on her refrigerator door that we would invade at every visit. She had enough sweets to fill Candy Land, but insisted she was 'not a big sweet eater'. Whatever Grammy!
Her Love Song
I remember her saying I love you and singing..."I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and peck, though you make my life a wreck. Ya betcha little life I do..." She wouldn't say she had a great singing voice, but that never stopped her from expressing her love.
Her Departure
She was 94 when she moved away. She did it Grammy-style. No fuss. No scene. Don't-you-worry-about-me-I'm-fine kind of exit. She's in a new Home now where I'm sure she can cook up all her favorite dishes everyday and feed it to her neighbors. A place where she can sit and knit to her heart's content. A home she will never have to clean. A Depression Era she'll never have to live through. A better Place. A place she can finally talk to Grandpa again and give her own mom and dad and daughter a big hug. A place the rest of us here need to wait a bit longer to get to.
There was something my Grammy would always say.
She'd say, "Don't say good-bye. It sounds too permanent. Say: So Long -- because I'll see you again!"
Indeed Grammy.
And, so...this surely is not good-bye.
But, only
so long for now.
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