Grandma’s birthday…

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My memories of my grandma are almost all visual. She spent much of her day in the kitchen. She made breakfast for grandpa, herself and whoever else showed up.  Whatever daughter was there got to help. 

     After breakfast, it was lunch for grandpa and his boys that came in from local factories and job sites. 

     After lunch was dinner for her, grandpa, and whoever showed up. 

     Where I hear my grandpa’s voice in my head, I see my grandma. The only thing I hear clearly is her saying “oh, Jim” when grandpa was teasing her. He teased her a lot.

     I see her in the kitchen standing at the sink doing dishes, sitting by the potbelly stove peeling potatoes with the knife that was almost worn in two, and cutting homemade noodles after rolling them out. 

 I also see her sitting outback on the swing, sitting in the living room watching the Price is Right, and on the porch with grandpa. 

     At harvest time it was snapping beans, peeling tomatoes, and pickling beets. At least I think that’s what she was doing. She put spices in a small piece of cloth. The spices tasted great, but the beets, not so much. 

     She never told me stories, but she used to give me pie crust with cinnamon and sugar. She made me peppermint tea when my stomach was upset. I can’t remember her ever saying I love you, but I felt it. I hope she knows I love her too. 

     Happy Birthday, Grandma.



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