Grandma

My family is German/Swiss. There's no hugs. No "I love you's". Grandma didn't even smile for a picture. Well... you really had to pry it out of her. But we, her three granddaughters, could do just that.

The past couple of days, I was given a huge gift from my co-workers. My current team at St. Vinny's literally kicked me out of the hospital last Saturday (February 18, 2017) when learning of my grandmother's passing. Told me to just leave, and spend the time with my family. They gave me no other option than to accept and take the next ticket to Illinois. I owe them all so much for treating my family like their family.

And as instructed, I didn't do anything while in Illinois, but stay with family. There was a lot of nephew time. There were a couple of trips to Grandma's house. Some cleaning. Some looking through old pictures. And then of course, Grandma's funeral.

That swing is still there. The shed behind it replaced, no longer white. Those "Fourth-of-July Lilies", not blooming in February, but there every summer just like in the picture. When big enough to rock ourselves on that swing, we'd push it higher till the back would knock against the shed, and we'd try to grab leaves as they brushed against the bottom of the swing. If I tried to sit on that swing now... it would most likely crumble.

Grandma's piano. The same one she taught mom how to play on without ever having a lesson herself. That line of camels, all in a row, ever-present and and following after each other on their way to who knows where. The bell, not really a bell at all, but just one of grandma's many music boxes. It was horribly out of tune, Grandma's piano, irreparably so, and more than a few keys would stick leaving a fourth of your chords empty as you played. But when all the dishes were washed and the dinner cleaned up, she'd come and sit  next to the piano and want to sing along no matter how poorly it was played. And when she no longer could sing, she hummed.

Grandma collected red glass. It complimented her pink towels and rose-colored furniture. She added to her pieces slowly over the years and ultimately had quite an impressive collection. There was not a room in her home that wasn't touched by red glass.

The corner windows in Grandma's kitchen where curtains were closed every evening to "keep the night out" and opened again the following morning. She could sit at the kitchen table there doing her township paperwork or stand at the ironing board with her stack of ironing and through the green leaves of her plants, keep an eye on the goings-on across the street. What used to be the Forrest AC Church and now the town's public library and community center provided a fountain of endless entertainment.

The three paneled mirror in Grandma's bathroom, on the other hand, provided endless entertainment for us girls. All Grandma was trying to do was put her hair up, and she managed, somehow, with little girl's bouncing around opening and closing her mirrors. Then sitting with our feet in the sink to better see. Open and close. Giggle. Open and close. Giggle. Repeat.

She taught us to sew. She taught us to quilt. She taught us to cook, to bake. To can corn, strawberries and pickles. As for myself, I'm not sure I will ever can pickles again in my life. But it wasn't ever about canning pickles anyways. I was just having fun with Grandma. Sewing on the other hand, now that I do every day! ;)

Grandma's blanket, made with old left-over dress scraps. It's like one of those background props. As I looked back through pictures, it was always there, hanging over the back of the davenport. Maybe I was sitting there focusing on getting homework done, or Carrie and I were trying to tandem hula-hoop, whatever the picture was, you didn't notice it at the time, but it was always there.

Grandma and Grandpa went with us on a family vacation every summer for about 6 years straight. Grandpa sat in the middle bench of the van with Chelli so his leg could extend up between the front two pilot seats, and Grandma would sit in  the back bench in between Carrie and myself. She had very bony shoulders, but that didn't stop us from using her as our pillow. I like this picture of Grandma sitting up straight and proper, like a lady, on a bench somewhere in Gettysburg. Us three girls obviously lacking in "like a lady". She held the standard high for herself, and for us, but loved us despite our slouched posturing and wrinkled up faces. This carried over into every aspect of life. She was smart, and fair, and proper yet never made you feel inferior for not being so.

After quickly scanning our family photo albums for pictures of Grandma, I had to conclude, "Thank goodness for birthdays." Without a yearly picture of grandma for her birthday, we'd be left with very few. A fact which she would not have had an issue with, and honestly probably have supported. So, I say again, "Thank goodness for birthdays!"

I love you Grandma.

My sheep know my voice,
And the path that I take,
They follow wherever I go;
My sheep know my voice
And come at my call,
But a stranger's voice do they not know.

My sheep know my voice,
And the pastures of green,
Where I lead them so often to feed;
My sheep know my voice
And the cool sparkling stream
Where beside its still waters I lead.

My sheep know my voice,
And the valley of death
Thro' which I shall lead them some day;
But no danger nor harm
Can touch one of them,
For I will be with them alway.

My sheep know my voice,
And day by day,
They abide in the fold
And go not astray,
They love me because
I have made them my choice,
And they follow my call,
For my sheep know my voice.