Remembering Grandma
The following was written by James Mays, writer and historian. Upon hearing that his beloved grandmother had passed away this week (Aug. 25, 2003), James sat down and wrote this wonderful and touching tribute. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did.
Grandma was famous for her homemade bread, big round loaves made in juice tins. She smothered thick slabs of fresh bread in homemade peach preserves for us when we came in from the fields. She could sing 'Supercalefragalisticexpealidicous' and make us laugh until the tears came. She could bale hay and sew angel costumes. Grandma played Monopoly — with a spinner — Grandma believed that dice were evil -- and rebuilt engines.
When I was seven, she gave me my best birthday present ever. She announced that I was grown up now and that she would no longer call me “Jimmy” I would be addressed by her as “James.” It was an important right of passage bestowed upon a little boy by a very wise woman. She milked cows, drove a combine and would walk up the laneway to the house at full speed, pull her barn boots off, tie herself into an apron and whip up cottage cheese loaf and two apple pies faster than you could say “William Lyon Mackenzie King!”. She could sing alto, roof a barn and make a Cat’s Cradle and Jacob’s Ladder out of a piece of string.
Grandma could yodel all the way to the back pasture when it was time for us to come in and eat, yet she never once raised her voice in anger. No one ever wanted to displease Grandma. She could seat a toilet, birth calves and wire a building for 220 volts but she always wore white gloves and a hat with a veil when she drove into the village. She wore overalls and helped us make go-karts or built fences. We did not need the radio or TV for entertainment. Grandma would gather us up in the evenings and read aloud in front of the pot-bellied stove. Her favourite childhood stories promptly became ours. I would stare into the fire and watch the characters come alive in the dancing flames. She could preach a sermon in church and unfailingly mix concrete to perfect consistency. She could take the pain out of a wasp sting, cure sun stroke and listen to my prayers at night.
Grandma loved geography and encouraged me to travel the world. Her middle name was Aloha but she never saw the island paradise. I invited her once to go with me. She sighed and she said she was too old, she’d rather read about it in National Geographic. I was crushed. Grandmas don’t get old. She quit teaching school only when they made her retire.
When Grandpa died, she sold the farm, taught herself Spanish and went to Guatemala to work with orphan children. When the government made her leave—for fear she’d be kidnapped—she taught English to Mexican immigrants as a volunteer. She moved to Texas to be near relatives and then to Florida. She drove a red Mustang and wore L.A. Gear when she was in her eighties. But she had trouble keeping her balance and finally moved into a nursing home. Grandma grew first bored and then senile when there was nothing to challenge her anymore.
No matter how far apart we were, her love-filled letters arrived regularly
and were always written in the same clear hand I had known all my life. Each
one always ended with a promise to meet me in the Kingdom. Now, she is at
rest. She will wait for me on the Resurrection morning under the Tree of Life.
I cannot bear to disappoint her.
James has written several books and hundreds of articles on automotive history (The Oil Spot, eh?). Next June, 2004 you will also be able to read an article he wrote for Father's Day in Readers Digest.
CANGRANDS National Kinship Support
R.R. 1, McArthurs Mills, Ontario K0L 2M0
Tel: 613-474-0035
E-mail: grandma@cangrands.com
courriel: demandez@cangrands.com