That shirt

So this past weekend, Madolyn and I were out of town for a three-day volleyball tournament in Indianapolis, Jay was working daylights and Lane was at one house and then another.  When I left on Friday morning about 5:00 a.m. I was not thinking about what Lane might pack to either sleepover.  He's at the age where I don't worry about it anymore - he usually remembers to take more than underwear.

Sunday afternoon I arrived home. Jay was at work, Madolyn was dropped off at the high school for musical practice, and Lane was waiting for me.  He was a chatterbox, which I love.  He gets that way every now and then, and I try to soak it up.  If you know this guy, he's very quiet and backwards for the most part...especially if you're not a close friend or family member.

I noticed that although Lane had on 'good' jeans (meaning no holes and they still fit, sort of - he's growing so fast), he was wearing one of his two favorite hoodie sweatshirts.  I was pleased that he wore 'good' jeans to a visiting church.  I didn't think one second about what was on underneath the hoodie because he almost never takes it off.

Later, as the chattering continued, and while I was in the kitchen cooking, Lane hollered "Hey, mom.  Did you happen to see what shirt I was wearing today?"

"No, I sure didn't, you've got your sweatshirt on."

He pulls the tail end of the shirt out from underneath his hoodie and says, "Look, it's that shirt I wore to Grandma Great's funeral.

"Oh yeah, " I said, acting as though I remembered...I didn't doubt him - it was solid red.

"As soon as I felt the material, I remembered I had worn it that day."

**Gulp**

My almost-twelve-year-old son remembers what he wore to Grandma Great's funeral almost two-and-a-half years later.

Just when I think he doesn't notice the small stuff...

Driving Miss Daisy

Yesterday was the second Thursday of the month...that may mean many things to you folks, but here at the courthouse that is Secretary of State day, from 10am-2pm.  I went downstairs to get postage on some mail and I saw the row of chairs full of senior citizens, patiently waiting for their turn to take their driving test.  I couldn't help but think of my grandma.

The last few years she held her driver's license I brought her for the test a couples times.  She always insisted she come here to take it, where she was comfortable.  I completely understood then and still do.  It's obviously a common theme because we have people lining up downstairs by 8:30 or 9:00 on the second Thursday of the month to get a jump on the crowd...and the majority of that crowd are 75+ years old, just guessing.

The secret is to hang out until about 1:00, then pop in.  No one is waiting.  I had to renew some stickers yesterday and walked right in at 1:25, paid and received the stickers in about two minutes.  It was great.  I even commented on the large crowd of seniors and talked about my grandma.  "She always drove a truck and she talked a lot."  You could see the look of recognition in their grin.  Yep, I think they remember her too...

The times I remember bringing her, it was much like her doctor appointments - lots of chatting and loud laughing.  I now wonder if that wasn't a clever distraction.  She was always so nervous about the test, maybe she was trying to butter up the folks administering it!  I must admit, I was also nervous about her passing the driving portion (I certainly didn't want to be the one driving her home upset) or hitting someone else in the process.

I think she did have trouble one year when she was unable to make it over here on the second Thursday and had to go elsewhere, but in the end she walked away with a driver's license.  I want to say she tested at least until she was 91 or maybe 92, but I could be wrong.

So Grandma was on my mind a lot yesterday.  As I drove home, one of her quirky sayings popped into my head.  It was one I had not thought of forever and I didn't include in my little tribute to her at her funeral.  It shocks me that I didn't remember it because as I repeat it over and over, I can hear her say it just like she was sitting beside me..."Well, I de - clare" (insert loud cackle here and/or maybe a knee slap).

You can hear it too, can't you?

Baby oil & Dippity-Do

A while back Madolyn left her bottle of Skin-so-Soft baby oil in our shower.  This morning I decided to use it to shave my legs instead of shaving cream.  And the smell triggered my memories...

Grandma K always had baby oil in her bathroom.  Unless I'm forgetting something, I don't remember ever having baby oil at our house...so it kind of made me feel special to get to use it at grandma's house.  I can't even tell you what I would have done with it to be honest, but every now and then I would get out the bottle that was underneath her bathroom sink and use it.  I know this because I know that smell and it takes me right back to her house and that big bottle of baby oil.

Later on, she started buying the Avon Skin-so-Soft, but early on, it was just the plain ole baby oil that our local grocery store had in stock (because she didn't shop at Wal-mart at that time - and never really did that much).

That smell/memory then lead to another smell/memory from her bathroom - Dippity Do!  Oh my goodness, now that's a flashback!  If you are familiar with it, pretend to take a big whiff and you will smell it.  Oh funny, how I loved that stuff!  Again, I have no idea what I actually did with it...but it was fun to swirl my finger around in that cool, green gel.

 

Again, it was one of those products we didn't have at home, only at grandma's house.  I say that as if it were a treat - the green goo called Dippity Do!

I've talked about it before - how smells or a song are associated to specific memories.  I'm so glad.  It's good to remember things from way back when.  And you know, that oil sure does make my skin so soft...

About a year...

It's quickly approaching - the one-year mark of the passing of Grandma Great.  Some days it feels like she has been gone forever and other days it seems like I was just talking to her as we enjoyed a block of Kraft sharp cheese and saltines.   It seems like it took about six months for it to really bother me that she was gone.  There have been moments this summer where I really, really missed being able to tell her something.   Here are a few examples...

When I learned that Lane won Grand Champion Barrow Overall at the Martinsville fair, and had done so, almost entirely on his own because Jay and I were both at work, without thinking, my first thought was, I have to tell Grandma Great...and then it dawned on me that I couldn't.  I was just going into court and when it hit me, that I could not go tell her after work, I got that lump in my throat.  Ugh.  Then, as Jay and I always do, we try to imagine what she would say and mimic her saying it.  I'm guessing she would have probably said something like, "Oh, that sweet thang, bless his little heart."

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, Madolyn played in her very first piano recital this summer having practiced for the last ten months on Grandma's prized piano.  Again, the lump in the throat...Grandma Great would've beamed with pride.

Now a fifth grader, Lane was given the opportunity to pick an instrument to learn and join band.  Of course, I was thinking one of two things, 1) there is no way the Bud is going to play in the band; and 2)  I bet he picks the drums.  And of course, I was wrong on both counts.  The Bud did want to play in the band and the Bud chose the Trumpet as his instrument of choice.  Heaven help us, he loves that thing.  I cracked up on the inside because I think it's hilarious and instantly thought, oh my, Grandma Great would get a kick out of this for sure.  She would cackle and slap her knee...and probably ask me how in the world he got hooked on the trumpet.  Who knows - would most certainly be my response.

Last week in the local newspaper there was a picture of Lane playing football.  She was notorious for cutting out newspaper clippings, making a notation on them and storing them away in the dresser drawer located in the west bedroom.  Again, it hit me that she won't be saving that newspaper clipping...

Jay is training for an Ultra running race in November.  It's insane.  We all agree.  (Sometimes I think he does too.)  I can just see her leaning down with her hands on her thigh, looking me in the eye and asking, "What is wrong with him?" and then laughing because even she loved Jay and his crazy ideas.

We had our annual Kannmacher reunion a couple weeks ago.  Last year Grandma attended and we had some family pictures taken.  I'm so thankful that we got that picture with her before she got real bad.  We were few in numbers at the reunion and I missed not filling her plate and taking her picture as she visited with her nieces.

Madolyn and my two nieces, Liz and Caitlin, are playing volleyball together this year and will be on the court all at once.  She would've been very proud of her great-granddaughters playing for the Bluestreaks and would've asked me for the low-down on every game.

I could go on and on...

I sure miss that spunky 'ole gal.

Our piano player

Last night Madolyn had her very first piano recital.  Last October, she began taking piano lessons with our local piano expert, Diane...who is celebrating her 50th year of teaching!

Diane assisting with page turning.

Before we went into the church, Madolyn gave me a quick lesson on how to video with her I-phone.  I don't have an I-phone and am technologically challenged at times, but this looked simple enough.  "Mom, it is so simple."  Yes.  Of course, it is.  It is Mad's turn and Jay nudges me to get her phone.  I grab it and we decide Jay has a clearer view, and then we try to figure out what to do...

Of course, we couldn't...and we're giggling as quietly as possible all the while our daughter is playing her piece.  We finally get it going, just missing the first page of her song.  Good grief.  It is so simple, she says.

As I sat there, I couldn't help but get that knot in my throat and those dang tears in my eyes...Grandma Great would have been so proud.

Madolyn has wanted to take piano lessons for a couple years, but we didn't have a piano.  I knew eventually I would receive Grandma Great's piano, but until then, we would just wait.  She took guitar lessons and then lost interest so I was okay with waiting a while.  We got the piano a year or so before Grandma passed away because her basement kept having water problems and we were all afraid it would damage the piano.

We bought some beginner books for the piano and some stickers to put on the keys to help in the learning process (which I'm sure is a big no-no) and Madolyn monkeyed around on it a little bit, but we didn't quite see the interest yet...so we waited some more.

Last fall about a month before Grandma got really bad she asked me, completely out of the blue, if Madolyn was taking piano lessons yet.  I said no, and she seemed disappointed.  It wasn't a week later that Madolyn asked if she could start with the piano lessons, also completely out of the blue.  We decided that maybe it was time to give it a try.

She began in October and has hardly missed a week of lessons.  She practices consistently and without us having to force her, which is huge in my mind.  When I took lessons long ago, I had to be forced to practice, or at least that is how I remember it.  I was probably in the 3rd or 4th grade and I did not commit to it at all.  I'm so bummed now that I didn't take it seriously back then.  Of course, I have big plans to some day take lessons again.

Way back when, Grandma Great could only play her piano when Grandpa was outside.  For some reason, he hated hearing the piano.  I just can't imagine that, especially from someone who was musically inclined like he was.  Maybe he just didn't like her choice of music, I don't know.  She was someone who played a pretty strong piano.  By that I mean, she struck those keys hard.  As I'm writing this, I keep wanting to use the term "pounding" on the piano and it is making me laugh...because she would always tell us kids not to pound on the piano.  In my mind, she pounded on the piano!

The piano is in the basement at our house and we have no door.  So you can't help but hear Mad when she's practicing.  But I LOVE it.  Jay doesn't mind too much...although over the past few months, this recital piece has certainly been played to death.  It will be nice when different songs are coming over the airwaves :)  Oh, and we can add Frozen's theme to that too...we've heard it plenty also!  The only time I have to tell her to knock it off is if Lane is in bed.

Of course, I'm bias, but I really am amazed at how well Madolyn has progressed with her playing and how committed she seems to it.  The recital started with some younger kids and kind of moved on to students who were a little more advanced.  A couple girls after Madolyn were very good.  And the finale was a piece played by a young lady from Casey I have had the pleasure of knowing from church camp.  It was absolutely beautiful and unbelievable all at the same time.  I took one look at the pages on her right and couldn't understand how someone could read it or follow it!  She obviously has played for a while and it was a good motivator for Mad.

For Madolyn's birthday she has requested piano books of Disney songs.  I thought that was a pretty good idea, and since she will be turning 14 in a few weeks, I better start looking.  Won't Jay love this?  :)

Just like Grandma did...

Senior year of high school, my grandma started making Jay and I fried tenderloin sandwiches before ball games.  I'm not sure how it started, except that maybe I just asked her to do it, but routinely we would go out to grandma's house before a game, basketball or football, and eat a big, juicy, full-of-grease tenderloin, cooked to perfection.

She would sit down on that end bar stool (that was her spot, you know) and we would eat around the bar/counter there in her upstairs kitchen.  They were so tasty.  I don't make them very often at all, but I can assure you, my tenderloin sandwiches don't come out quite like Grandma's did.

At grandma's house potatoes, of course, were a must for almost every meal.  Lately, I've been making fried potatoes a lot.  Gosh, I love fried potatoes. They sure do make me think of her.  She made the best fried potatoes.  Her secret...after slicing the potatoes, was lying them out on paper towels to soak up every bit of moisture from them before putting them in the frying pan.  I do that to this day and I think it helps.  Maybe it's all in my head.  Maybe it's not.  But that's how it's done at my house...just like Grandma did.

As I change out the seasons, I go to my storage room or shelves and there I see it, artificial flower arrangements in plastic bags.  Things labeled with tape.  Something for every season.  You guessed it, just like Grandma did.

Grandma put a napkin or paper towel in any kind of plastic container before putting the lid on it, to soak up any leftover moisture.  That tidbit stuck with me too.  I have been opening up thermos jugs and coolers for the summer season recently and finding a simple napkin or paper towel in the bottom of them. My kids don't get it.  I didn't get it way back when either.  I get it now.  It does work and I will continue to do it just like grandma did.

I found my grandma's homemade brownie recipe (chewy - her notation) and am preparing myself to try them.  Problem is, I know they won't turn out the way hers did.  That is always a bummer.  I have attempted her smooth candy about 19 times with total failure.  I wish I could make that silly candy just like Grandma did.

Constantly, I find myself doing something that reminds me of grandma.  Whether it is putting potatoes out on a paper towel to dry or sticking a napkin in a thermos.  And I have been noticing lately how my kids comment on the way their grandmas do things.  I guess that is how methods and ideas continue on, by being passed down from one generation to another.

I hope some day that my grand kids are doing things just like Grandma did.

Our Handwriting

A few years ago, I attended a scrapbooking bible study class.  I know, it probably sounds like an odd combination, but it was great.  Lisa Welchel from the old TV show, The Facts of Life, created it.  I paid my fee, received my supplies and for a couple months, every other week, I met with a small group of ladies.  We watched a video with a devotional, had some discussion and worked on our pages for the lesson.

The book we created was a scrapbook about ourselves that we would pass down to our child(ren).  I only made one (hopefully one of my kids will want it) and I love it.  We journaled our family trees, about where and when we met our husbands, about our children, parents, childhood, church, etc.  It's a pretty neat little book.

I'm somewhat of a perfectionist and at times, I simply could not make my mind up about what to put where or what to say because I wanted it to be just right.  I think that is probably the bulk of my problems with a past want-to-be-scrapbooker obsession.  It just never took off because I couldn't seem to force myself to just cut the picture and put it on the page...for fear of it not being perfect.  I've since moved on...

But one of the important aspects of the scrapbook that Lisa really pushed on us was journaling and writing things in our book in our handwriting.  Yes, I really wanted to type things out in a creative font on my computer and print, but Lisa insisted it was important for our children to see our handwriting.  Hmm.

I'm not a fan of my handwriting.  I often say, "And you can see that that's why I type."  It just isn't that great. Part of my problem is that I don't slow down and take the time to make it pretty and legible.  (Imagine that.)

But I bought some fancy gel pens and I penned in my little "All About Me" scrapbook.  It turned out okay. Shamefully, as I write this, I think I may even need to finish one last page - which is so like me...ah!

These past few weeks, for some reason, my Grandma K's handwriting has been popping up everywhere.  Lane pulled out a word-find book that I had in my bible bag at church during revival and I saw her name handwritten across the top.  That made me smile.  Last week while cleaning and sorting camper items for the camper, I was going through the utensils and found this metal thing (I have no clue what it is) in a plastic sleeve and written across it, in my Grandma's handwriting, was a description of it and who gave it to her. (She was notorious for making notations on things that people had given to her, who it was from and for what.)  Seeing that one kind of did numbers on my stomach.

I don't know what certain characteristics of our handwriting says about us, but I do know that they become part of our identity.  Do you ever reach in the mailbox and pull out an envelope with no return address and know immediately, by the handwriting, who sent it?  My mom has pretty nice handwriting and I can easily pick it out without hesitation.  If she has left me a note or made a notation on something, I know without seeing who it is from that that is my mother's.  There are some other 'mothers' out there whose handwriting I also recognize easily.

My Grandma L had very pretty handwriting.  It was curvy and flowed smoothly from one letter to another.   I imagine she didn't apply much pressure to her pen.  Grandma K's was completely different.  It was very deliberate; each and every letter appeared to be made with just the right amount of pressure and precision. She wrote in cursive, but it didn't seem nearly as pretty as Grandma L's.

It's funny how things come back around.  When I was attending that bible study, listening to Lisa talk about the importance of your handwriting and its legacy, I never once thought I would appreciate its value.  But here I am, thinking about my handwriting and the handwriting of my loved ones...

Best coffee ever

Jay has found the key to the 'best coffee ever.'   The five-cup percolator I inherited from Grandma Great.

When Grandma decided it was time to clean out her house, it was a free-for-all.  Her stuff was put in the garage and we could pick through and get whatever we wanted.  It may sound kind of harsh, but it's just stuff, it had to go somewhere, and we might as well get what we want before it goes to the second-hand store.

We had just gotten our first camper and I was fortunate enough to pretty much stock that baby with tools of the trade from Grandma Great's kitchen.  The percolator was one little treasure I had to have.  I remember having many 'tea' parties with this thing, pouring pop, tea or juice in there and then filling small Cabbage Patch Kid brand tea cups for my parties.   My grandma had these glass shot-glasses that us grandkids loved to drink from and I remember using this coffee pot to fill those up too.

So I've attempted to make coffee in this mini pot several times on camping trips and it worked for the most part.  (When you're desperate for coffee, won't you drink almost anything?  Yep, Jay drank it.)  Recently we sold our camper and I had to clean it out.  This little guy had been sitting on our counter for a week or so when Jay decided to give it a try.  After several attempts at getting it just right, he discovered that this five-cup percolator makes the best coffee ever.

He can't quite "put his finger" on it, but it just tastes better.  The added bonus:  We don't have five cups of coffee sitting in the coffee pot waiting to be thrown out every day.  Jay only drinks about five cups, but has to have ten cups made in the big coffee maker for it to taste right.  (Believe me, I have tried to make half a batch and he has busted me every time.  Strange.  Whatever.)

There's something special about using an item like this, isn't there?  I love it when I look around and see things that have meaning.  (They didn't just come from the local Wal-Mart.)  Even something as simple as a five-cup percolator has 'great value.'

Grandma always said...

A couple years ago when Grandma Great tricked us for the first time, I started writing down a few one-liner's that I remembered her saying as we were growing up.  She pulled through that episode and the next one and the next one, but I kept adding to that list.  I knew eventually I would use it.

I was sure there was no way I could speak at Grandma's funeral, no way, but I thought if I could muster up the strength and record it ahead of time, they could play it...so I did.

If you knew Grandma very well, as you read along, you may be able to imagine her saying a few of these things.

When we were growing up, Grandma always said...

Don’t go near the pond and stay away from the electric fence.

What are you doing in there, Petunia?
Go get yourself a pop and some candy.
We’ll be at the game.
Look in the east closet of the west bedroom.
We will eat right at noon.
Don’t play on the bed.
Deon and I went on a drive today.
Ssshh, let’s listen to the scanner.
Go get the lighter fluid.
I am not going to let you win, now quit crying…Chris!
It’s got a twang to it.
I made fruit salad and wacky cake today.
Hel-Lo
I’ll have to take my banana salad…you know they’ll be asking for it.
I don’t really have a recipe for that.

And then when we got a little older, Grandma always said...

My name is spelled just how it sounds, MAD-O-LYN.
I've got to pass this car, I don't like anyone in front of me.
You know with your grandpa, we got there before we were invited.  
Get me 13 bright red geraniums, 2 spikes and 12 marigolds.
Here, I’ll take out my teeth…your grandpa great used to do this all the time.
Oh, SHUT UP!
Come over, I’ll have the coffee on.
Slice up some cheese and let’s have crackers.
You know I like my collar buttoned to the tip-top.
Don’t pound on the piano.
My favorite color is red; bury me in red.
I used to polish Gene and Gale’s shoes.
I hate it when the corn is up, I can’t see Irene’s…is she home?
We never had it because your grandpa wouldn’t eat it.
I will always buy my groceries at Scottie’s.
What time does the Illini play?
Nellie came down today.
What do you want me to do?  I’ll take you anywhere you need to go.
How does it taste?  Where’s the critic?
I can touch my toes.  I touch my toes ten times every morning.
Oh hush!
Don’t forget, my hair appointment is on Thursday morning.
I climb the stairs every day whether I need to or not, just so I can.

In the past few years, Grandma always said…

Well, what do you know?

How is my hair in the back?
Give me a hug, you sweet thang.
What’s it like outside?
Enjoy running with your kids while you can.  It all ended when Chris got his truck.
I just hate you guys waiting on me.
Oh, good, we beat Casey.
The Peppermint Patties – those are for ME.
They aren’t noodles like I make.
Call Harper, the TV isn't working.
So what’s going on in Martinsville?
I need more red lipstick.
I stayed up to watch the Cardinal’s.
I’m so sick of peas, sweet potatoes and carrots.
Look at my nails, aren’t they pretty?
Go on, Sarah, I don’t want you to be late…like the Bennett’s.
No one has been here for days, is something wrong?
I need more cheese.
And dad would say, “Now, Jess…”

Grandma said a lot of things…and we would listen.

Mark reminded me later of a few good one's I forgot:
And the like
So on and so forth
Let's eat, drink and be merry.

Darling Nelly Gray

When I showed up at the nursing home today on my lunch hour, Grandma Great was still down in the dining room so I headed that way to give her a ride.  Often times, she is "the last one to leave" the dining room and she has to "sit there and wait" forever on someone to push her back to her room.  (I think she could probably wheel herself on down the hall, but...)

When I popped around the corner, I could see she had a visitor...her baby brother (and only living brother), "Nellie," as he has been known to me all of my life, was sitting next to her and they were chatting away.  As I have mentioned before, my grandma was one of five children, but the only girl.  And having met three of her four brothers, Oh my, is about all I can say.  They are/were characters!  I can only imagine what it was like growing up with them. 

It probably wasn't until I was attending the funeral of grandma's brother, Lowell, many years ago, that I finally learned that Nellie was a nickname for her baby brother, and then later on, that grandma had given it to him.  I never asked where she had come up with the nickname, only that she was the one responsible for it.

During my visit today, I was enlightened a bit on the story behind the nickname...Nellie was explaining to an employee of the nursing home that he was grandma's brother, baby brother, and grandma spoke up and said she had given him the nickname of Nellie.  Then they proceeded to tell the little tale, each adding tidbits here and there. 

My great-grandma would put my grandma (who was ten years older than Nellie) in charge of getting the baby calmed down while she was busy with things in the kitchen.  Grandma said she would go in the front room and sit down by the cradle and rock her little brother to sleep and sing, Darling Nelly Gray.  (Cue grandma and Nellie singing the chorus)  And yes, they were both singing a little there in the dining room...which is a hoot because none of us are known for singing!

I don't know if grandma was so desirous of a baby sister that she thought calling him Nellie would help, but soon grandma's little brother was dubbed, "Nellie" and it stuck.  He said he gets mail addressed to Nellie and even his checks come that way.  My guess is that there are quite a few people who don't realize that is only a nickname.  One of my grandma's other brothers had a nickname of "Sport," and if I remember correctly, that came from his favorite dog that died.  He was known by "Sport" until the day he died, although many knew that was only a nickname.

Later I looked up "Darling Nelly Gray" online (isn't Google great?), and I found several renditions on youtube (which is also great).  It is an African-American folksong written in 1856 by Benjamin Hanby.  It is a pretty catchy tune, and I couldn't help but tap my toes to the beat.  If you're interested and if I did this right, here is a link to the one I listened to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6RCmKMay9w&feature=related

I have a friend from Lawrenceville who used to crack up when I would talk about people from home because I would always say something like, "well, that's their nickname" or "that's not their real name, but that's what we call them."  She just couldn't understand why we didn't just call people by their names.  Hmm, I don't really know either...it just runs in my blood, I guess.