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Posts Tagged ‘grandmother’

Couch-surfing at my grandma’s — her daily lifelines

Hello —

I hate that I am a few blog posts behind (I’ll catch up, right?) — but it’s tough without daily internet. Couch-surfing at my grandma’s, the closest thing to a computer is her old Smith typewriter… 🙂

Before you look at the pictures below, think of the luxuries you/we have — a car to drive, a phone to use, health, freedom to leave our houses (or friends’ couches!) whenever we so choose, etc…

Now, here are a few signs of aging from an 89-year-old’s house. (You can see my grandma in the background here.)

Her transportation:

Her other set of “wheels”:

A magnet on her refrigerator:

Another magnet on a different area of her refrigerator, complete with a picture from one of her great-grandchildren; I love the juxtaposition:

And her constant lifesaver, the machine that is rigged to her Lifeline Medical Alert Necklace, which signals EMTs to come over and pick her up when she falls (which has been about twelve times in the last three months):

So, be thankful for youth, health, freedom to leave the house…

Do you have a relative/loved one who is losing their independence, too? And what are their “lifelines” – like the above – for getting through each day?

Couch-surfing at my grandma’s…

Visiting my grandma, who raised me and is one of my best friends. She’s 89 and grew up pretty conservatively.

My boyfriend came with me to see her.

She gave us separate couches across the house from one another, her room and some very squeaky floorboards in between. Hah! I was not surprised by this, but I know others could be.

Here’s my couch:

Here’s his:

When you visit your family with a boyfriend or girlfriend, do you get separate rooms, or no?

Leftovers…

I don’t know about you, but I was raised in a “don’t waste food” house, no matter how much we didn’t like something. (I tried telling my grandma that no kid liked spinach and liver and shouldn’t be forced to eat them, especially not every day, but I’m sure her being raised in the Great Depression had something to do with her eating-everything insistence.) I would love when we’d go to a family member or friend’s house and they wouldn’t have this rule, although I’d usually find myself eating something I didn’t like, anyway, my grandma’s voice in my ear. (And it’s still in my ear all these years later!) But it was nice having the choice, the freedom, not to taste – or finish – everything.

Usually, by week’s end, my grandma would throw all the extra, uneaten leftovers into a pot with a chicken carcass and it would be delicious, perhaps because I couldn’t see the spinach and liver that had been blended in with the 101 other things. (Not to mention I also couldn’t look at the chicken carcass – poor guy – while the soup was cooking.)

Now, a couple decades later, what do you suppose I did with the leftover Thanksgiving turkey?

And a week later, the soup’s still delicious (only I removed the carcass this time).

What did you do with your leftovers? Did you make anything creative from them? Freeze them? Give them away?

What childhood food(s) did you hate?

Do you make your kids eat everything?

Now, I suppose I should probably do something with the rest of the cranberry sauce (which are more sweet than sour, with pomegranate seeds and oranges in them) – maybe make soup? Ladle them onto ice cream? Any ideas?

Visiting my grandma’s best friend…

…made me appreciate the simple times. No cell phones (but a phone actually plugged into a jack – complete with an answering machine). No one texting at the dinner table. People actually sitting at the dinner table. The being in-the-moment conversations.

As we sat at F’s kitchen table, which was probably the original Formica one from the 1950s, drinking tea from glasses probably just as vintage, 88-year-old F told me how she misses line dancing, “no one line dances anymore. Your grandmother and I used to have such fun going dancing at the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago…” I smiled trying to picture this, as my grandma probably misses this, too, though her arthritis is so bad now, at 89, that she can barely walk 100 feet to the corner mailbox, her bones creaking with every step as her high-heeled shoes probably once did against the linoleum dance floor. I know she hates this lack of mobility… and I hate that she hates it. But at least her hands are in shape and she is still able to write letters to F…

As I mentioned two posts ago, F and my grandma met when they were just eleven years old on F’s family’s farm in Wisconsin (now, they are 88 and 89 years old!). My grandma, a city girl in Chicago, was sent up to the farm to help, suddenly going from getting-milk-at-the-corner-store to milking cows… while also meeting a lifelong friend in F.

About ten years after F and my grandma met, F went out West to Southern California; both women married and started having children. But all the while, and through the Great Depression, F and my grandma always made sure they had stamps and wrote to each other at least once a week. Here is F looking for some of the old letters my grandma sent her:

(I love her crocheted slippers!)

F told me that times were often tough back then on the farm, in the early 1930s, “but we never went hungry,” she said. “We always had milk.”

I think that’s such a simple, wonderful statement for all of us today. No matter how bad things get, we have milk/each other/friends/emotional and/or physical nourishment of some kind. (I am sure the letters F and my grandma have been writing to one another for all these years (nearly eighty!) have provided great sustenance, too!)