I'm sitting here staring at my computer screen and all it's blankness wondering what, if anything, of substance I have to write about. Apparently sinus troubles = writer's block. Who knew?
With Miranda Lambert's hit "The House That Built Me" swimming around in my clogged mind, I'm tempted to write some poignant stories about my childhood. It must be all that holiday nostalgia creeping in on me. Well...it's as good an idea as any.
One of my absolute favorite people when I was younger was my maternal grandmother. Grandma W and I shared a special bond that I'm not sure I understand even now. I believe I've mentioned before that my mother had me at a fairly young age (16) and so, understandably, her mother was probably less than thrilled. I've been told by my uncles and occasionally by my mother that Grandma was adamant about not liking this baby that was about to disrupt her household. That is, until I was born.
To hear one of my uncles tell it, my grandmother's previously frozen heart just melted at the sight of her newborn (and first) grandchild. Since I was clearly not in any position to take notice, I'll have to trust him on this one.
I don't have any memories of my very early childhood but I do have stories that my mother, uncles and even my grandmother have told me for years. One involves one or both of my uncles strapping my car seat to a skateboard and watching me roll down the large hill upon which our house was sitting with my mother chasing after me. Another involves me dressed in a little baby t-shirt and sweat bands, riding on my uncle's shoulders while he danced around to Olivia Newton-John's "Let's Get Physical". Clearly my uncles had fun whilst babysitting. Sometimes I wonder how I made it to see double digits.
I have two very special treasures from this time in my life, both from my grandmother. One is a red quilt that was made by the sisters at her church and given to me when my mom brought me home from the hospital. The other is my teddy. He's battered and torn now, his once shiny yellow satin ribbon is now a dingy scrap of cloth still clinging to his neck and his music box has been run through the washing machine one time too many, he now croaks and whines instead of singing the sweet melody of my favorite lullaby. As sad as he may look or sound, that bear will be a part of my life until the end of days.
My grandmother was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes when my mother was still a young girl. I don't know why she was never able to get her lifestyle or health under control, but by the time my family had moved back to Oregon, Grandma had already had surgery to remove part of one of her legs and was confined to a wheelchair.
My mother and grandmother had a very tumultuous relationship, much like my own with my mother. (Any one noticing a pattern here?) Because of the nature of their relationship, it was often that I would visit my grandmother alone. Which was fine with me. My weekends with Grandma are some of my most favorite memories. She taught me how to bake, how to do jigsaw puzzles and fostered my love of the Portland Trailblazers. Together we watched Columbo and In the Heat of the Night. (Grandma had a crush on Bubba.) We would watch game shows and play along, challenging each other.
My grandma taught me that you didn't need to have money to have fun. Her monthly disability payments didn't allow for much 'play' money but what little she did have, she always used to spoil her favorite grand baby. My mother had other daughters and Grandma didn't love them any less...but as she once told me, there's something special about being the first.
Grandma passed away due to complications from her diabetes when I was just a sophomore in high school. Of all the people who've come and gone in my life, I miss her most. To use her words, it's not that I love the others any less...it's just something special about the first. Grandma was my first family member that was more than just family. We had a friendship, a bond that extended past the fact that we shared blood. Her loss cut me deeply and to this day I think of her with tears in my eyes.
The lessons I learned on those weekends at Grandma's will stay with me forever. And hopefully, when I'm older (MUCH older) and I have grandchildren I can show them how to bake pink cupcakes and how to put a jigsaw puzzle together. We can watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune and I can smile through the tears knowing Grandma's legacy is living on.
I'm sorry folks, I really had hopes that today would be a little more light-hearted. I guess my fingers and my brain had a different idea. I'm off to continue with preparations for the holiday. Anybody want to help me finish this blanket?
Until next time, Toodles! And don't forget to tell your loved ones how dear they are to you.
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