A house on a river filled with clocks and keys, and China tea cups. A love of antiques and cinnamon, and almost ritualistic homemaking traditions. All of those things are my grandmother. They were steady and reliable. And my childhood-self appreciated it greatly how you could always depend on brown sugar Pop tarts in the cupboard and Green grapes in a colander on the counter. Maybe she knew our lives had little we could depend on. Maybe she needed the routine and stability too. I know I learned how I wanted to keep my pantries stocked with tasty snacks always from her. 

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Large and loud family dinners and reunions were such a large part of my childhood on that side of my family. I took them for granted, and didn’t see how truly amazing it was to eat a meal  with my great grandparents all the way through second cousins on a monthly basis, gathering at Ponderosa or Rax. Now, the age Granny was then, I understand the mental, emotional, and physical work she put in to make those meals happen, and I wish I could go back and take better advantage of them. 

 

I proudly display year round the porcelain nativity set Granny made when I was very young. She decided she wanted to learn how, and she did. A tenacity and drive for creative outlets she modeled to me for years. 

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She was also a single divorced mother in a time when divorce didn’t happen, and was deeply taboo. She did what needed to be done, facing down the stigmas of being a social pariah, and began a career to become the sole provider for three children. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been, and the emotional strength it must have taken to survive those years, and eventually thrive. I like to think that I inherited some of the strength.