Grama

I got to spend a whole day with my grama, not easy considering both our jobs, busy schedules (hers, mostly) and the 300 miles between us. But as the first grandchild in our family, our bond generally cuts through all that and our closeness is one of the greatest gifts in my life.

Grama's getting old, never more evident than her decreased ability to 'shop til we drop'. Rather, her drop comes quicker than before. She is shorter than I remember, and she can't hear unless I talk in a playground voice. But she is also my favorite woman, one whose life is among the greatest stories I've ever heard.

Grama and I have always been close. My first 8 years of life were spent within two miles of her house, and most of my childhood days were spent with her. I remember checking the rising bread, reading Little Bear and Big Max, staying the night and getting hugs whenever I wanted. When I was little - she remembers it as 2 or 3 - I woke up early one morning before mom was awake. I was bored (requiring stimulation at even that young age) so put my jelly shoes on and started walking down the road in my Rainbow Brite nightgown. It was late fall or early summer, and the school bus came down the road behind me. The driver was a friend of grampa's and said he'd give me ride to the house. So I showed up at grama's, 7 a.m., before my parents knew I was gone. Apparently I couldn't wait to hang out with her.

Because I grew up in the country, there were no kids my age to play with. So I played with grama. She has figured into many of my decisions - to study Norwegian and travel to the country, to return to MT. I could never learn all her wisdom, but I got a lesson in making dumplings - my favorite - tonight. She even measured out the flour so I'd have a recipe to follow. She probly hasn't had to do that since she was a teenager.

Grama grew up without a dad, and her mom was gone a lot. She lived in Portland for part of the war, and was one of the first telephone operators in the county. She lived with her inlaws, and hated it. She cooked and raised children and loved her husband. Her adventures of youth make my sheltered existence pale as boring, and her fantastic ability to form and keep relationships is one I hope to emulate my entire life.

Every story I write is the best she's read. I am beautiful to her, and even my terrible houskeeping and cooking skills are forgiven. She doesn't mind that I'm not Lutheran (or Craig's not) and is realistic about just how irritating our family members can be. She continues to work at a cafe and I spent many afternoons after school helping her clean up the bakery she worked out until I was in college. She's been a widow for most of the time I've known her, so I know her as my grama more than her roles of wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend. Well that's not true I guess. She's my friend.

Grama turns 80 next year and I know she won't be in my life forever. That terrifies me, because who will I call for directions to make jello or tell a funny story? Two years ago I made Craig call her to tell me I had to take off the blankets in spite of my high fever and terrible chills because I wouldn't believe it otherwise. She will always be part of me and I will love her forever. I can't wait to tell my grandkids how great a grama I had, and hope she'll think I'm good at it too.