To End All Wars by Luke T Trouwborst Why did World War II really occur? The rash actions of a few Frenchmen and Americans. The story... [506 words]
Of Art, Pt. 1 by Gregory Novak An undulating rant on Art and its relevance to civilized life. [489 words]
Jane Doe Thursday 10th January 2008 by Sooz The Ark is full, but what's one more lizard? [714 words]
Jane Doe Seven by Sooz Sooz The Begining of the Seventh book in the Jane doe series. [980 words]
I Should Think It Like A Fist by Gregory Novak A semi-conscious rant on language, love and whatever else I found offensive that ... [493 words]
Doctor Trek - Story Guide by Ian Kidd A guide to the order of stories in the"DT" series. [55 words]
How In Colombia I Grew In Mind And Soul (And Nowadays Grow In Girth) by Randall Barfield Where I grew up in Georgia we had practica... [654 words]
Workers In The Vineyard by Randall Barfield . [635 words]
Ransomed by Ruzele Strauss-Hayden - [1,080 words]
Moors And Moors: Randall Interviews Portuguese Writer--Poet--Artist Alexandra Onelight by Randall Barfield - [3,430 words]
I Voted Against Phil Bredesen by Randy Johnson - [97 words]
Grandma, I Love You
Fear And Bravery Are Walking Together by Elena Kravtsova This a story of one family which had to overcome the Soviet regime by str... [1,788 words]
Developed And Scary by Randall Barfield . [400 words]
The Gas Station by Kristofer Van Der Meulen Me and two friends go to get a drink at a gas station, we save dozens of lives, and our lives w... [2,103 words]
Randall's Humble Analysis Of The Parable Of The Workers In The Vineyard by Randall Barfield (Using the NIV version of the Bible) [635 words]
Randall Barfield Interviews Sage Sweetwater--Colorado Poet-Novelist Of The Sapphic Literary Genre by Randall Barfield . [4,890 words]
Poet--Photographer--Writer Interview by Randall Barfield Read about Joseph Randell Sherman, Iowa-born poet and photographer par exc... [1,999 words]
Moments, A Lamentation by Gregory Novak - [500 words]
Mere Life Less Love by Gregory Novak A short projection of private thoughts regarding love and life. [276 words]
Lying Little Liars - In Other Words, Our Government And It's Party Political Propaganda Tool - The Media by Thepratmeister The Pr... [338 words]
Kitty Kisses:We Can't Be Bothered by Shelley J Alongi Cats as inexpensive and affective therapy. [1,203 words]
Kitty Kisses: Water Everywhere by Shelley J Alongi Brandy and the water fountain. [909 words]
You Can Keep Your Fking Jesus-God by Randall Barfield . [480 words]
Compliments by Vera Marbrylouch A name is only an insult if you accept it as one. [159 words]
Compliment Or Insult by Vera Louch A name is only an insult if it is taken that way. [198 words]
Bob�S Amazing Duck Tale by Robert Gronewold - [1,432 words]
Billy Graham's Death by Randall Barfield . [633 words]
X Great Reasons For Not Being Rich Or Famous by Randall Barfield Any suggestions for No. 15? [284 words]
Is It Where We Write Or What We Write? by Randall Barfield Just think--how many of us had heard of Annie Proulx before 2005 or 200... [681 words]
About Daddy (1) by Randall Barfield Daddy had his own emotional problems... [359 words]
Do Memories Really Have A Title? by Johnny Abrahams Seriously no point in reading unless over 35 and drunk, I am not kidding but h... [168 words]
Advice Ignored by Ss Jaspar Just something that annoys me about old people - moaning about growing old! [316 words]
What The World Wide Web Thinks Of Aussies by Thepratmeister The Pratmeister gives you a look at what real people think of the wor... [2,053 words]
Travels by Riot - [257 words]
So Your For The Death Penalty. by Jeanette Harris Will I decide to tell about time I was on jury duty [145 words]
My Kind Of Christian: Barbara Curtis by Randall Barfield "She lived to shock people, 'to be different and avant-garde'." [514 words]
His Heart by Randall Barfield - [556 words]
Spike by Greg J Brey A biography about our family dog Spike. [1,440 words]
Finding A Poem-Short Story Topic by Randall Barfield What to write about? Where do I look? Who/What can help me? [552 words]
Who I Am by Me Meanderings of the mind of me [897 words]
That's War For Ya by A Mach When I have shared this short story with others, some have made comments that,"That's just wa... [579 words]
Interview Of A South American Gay by Randall Barfield Meet Miguel Rodriguez: Miguel Rodriguez, a colleague of mine, is one of Col... [2,066 words]
First Crush by Saikat Sarkar - [1,531 words]
Cornflower Pink by Katie Fuller The story is a humorous story of a little girl always getting stuck with the cornflower pink ... [1,870 words]
Advertising The Devil by Randall Barfield "Serve the Lord with gladness..." not sadness, you dummy! [491 words]
Two Great North Americans by Randall Barfield -This is a short piece about a work of love and persistence. When these two elements... [653 words]
The Road by Randall Barfield But he felt happiness. At last. After such... [576 words]
Letter To Elvis by Randall Barfield You were human, of course. Perhaps in the end you just couldn't take any more... [642 words]
Leaving Colombia(On A Jet, Of Course) by Randall Barfield - [974 words]
Lake Powell by P L L Loomis It was the most embarrassing moment in my whole life. [343 words]
Leprchaun Ed by Tamsin Butler Yet another piece of work. This time about a bloke I fell in love with. Any reviews would be appre... [1,552 words]
Taken Fetus by Monica L Sprague Ripped from within her. [697 words]
Remembering Doug by Randall Barfield I remember thinking at the time that they were such crybabies! [472 words]
Playing Hookey by Danari Parsons Ditching school and almost getting caught. [518 words]
It's Not All About Sex by Carla Thomson You'll find out. [383 words]
Acceptable Level by O'shea A short autobiography of a Northern Ireland, teenage, half-Protostant half-Catholic immigrant ... [1,248 words]
A Horrible Little Thing by O'shea Another short autobiography about my early childhood in Northern Ireland. [1,077 words]
'bludger' Story Guide by Ian Kidd Story order guide to the 'Bludger'series. [36 words]
The 2nd Church Sign by Randall Barfield Thou shalt go and spread... [677 words]
Back To Back 10k Runs by Terry Kaufman After running the Vitry-sur-Seine half-marathon about a month and a half ago, I wanted to... [1,113 words]
Angel Of Death by Monica L Sprague A corrupted childhood contaminates the present-writing purges, but just slightly...*Caution, cou... [706 words]
Go to page: 1 [2] 3 4 5
| |
TITLE (EDIT)
Grandma, I Love You |
DESCRIPTION
Memories of my maternal grandmother
[1,027 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Biography |
AUTHOR
Liilia Morrison |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Writer and artist living in South Florida
[August 2016] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (22)
A Thousand Camels (Poetry) A caravan of long ago [173 words] [History]
A Treat For Heinke (Short Stories) A girl finds hope during wartime [1,028 words] [Spiritual]
A Werewolf? (Short Stories) A man entrances a woman in Miami, or is he a werewolf? [1,492 words] [Mystical]
And The Winner Is (Short Stories) A summer camp sports competition has a surprise ending [1,132 words]
As It Comes (Short Stories) A discarded, ragged notebook found on the sidewalk brings impressions and thoughts to the person who found it. [756 words] [Drama]
Down In The Country (Short Stories) The end of the line ain't what it's cracked up to be. [840 words] [Drama]
Endangered (Poetry) A love goes bad [45 words] [Romance]
Garlic, Ginger And Golden Seal (Short Stories) An old woman's recipe for a long life [1,868 words] [Mystery]
How Lizard Lenny Svaed My Life (Short Stories) A woman escapes life under the El thanks to a man called Lizard Lenny [1,255 words] [Relationships]
It's About Time (Short Stories) Ups and downs in the world of quantum physics [1,475 words] [Humor]
Just Another Joe (Short Stories) A gumshoe takes it as it comes [1,096 words] [Health]
Kylie (Short Stories) Success is not always what we think it is. A girl chooses between fame or love. [1,700 words]
Magnolia (Short Stories) A young woman finds out what a magnolia smells like [1,208 words]
Ode To Wayne Dyer (Poetry) A light roast of self-help books [262 words] [Humor]
On Turning Seventy (Essays) A woman ponders the march of time [717 words] [Motivational]
Ovidio Gets A Smoke (Short Stories) A party turns sour but Ovidio ends up sittin' pretty. [1,160 words] [Suspense]
She Saw It All (Poetry) Statue of Liberty Saw 9-11 [190 words]
Teacups And Time (Poetry) A troubled, cold soul finally finds warmth [151 words] [Spiritual]
Thank You For Not Sleeping (Short Stories) Thoughts go all over the page during the night [1,257 words] [Mind]
The Mysterious Gypsy (Short Stories) Among old photos of Northern people, an exotic gypsy's photo appears. Who is she? [1,457 words] [History]
Tom's Moon (Short Stories) A little doll makes a difference [857 words]
Too Late For Coffee (Short Stories) An old man's last days with an angel [1,489 words] [Spiritual]
|
Grandma, I Love You
Liilia Morrison
My grandma was an ordinary woman. She took care of me for about a year when I was seven. We lived in handyman special my father bought, fixing it up as time allowed. He was away on business much of the time. Mom worked in the nearby city. Her mother, my grandma, minded the home when they worked. Quiet, old-fashioned, her hair a severe, blunt cut, she wore gray in summer, black in winter. She went about unobtrusively, washing, cooking, cleaning, and carrying vegetables from the garden. Once a fly got stuck in my eye. She sat me by the wax cloth covered kitchen table, and calmly washed the fly out.
Saturday night she poured water into a tin tub and gave me a bath. Electricity had recently been installed, but she still heated water on a wood-burning stove.
Her iron had an opening on top, where hot coals were inserted. Once in a while, for supper, she killed a chicken from the henhouse. I never saw this. Did she wring the neck or chop with a hatchet? No one else, including my father, had the stomach to do this. Grandma would sit in the kitchen, plucking feathers. When she cut open the bird, clinging to its guts were eggs in stages of growth.
She walked down the lane to get small things from the store, always putting on a coat and beret. There was a summer coat and a winter coat. I love berets, don't like coats. Mother said when grandma was young, she had long, thick chestnut colored hair. Though she was over sixty, her hair was still dark.
Grandma made jams from berries on trees and bushes. She brewed mysterious yeasty substances to various levels of fermentation. I was given some of the milder drinks. Grandma made lye soap, shaped in long, brown bars and kept in a lower cabinet. It had a strong, pungent smell. When winter brought colds and sniffles, she gathered raspberry stalks to make a healing tea. Common weeds, such as dandelion, were used for medication.
What child from that generation does not remember having to swallow cod liver oil, almost gagging at the taste? Grandma was assigned this unpleasant task.
Mother spent much time tending the garden. How she got the energy, after a day's work, I don't know. She raked, dug, weeded and made compost piles during the summer. Grandma then gathered armfuls of spinach leaves, Bibb lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes and fresh dill to prepare supper.
A dark room way in the back was called the library. Large, old leather chairs and books were strewn in no particular order. Grandma lived in that room. I had the impression father didn't like her, like she was more servant than a family member. Before my mother got married, her mother told her any man who didn't like animals was not a good man. My father didn't like animals. So grandma wasn't very fond of my father, either.
When the war came, grandma made a big decision. She told us she was too old to travel and wanted to die in her country of birth. Most families and able-bodied people left. She hoped the conquerors wouldn't bother an old woman.
The last time I saw her, we were on a wagon, pulled by a horse. We sat on top of a pile of our belongings. Our only pet, a gray cat, soon decided to jump off. We never saw her again, either. That brief time in the handyman special of a house, lasting maybe a year or less is the only contact I ever had of my grandma. That patient woman, who spoke little and hid in the library when the family gathered, remains an anchor of strength and inspiration to me.
Somewhere I have a photo of her, sitting on a plain chair, arms folded, with a serene expression on her face. It's the only one I have. Her memory kept me going through hectic days when mom was very sick and father sought help for her in trying times. I was alone much of the time. Grandma's spirit seemed to hold things together.
Decades passed. My parents had already retired when they discovered grandma's whereabouts. She was still in the country of her birth, alive, with one of her daughters caring for her. Letters began to trickle across the many miles, written by a slightly shaky, but graceful hand. Most were from the daughter, but one was from grandma herself, written with real ink, though the paper was flimsy.
They had no hot water. A window, smashed by rough teens, had to be taped to keep out the cold, northern wind. I never read these letters until after my mother died, at age 83, and left old letters behind. Grandma had died in her early nineties. The letters speak of selfish grandchildren nearby. They would visit and try to take things from her, such as socks and sweaters. They told her to give them her winter coat when she died. You get the picture.
In those years, letters were censored before they arrived at my mom's mailbox. Between the lines, I clearly read a strong will to live, an acceptance that becomes, to me, more extraordinary as the years go by. Old age is scary, under any circumstances. Health becomes an issue, as does the meaning of life. Feelings of uselessness in a society that loves youth, is a reality. Those letters, like that photo, are icons for me.
My grandma was quite ordinary in the eyes of the world. She did not write the great novel, win a prize in the county fair for handiwork, nor was she loved by her son-in-law. She did not hug or kiss me, or tell me she loved me. She never took me to the movies or even a park. There were no toys or cookies. She was just there. She's still there, in my heart. This plain, country woman stands as the strength that I needed then. I need it more than ever now that I have grown old. Thanks grandma. I love you. I know you loved me, too.
|
|
Submit Your Review for Grandma, I Love You
Required fields are marked with (*).
Your e-mail address will not be displayed.
|
|
Submit Your Rating for Grandma, I Love You
|
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2007 Liilia Morrison |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
October 2007 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1637
|
|
