a cerebral hemmorage will cause a brain bleed and the loss of vital blood.
an ageing brain bleeds much the same way, but the loss of information, names, dates, stove burners, can be just as painful.
at my kitchen table sits a woman who has literally lived 3 times more life than i.
here 88 years dwarf my 30.
stories of survival, God's faithfulness, and honest-to-goodness honesty have filled her life.
if anyone has ever been scrappy, it's my granny.
her basement closets are literally lined with canned goods, most of which expired in 1983.
she never, EVER throws anything away.
she uses plastic baggies at least 8 times,
coffee filters at least 3,
and is sure to take her share of creamers and sugars at the local Eat-n-Park.
granny: "did you hear that your cousin michelle had her twins? one was 5 lbs and the other was 3.2 lbs. look, i have some pictures here in my bag."
me: "yea, i heard they were born...i'm so glad they are healthy."
the daily comings and goings of everyday life seem to sweep over her mind like the waves of the ocean.
in one flash they are here and the next, gone.
our conversation starts over.
granny: "did you hear that your cousin michelle had her twins? one was 5 lbs and the other was 3.2 lbs. look, i have some pictures here in my bag."
me: "yea, i heard they were born...i'm so glad they are healthy."
the waves take todays world and thrust it into her mind, but it can't stick. it can't stick because her mind is full of the vividness of her past.
i have heard most stories at least 17 times, but today i listened with new ears. i pictured her strawberry blond hair, petite stature, a baby on the hip and two chickens caught by the legs in the other hand.
story 1:
it was 1950 something. her 3 kids were still ancle biters, and she had a horrible week. the barn burned down, my grandpa was pulling double shifts at the steel mill, her son dave (my dad) got kicked out of sunday school
again for his naughty behaviour and she was the only one to keep the family chicken farm buisness going. her well-to-do brother and his wife came over and said, "Ann, were going on vacation to Hawaii, and we're taking you with us."
for the first and last time in her life, she let herself be pampered. she still says she has no idea how my grandpa managed the kids and the farm and the double shifts and the burnt down barn, but she came home from hawaii a different woman. her brother's wife bought her a new wardroble, got her nails done and her hair dyed bright platnum blonde. in her own words, my grandpa "wouldn't leave (her) alone" after that trip and from that day forward she always dyed her hair platnum blonde.
story 2:
sometime around 1960, there was a kitty cat over load at the henricks chicken farm. they had 4 or 5 cats to take care of any lingering rodents. but then those cats had kittens, and pretty soon those kittens had kittens, and so forth. there were so many cats that they began to wonder if they were growing chickens on their chicken farm, or a far furrier, 4 legged breed.
something had to be done. and there was no easy way to do it. a farm woman does what needs to be done, and my granny wasn't about to let a few kitties outwit her in their plan to propigate the universe. i won't go into detail, but she "took care of" the most recent kitty cat residents. she knew she had to hide the evidence before her young kids came home from school. just as the school bus sputtered down the dusty farm road, the kitty victims were flung up on top of the trash piled high atop the tractor bed. granny snuck back inside the house ready to plead the 5th.
her oldest, my aunt dorothy ran frantically into the house...."Mom!" she shreiked, "the kittens are running around on top of the trash pile! poor things climbed all the way up there! don't worry, i'll save them!" she touted.
kitties=1, granny=0
in today's world of ebay, comcast cable remote controls and walmart the size of disneyland, she seems a bit frail.
lost.
nervous.
if only we could drop her back in 1957.
her memory is as bright as the day each memory occured.
though phycially demanding, the world she remembers is filled with laughter, pickled cucumbers, plucking chicken feathers, and my grandpa's bone cracking back rubs.
she was the strong one.
she knew how the world worked.
she knew the shop around the corner could fix the hole in her shoe.
she knew how to make a loaf of home baked bread rise perfectly golden brown.
she knew the neighbors next door by more than just their name.
the world is easy to navagate.
they mailed letters.
they didn't have junk food
or fast food.
they picked dinner from the garden and from the chicken coup out back.
she was the strong one.
she has never used a cell phone. emailed a friend. tivo'd a tv show.
but she is a woman who has done many things none of us will ever do.
-making potatoe chips from scratch
-seeing the first car,
ever-bottleing home brewed cream soda
-churning home made butter
-chopping off the head of a chicken
-milking a cow
her wrinckled hands tell a story of hard earned years.
the neclace she wears with my grandpa's gold wedding band tells a story of 50+ years of hard earned love.
she is my hero.
she is our legacy.
she is amazing.
