My Grandmother

When I was a little girl, I liked to play hairdresser. My 'Granny' was a frequent client, or victim, as the case may be. I remember getting her circular brush hopelessly stuck in her hair---a traumatic experience, to be sure, that is still embedded in my brain (as deeply embedded as that brush was in Granny's hair) almost 20 years later.

Some of my earliest memories centre around my Grandmother's farm. I remember swinging from a tree, my grandmother having brought the swing out and hung it from the tree in honour of my sister's and my visit. I remember lots and lots of kittens, many of them the result of drive-by 'cattings.' I remember going down to the barn to stare at the cows, always an exciting passtime, to be sure.

Pink Flamingos. In the summer, the front yard of Granny's house was always full of lawn ornaments. Whenever I see a pink flamingo I immediately think of her. I think I may get my occasionally garish and tacky tastes from her.

I definitley came by my pack-rat tendancies honestly! When Granny moved into a seniors home, we auctioned off the contents of her house and barn. My favourite item, I think, was the airplane wings: a remenant of my late uncle's teen-aged passion for flying. He had stolen them off an airfield years before, and my grandmother had kept them stashed in her barn every since.

My Grandmother was an amazing cook. When people talk about visits to her farm, they always remember her food. The secret to her amazing food was sugar---and lots of it---a fact that no doubt contributed to her eventual diabetes. She boiled her corn in water liberally flavoured with sugar. Her sticky-buns were to die for. And she never used measuring cups.

Granny had an amazing green-thumb. Her gardens surrounded the house. Roses creapt up the exterior walls---with the occasional fake, plastic flower tucked in amongst the real ones (those pink flamingo tendancies, again). Inside, the house was overtaken with flowers and huge, towering cacti. Her vegetable garden was even more impressive, and ensured that we were never without fresh potatos, strawberries, corn and carrots during our summer visits. When I think of Granny, I usually picture her in the garden.

In later years, a bouquet of flowers was always a surefire way to my grandmother's heart. Her memory wasn't the greatest. My mother would send her a boquet for mother's day, and recieve a phone call every day for a week thanking her for the flowers, as Granny rediscovered them with pleasure every morning.

Granny lived a long life. A full life, too. She is survived by her two daughters, my mother and my Aunt Helen, as well as whole lotta grandchildren and great grandchildren.