So Glad I Got to Know Her

a woman (my grandmother) playing the piano

 

To hear Jeanne read this post (4 minutes 12 seconds)t:

 

  • A full-ride scholarship to The Piano Conservatory . . . and a father who refused to let her return after her first year, declaring that she needed to find a husband more than she needed an education
  • Teaching each of her grandchildren (except the one in NJ who played trombone) to play the piano
  • The Program (a.k.a. piano recital) on Christmas morning
  • Completely ignoring my pleas and letting my cousin Cynthia play the coveted “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” every. single. year.
  • Newbury’s in Atlanta where she’d send my mother to purchase the sheet music she pre-ordered by phone
  • Award-winning cakes made from scratch
  • Rolling the pink and white washing machine out into the kitchen, hooking the hose up to the sink faucet, and washing clothes, putting them through the wringer (my favorite part).
  • Her refusal to touch or consider using the electric dishwasher her children gifted her
  • Plants calling at least one-fourth of her kitchen home
  • Biscuits made from scratch three times a day, cut out with the top of an empty jelly jar turned drinking glass, dipped in flour
  • “Why of course they’re new, William.”
  • Leftovers in the middle of the table, covered with a clean tablecloth
  • New potatoes from the garden
  • Easter egg hunts
  • The piano bench that twirled up and down, adjusting the height for each individual player.
  • The piano bench turned stage for the Ooey-Gooey Game as seen on The Popeye Club with Officer Don
  • That ever-present smile that covered her entire face . . . most of the time
  • How she held my hand as we walked through her yard, using her free hand to point out and identify every flower, plant, shrub, and tree in her voluptuous, colorful yard
  • New Year’s Day phone pranks
  • Buttered sugared biscuits
  • Sticking our finger in the side of leftover biscuits, then filling the hold with sorghum syrup
  • Milk toast
  • Her adult children grumbling after every meal about how she used every plate and bowl she owned at every meal
  • Her waking us up to say, “It’s Saturday morning, so you just sleep as long as you want to.”
  • The glass of water and flashlight that spent every night on the floor beside her
  • Milk money left in the little bird house attached to a column on the front porch
  • Sitting on the front porch glider to shuck corn, shell butterbeans, or just simply count the cars passing by
  • The bubble-blowing fish adorning her bathroom wall
  • Making preserves and pickles every summer
  • The dark  pantry off the bathroom, always filled with all kinds of food
  • Her laugh that came quick and often
  • Sitting on the floor playing plastic Army men with Jerry and Scott
  • The floor-length powder blue long-sleeved dress she wore to my wedding 48.5 years ago
  • The rimless glasses she wore every day of her life
  • Hearing about the one time she went on vacation – to the ocean in Florida with her sister
  • The sound of the back screen door slamming behind us when we dropped by to visit unplanned, unannounced, yet always welcomed
  • Parchment-like skin that bruised if you looked at it too long and too fast
  • The treadle sewing machine tucked into a corner between the bedroom and living room, the whirring sound providing the walls needed to create a room she could call her own
  • Brown paper bags of fabric scraps from Mrs. Callaway who lived across the road being dumped on the kitchen table, sorted, and moved this way and that till at last an idea emerged and another quilt begun
  • The word “Jeanne” with a period after it, hand stitched in a corner of the quilt she made for me

Were she still drawing breath, we would spend today celebrating the 128th spin around the sun made by my maternal grandmother – Katie Belle Wesley Ballard. How very lucky I am to have known her.

a man (left, my granddaddy) and a woman (right, my grandmother) smile at each other on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary

1 Comment

  1. Nancy

    Love hearing this in your own voice…so many memories and grand storytelling.

Pull up a chair why don't you, and let's talk . . .

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: