Walking in Grandma Abbott's shoes.

Grandma Abbott was my mother's mother. Abbott was the name of her third husband - she outlived every one of them. She knew how to pick them.

When I was a girl, my sister and I would - from time to time - yell out "Mom, Grandma Abbott is coming." whereupon Mom would ask, "how many bags is she carrying?" Grandma Abbott carried her overnight case and her clothing in shopping bags from Lazarus, a downtown department store.

If she only had one or two, the stay was going to be short. If she had three or four . . . well, we were in for a long visit with her. As I grew into my teen years, those longer visits came more and more frequently, to my mixed emotions.

I loved her dearly, but she was quite opinionated and we would quarrel - because, of course, I was a teenager and, thus, quite opinionated on my own count. Yup. She had deeply ingrained emotions and opinions about, shall we say, "cultural" differences. Think on it, for a moment. This was the 60's. There was a revolution going on. Grandma was old school - AND - had been raised by her grandparents in Kentucky, on what was once a farm with slaves. Needless to say, we had many "healthy" discussions.

And, I was a brat - I would sometimes say things to get her goat. And, Mom would have to be the peacekeeper. ;-)

Today I reminded myself of Grandma Abbott (thus the title) as I walked over to the Ladybug's house a couple of blocks away, carrying today's version of the Lazarus shopping bag, a plastic bag. But, I wasn't going to stay for long. I was just taking over some things for the little miss. The shopping bag stayed when I left.

Yesterday I was reminded of Grandma Abbott in a different way. When I went to the dentist's office (yes, everything on my to-do list yesterday got checked off - yay) I noticed some wonderfully gorgeous flowers alongside his building. Oh, my - peonies. And, they smelled as gorgeous as they looked.

Why did that remind me of Grandma? Well, she, being from Kentucky and all, called them P-EYE-A-KNEES, not PEE-O-KNEES. And, so I grew up calling them the same. I know better, of course, but it just brings Grandma to my mind. And, I love to quiz people when we are talking about cultural differences . . . so, how would you pronounce P.E.O.N.I.E.S? I ask. And, then, when I tell them how Grandma prounounced it, they would look at me as if I were from another planet. Nah, just had a Grandma from Kentucky, thanks. ;-)

She also would get quite upset when someone would call her a hillbilly. I'm a Hill William, thank you. Okay, Grandma, okay. But we (my sister and I) would call her a hillbilly every once in awhile just to get her goat. Brats, I tell ya.

Grandma wrote "pottery" - poetry - and handed that talent down to my Mom, who passed it on to me. I have passed it on to Lessa, who has passed it on to her own daughter.

Some things have changed over the years - Grandma Abbott would not even think about wearing pants out in public - in fact I don't think I have ever seen her in pants. She wore dresses cut generously through the bust (she did NOT pass that on to Mom OR to me!) with a straight skirt. She always carried cotton handkerchiefs - one tucked under her sleeve at her wrist and others in her black patent leather purse. She wore chunky black laced shoes with block heels, and her stockings were sturdy cotton stockings rolled up over her knee and held in place with a garter.

Her makeup case was a treasure to my sister and myself. We never touched, but we loved to watch her each morning and evening. Cold cream was applied lavishly to cleanse her face in the morning and to take off her makeup in the evening. She had wrinkles, yes, but they were the softest wrinkles in the world.

Her favorite scent was Emeraude, which, oh my gosh!, you can still purchase! We bought her a new bottle every Christmas. I can still bring that scent to my mind.

Grandma brought up seven children, and buried all but three before she died herself. One of her sons died in France during The War, a daughter died of meningitis, another of breast cancer, my mother of a stroke. Grandma Abbott passed away when I was 26 years old of a stroke herself. (She was 83 years old.) Her two remaining sons each passed away of heart or drinking related problems. Her last, youngest, daughter is living, but has Parkinson's Disease.

Grandma Abbott was some kind of woman, I'll tell you. I wish I had listened to her stories better when she was around to tell them - but, oh, how she made my ears tired. ;-) Sadly, we are usually not ready to listen and really hear what our elders have to say - when they are here to say it. It is my loss - and my children's and their children's loss.

I'm going to have to see if I can find some pi-a-nies to plant under my window for next year. Yup, I'm going to have to do just that.

Have a wonderful Sunday, friends. And, God Bless America! Happy 4th of July.

Posted by Purplemoose at July 3, 2004 04:20 PM