Yesterday's newspaper had an article about an old fashioned five and dime. A photo of pink lozenges brought back memories of my grandmother. My father’s mother became a widow when my father was 12 years old. Her sister, Emma, said that when Grandfather died, my grandmother went into their bedroom, climbed in bed, and stayed there for three days. Times were tough for them to begin with, and I’m sure Gramma had no idea what she was going to do to provide for three young children. Aunt Emma was an old-maid schoolteacher in Wyoming. She came to the rescue by opening her house to the troubled family of four. In return my grandmother cooked and kept the house. As her children grew up and got married, they each began taking a six-month stint having my grandmother living with them.
Perhaps it was just a young girl’s perception, and I don’t deny it, but our six months with Gramma every 12 months were interesting times. Being the only granddaughter of eight grandchildren, you would think that I would be a favorite – or at least in the running, but not so. The honor goes my brother, Steve. She always had on hand those little pink lozenges that she called “Happy Pills” but she kept them hidden. These candies come in pink or white, and taste like flavored chalk. But the fact that they weren’t particularly good was overshadowed by the fact that, periodically, I would see Steve sucking on something. I’d ask what it was, and his reply would be, “Gramma gave me candy.” It wasn’t long before my great detective abilities came into play, and I was able to deduce where she kept the candy. High in the kitchen cupboard! If I stood on my tiptoes, on the counter, and reached behind the cereal, I couldsteal take a piece or two at a time without being detected!
Our house in Seattle had a long room that my mother divided into a living room/dining room by putting the couch in the center. She would not sit with us but sat behind the couch in the designated dining room on a straight back chair next to the floor lamp where she would quietly crochet.
Gramma loved the weekly TV series, Perry Mason. Perry Mason was a trial lawyer that solved murder mysteries but not before they were in front of the jury. Really, by standards back then, it was an adult show. The living room layout was this: TV, three bored, twitchy, children laying in front of the TV, two adults sitting on the couch, one gramma behind the couch crocheting. The hour would always include warnings to be quiet, and much throat clearing on my Gramma’s part. One particular evening we must have been very quiet for an extended amount of time, because all of a sudden, there was a crash behind the couch. When we turned around to see what had happened there was NO Gramma! A stroke? A heart attack? My father’s weak voice could be heard, “Mom?” She popped up like a gopher’s head out of its hole, from behind the couch. She slid back into the chair, laughing. She’d fallen asleep and fell onto the floor! She was fine and we all had a good laugh!
Perhaps it was just a young girl’s perception, and I don’t deny it, but our six months with Gramma every 12 months were interesting times. Being the only granddaughter of eight grandchildren, you would think that I would be a favorite – or at least in the running, but not so. The honor goes my brother, Steve. She always had on hand those little pink lozenges that she called “Happy Pills” but she kept them hidden. These candies come in pink or white, and taste like flavored chalk. But the fact that they weren’t particularly good was overshadowed by the fact that, periodically, I would see Steve sucking on something. I’d ask what it was, and his reply would be, “Gramma gave me candy.” It wasn’t long before my great detective abilities came into play, and I was able to deduce where she kept the candy. High in the kitchen cupboard! If I stood on my tiptoes, on the counter, and reached behind the cereal, I could
Our house in Seattle had a long room that my mother divided into a living room/dining room by putting the couch in the center. She would not sit with us but sat behind the couch in the designated dining room on a straight back chair next to the floor lamp where she would quietly crochet.
Gramma loved the weekly TV series, Perry Mason. Perry Mason was a trial lawyer that solved murder mysteries but not before they were in front of the jury. Really, by standards back then, it was an adult show. The living room layout was this: TV, three bored, twitchy, children laying in front of the TV, two adults sitting on the couch, one gramma behind the couch crocheting. The hour would always include warnings to be quiet, and much throat clearing on my Gramma’s part. One particular evening we must have been very quiet for an extended amount of time, because all of a sudden, there was a crash behind the couch. When we turned around to see what had happened there was NO Gramma! A stroke? A heart attack? My father’s weak voice could be heard, “Mom?” She popped up like a gopher’s head out of its hole, from behind the couch. She slid back into the chair, laughing. She’d fallen asleep and fell onto the floor! She was fine and we all had a good laugh!
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