I wrote about my Grandmother in June '09. I am posting it again for two reasons. One of them is because today, Oct. 12th is the anniversary date of her passing, and I need to acknowledge that.
I celebrate her Birthday, and I acknowledge when she passed away. The latter helps me in some unexplainable way.
Secondly, I have a special blogger friend with whom I would like to share this. I do not think she was reading my blog in June. Unfortunately, she is in the process of a sad situation with her Grandmother, I am hoping by writing about mine, it will help her in some small way. I hope so. Writing can be very therapeutic, just like any other art form.
My Grandmother lived everyday with a smile on her face, and grace in her heart. She was as warm and friendly to her family and friends, as she was to the Gardener. This lady was my paternal Grandmother, known to everyone as Grandma.
I can feel my eyes twinkle when I speak or write about her. I believe her legacy was to make people smile, and show them that being generous is very easy. When you walked through her door, she was there to hug you hello. The next step was for you to inhale the aromas that wafted through the air from her kitchen. She did not ask you if you wanted something to eat or drink, she would just would just put it on the table for you. The hot coffee was always ready. This is something my Mother does as well. And I've learned from her.
I feel compelled to tell you about her eyes. They were a soft blue, gentle and kind, yet strong. And lucky for her, they changed to a soft gray whenever she wore a gray dress or sweater. How fortunate to have pretty eyes that change color.
My Grandmother was a well seasoned cook for savory and dessert foods. She made enough to feed her growing family (a small army), and we always took home extras. This woman was so extraordinary to me. When I think back of all that she accomplished, I am amazed. Women from the Depression era were able to do so much with so little for their large size families.
She loved through her actions, and wore her smile like a Queen. She made you know her heart was for you. As she grew older, she would sing to me "Let me call you sweetheart." She also would sing "o solo mio" in Italian. I am convinced she had THE softest hands ever. Her palms felt like satin, and she would rub my forearm ever so gently, as we sat in her living room.
She passed on from natural causes at the age of ninety. Her heart that beat so lovingly became tired. Before she slipped into a dreamy-death state, I would read poems to her, and excerpts from the Bible. I also sang to her "Let me call you Sweetheart" and gently rubbed her arms, the way she use to so caringly do to me. I would also comb her beautiful white hair. Oh, how I loved that white hair of hers! Early one rainy Monday October morning, she died. I was told she looked like she was sleeping, and I believe it. She was a beautiful woman inside and out. And anyone who had the privledge of knowing her also knew this. I believe there are angels in this world, and I was fortunate enough to have one for my Grandmother.
Yesterday, I made an apple crostata in honor of my Grandmother. I was feeling rather sad, and I thought of her baking (I think it was divine intervention). Into the kitchen I went, made and refrigerated the dough, peeled the Granny Smith apples,and proceeded to compose an apple crostata. I think she would have smiled.