A Christmas Present from My Grandma...

[Viking Kitten]

Who died nine years ago.

*Author's note: This story is maybe a little chick-centric, but I think maybe all you South Ovarians who like Grandmas and Christmas will appreciate it too, so I'm gonna go ahead and post it.

About 15 years ago, my grandma started mentally slipping away from us and moved into assisted living. Her children, including my mom, helped her start paring down her belongings as she moved into a much smaller space. She asked my mom to please give me her costume jewelry box. Mom brought it to me, and I was touched that Grandma wanted me to have it, but I took one look in the box and thought, "Wow. What a bunch of junk." I was always a minimalist about jewelry, and this was just some old, gaudy looking stuff that I knew I would never wear.

I threw it in a box, in with a bunch of junior high photo albums and stuff, and completely forgot about it. I've moved a bunch of times since then, so this box was taped shut for the last 15 years, and I guess somebody shoved it in the attic when we moved into our new home last year.

So Sunday I'm up in the attic looking for my box of tree ornaments. Couldn't find them for the life of me. (Turns out they were in plain sight in a closet in the house.) I looked in every box up in the front of the attic, then spied this little box up over in the corner.

Now, I should mention now that my tastes in jewelry have really evolved over the years. From wearing almost no jewelry ever, I've kind of developed an appreciation for bigger, bolder, chunkier pieces. (I should also give some credit to the lovely and talented BSG here, as she made me some beautiful beaded necklaces that convinced me that type of thing works really well for me.) I've especially developed a liking for vintage, jeweled brooches from the 1950s. The ones that cost a LOT of money in antique stores now. The kind I've never bought because the ones I like are always too expensive. Like this:

http://shop.showcaseantiques.com/images/items/MTO10.jpg

Anyhoo... so I go over to the box, thinking, "what the heck's in here," open it and see the jewelry box. I open it up, and on top are some cheap, plastic earrings. I also notice a hidden drawer I don't remember noticing before. In the drawer I discover about 10 of the most awesome jeweled brooches in all different colors, along with about 25 pairs of fabulous sparkly earrings, and a couple of gorgeous antique necklaces too.

So the point is that just when I'm at the point in my life when I can really, really appreciate it and love it, Grandma's gift from 15 years ago pops back up all of the sudden and it's just the best Christmas present ever. Just a wierd, really cool story I had to share, sorry if it's a bit sappy.

[KsSooner]

Good story VK, Grandmas are special

[Turd_Ferguson]

Good story VK, Grandmas are specialConcur on the story, and yes Grandma's are very special. They become even more special with the story's they told us, and the memory's they left us when their gone.:(

[LilSooner]

Awww that's such a sweet story.

[Flagstaffsooner]

Nice story.

And here is my birthday mate with her bling on.;)
http://content2.myyearbook.com/usercontent/fast/pimp_images/Images/Funny/1_ugly_people.jpg

[Lott's Bandana]

"South Ovarians"?

That, by itself, makes it a chick story, VK!

Oh, and I can guess the ending, but where did it go?

Ok, I see now, and that thing is purdy...

[12]

CH-CH-CH-ch-ch-ch-ch

HA-HA-HA-ha-ha-ha-ha

I had THE MOST tasteless reply, but thought better of posting it because I also miss my grandma.

So I posted the second one.

[Viking Kitten]

"South Ovarians"?

That, by itself, makes it a chick story, VK!

Oh, and I can guess the ending, but where did it go?

My f***ing phone ate it.

[Viking Kitten]

CH-CH-CH-ch-ch-ch-ch

HA-HA-HA-ha-ha-ha-ha

I had THE MOST tasteless reply, but thought better of posting it because I also miss my grandma.

So I posted the second one.

If anyone can appreciate a good tasteless reply, it's me.:D

[12]

She's hungry for brains, God bless 'er.

[Viking Kitten]

I'm totally gonna write a horror movie now called "Zombie Grandma."

[Viking Kitten]

"Night of the Living Grannies" might work too.

[Sooner Born Sooner Bred]

Nice story.

My 80 year old aunt who died last week gave me a cocktail ring the last time I saw her 2 years ago. It's really gaudy and ugly and didn't appraise for much.

Be blessed that your Grandma at least had good taste.

;)

[12]

Just be glad your grandma didn't call you Mike Honcho. :(

[Sooner Born Sooner Bred]

FWIW, Rabid Grannies has already been done.

http://365daysofthedead.blogspot.com/2008/10/day-350-rabid-grannies.html

[Okla-homey]

That's a real sweet story VK. I'm a sucker for grannies. I think about mine every day of my life.

Her strength, wisdom and unflappable love of Jesus were her hallmarks. She went to Glory in 1998. Ten years ago this Christmastime in fact. She taught me so much that has stood me in good stead my entire life. I'd give a month's salary for an hour with her if such a thing were possible. I shall never forget her parting words to me as my 14 y/o self left for my first real paying job in the summer of 1974. As I rode away on my bike, she called out, "Now boy, you do what they tell you, and make 'em a hand!.

There have been many times in my adult life when I was in the middle of something at work and generally hating the project when I would remind myself of Granny calling out, "make 'em a hand!" and that would inspire me to hunker down and do my best.

Granny taught that folks who don't do their best for their boss are stealing from him. I think she was right.

That's one of the reasons I love Okies. An awful lot of them get what "make 'em a hand" means.

[12]

My grandma made good peanut brittle. She salted the pan before she poured the peanut lava in. Good stuff, I'm telling you.

She was also a tough Okie. And as far as I know, she hasn't eaten any brains since her passing.

[Okla-homey]

My grandma made good peanut brittle. She salted the pan before she poured the peanut lava in. Good stuff, I'm telling you.

She was also a tough Okie. And as far as I know, she hasn't eaten any brains since her passing.

You should have had my Granny's fried okra in the summertime. She knew just when the pods were perfect and would pick them about an hour before cooking. Her breading was magic.

[12]

She add a small garden onion? If not, I suggest it next time you fry up a batch. My granny also specialized in hot rhubarb pie with a dip of home-cranked vanilla ice cream.

We would take turns cranking the handle because we knew how good it was going to be.

[BlondeSoonerGirl]

Aww, that's a good story. Pin one of those sparklies to your scarf and wear it. Don't hide them away. Let other people see them and tell them the story, too.

Thanks, Christmas!

[Viking Kitten]

Heh. Viewers of a certain television program have now seen two different brooches in as many days. AND THE WEEK AIN'T OVER YET!!!

[Sooner Born Sooner Bred]

When my Grandma died, all of her important papers and keepsakes were discovered in a small lock box in her closet. Included in this box along with the standard insurance papers, were valentines, birthday cards and letters from her 5 grandkids.

We also learned that my Grandma secretly wished she had a 6th grandchild.

You see, along with all of the mementos we had given her were newspaper clippings and photographs and an autograph from Wayman Tisdale.

[Howzit]

Very touching story, VK.

It's been a while since I have posted a Juanita story, and I shall do so now.

Juanita is my 95 y/o grandmother, born in 1913 in some podunk Kansas town. She now lives in assisted living in south Moore and has generated a number of stories for the ages over the last 10 years that she has lived there.

Recently she had to have her meds taken out of her own hands. She is on Darvon for "pain" (and I think has been for 25 years, way before any of us knew), Diovan for blood pressure, and one other I can't think of right now.

Apparently, she decided to take a whole week's worth of everything, and they found her unconscious. After she was revived, they took her meds away and give her one dose at a time.

When my aunt axed her why she took a whole week, she said something about hoping they would make her regular.

My aunt told her they could give her a laxative if she needs.

She replied, "Well, they worked."

The end.

[Viking Kitten]

I'm not sure, but I think maybe zombie grandma stories are better than Howzit's MeeMaw pooped her pants while stoned stories. I'll have to ponder that one.

[12]

That is a horribly touching story, Howzit.

And strangely erotic.

[Tailwind]

What a very nice gift VK. I miss my grandmas too.

[Okla-homey]

She add a small garden onion? If not, I suggest it next time you fry up a batch. My granny also specialized in hot rhubarb pie with a dip of home-cranked vanilla ice cream.

We would take turns cranking the handle because we knew how good it was going to be.

I'll tell ya another thing. I doubt her and papa ever made more than 1500 a month in their lives, but they wanted for nothing and that Granny of mine could stretch a dollar farther than anyone I've ever met before or since. They paid cash or did without and still managed to save money each month. I think being raised on the farm and being young marrieds during the "Hard Times" will do that to a person.

[OU4LIFE]

Heh. Viewers of a certain television program have now seen two different brooches in as many days. AND THE WEEK AIN'T OVER YET!!!

uh-huh...suuure they have.

no pictures, no proof.

[Oldnslo]

It's times like these that I reflect on all that we have in common.

My grandma is dead, too.

[Viking Kitten]

But does she like to eat brains?

[SoonerInKCMO]

Awww... VK gots old lady taste in jewelry.

[IB4OU2]

I think of my granny every time I see a Levi Garret Sweet snuff glass....:(

Their farm is now Norman North.

[Howzit]

But does she like to eat brains?

Only if they're kosher.

[SoonerJack]

You should have had my Granny's fried okra in the summertime. She knew just when the pods were perfect and would pick them about an hour before cooking. Her breading was magic.

Not as good as MY granny's fried okra (which she pronounced "okree").

And her peanut brittle was awesome too. And divinity.

nom nom nom

[Chuck Bao]

Thanks for the grandma story, VK.

I have to find a plane that will take me home in the next several weeks to say goodbye to mine. My mom basically gave me a choice of going home now or to wait for the funeral.

This is a long post and, yeah, incredibly sappy.

My grandma, now 98, is a pretty remarkable woman and has had an incredibly full life. I can’t say that there won’t be sadness with her passing, but there should also be celebration.

My grandma has told the story many times of riding in the back of a wagon on the Santa Fe Trail as a little girl and being frightened by the celebratory gunfire in a wagon lot in New Mexico at the end of WWI. She went to school by horseback in the Yellow Hills (Durwood) between Madill and Ardmore. She attended the teachers’ college in Durant, but eventually dropped out to marry a local farmer to become a housewife. They faced tough times during the Dust Bowl years. Through hard work and determination, they kept their farm and added to it in the subsequent years.

Back then banks were locally-owned and there was a local banker who had faith in them. I’m not sure how that applies to today’s economic crisis. A part of me likes the idea of local bankers invested in the community.

My grandfather was very German and very frugal. His favorite saying was “it’s not how much money you make: it’s how much money you save.” As a kid, I remember almost every shopping trip to Ardmore would involve stopping at grocery store and buying baloney and bread and having a picnic lunch because we didn’t want to waste money at a restaurant.

My grandmother essentially raised me as my mom was getting her bachelors and masters at Southeastern. At my mom’s graduation ceremony, I remember Grandma telling us how proud we should be that my mom graduated fifth in grade point average in her class. There is no doubt that some of that was feeling what she could have done with the same opportunities, but I don’t think there were ever any regrets. It was meant more as an inspiration to my brother, sister and me about our possibilities.

My Grandma taught me how to read, how to do long division, how to drive a car, etc. She wrote me a letter every day for my first 12-15 years in Asia. She was a very good writer without spell check and editing programs. I only found out last year that grandma wrote the weekly social scene from Oakland to Durwood area for the Madill Record in the 50-60s.

Grandma was proud of me when I went to work for a local bank during high school and university. She always thought I would come back home and do that. She would mail me clippings from the Daily Ardmorite on interest rates and the economy. On my frequent trips home, she would talk to me about interest rates and when to lock in rates on long-term CDs.

Grandma has lots of costume jewelry and I’ve brought her lots of Asian jewelry. She only told me much later while in the nursing home that she has always wanted, but could never afford, a nice string of pearls. I regret not buying that for her before she went into the nursing home.

Her house, which is now my house, hasn’t been touched since she went to stay in the nursing home. Even after she passes, I don’t think I’m prepared to deal with it.

This is going to be a sad trip home for me. But, there is much to celebrate of a full and wonderful life.

On a side note, Grandma would probably stir fry in some brains with her okra if she ever becomes a zombie and I'm sure it'd taste good.

[Oldnslo]

Dad loves scrambled eggs. And brains.

Back when they were married, Mom would make that dish for Dad. Right up until she had an anatomy class. On the last time she made the dish, she thought, "There's the medulla obolongata (or some such)" and became less than fully enthused about the dish.

Grandma stories?

My Grandma Pearl was a lounge singer. She called the places she sang "upholstered sewers". She and Grampa used to run around with some... interesting people. I'm told that they changed their social circle after being shot at one night. I'm told a Tommy gun was involved, but I'm sure that story is embellished, as is customary with Family History.

The best advice my Grandma gave: Don't order Bar scotch.

Grampa, when I was 5, needed a 4th to play a game. That's when he taught me Gin. But we're focusing on Grandmas.

I have a picture of Grandma in my hallway. Usually, visitors to the house ask why I have a painting of Marylin Monroe in the house. It's Grandma.

Grandma was a horrible cook. She'd say things like, "I know it's bad, but I have to eat it too" or "If you want me to make something, let me make reservations". Burgers by Grandma were gray, oozy things that came from under the broiler and had the taste and consistency of hockey pucks. Not that I've actually eaten a hockey puck.

Grandma had a temper. When Dad was 15, he said something lippy to Grandma. Got his face pushed into the mashed potatoes for his trouble. I've heard Dad say that story maybe 140,000 times.

She smoked like a train and, not surprisingly, developed cancer. It spread to pretty much everywhere. When she was sick, which was while I was in late college and early law school, she'd delight in hearing about how my dates went. She wanted to know if I was scoring, and with whom. She wanted to know at least as much as my drinking buddies did.

I sure do miss her.

[Howzit]

I am getting old and forget what Grandma stories I have told here, so please forgive if this is a rerun. This is a Flora story, not a Juanita story.

Flora was 1/8 Choctaw and wears floral patterned knee-length dresses in virtually every memory I have of her. She was devoutly Baptist, and on their unannounced visits to our house would always head straight for the refrigerator and shake her head sadly at the always-present beer.

I always woke up early to go turtle hunting when I spent the night at grandma and pappa's, and never returned empty handed. After one such successful adventure (I was probably around 7) I was admiring my conquests and handling said merchandise, when one latched onto my pinky finger. As loud as I screamed and as hard as I shook my hand, the little spawn from hell would not release, and Flora came running to the rescue.

I can't remember exactly what she did to get it off, but I remember the look of fury in her eyes. I remember the determination in her gait as she marched toward the creek, turtle (ok, ok, terrapin) in hand, speed building with each step. And I remember watching as she drop kicked the little bastard, seemingly skyward and over tall trees, at least through seven year old eyes.

Flora was not well in her winding-down years, and she an pappa had moved out to a mobile home on 60 acres in Tuttle. I was a few months away from going into the Army, and had hair down to my shoulders, which my crew-cut wearing father abhorred. We went to visit grandma and pappa, and when we entered the front door, there sat Flora in her floral, knee-length dress, patting the couch for me to come sit by her.

Dad says, "Can you believe this kids hair?"

I was cringing waiting for the reply, but as I sat next to her, she reached up and ran her hands through it and said, "I think it's beautiful."

That one still gets to me.

[Howzit]

Flora's Foot Banishes the Evil Terrapin - The Flaming Lips

[Sooner Born Sooner Bred]

I only really remember my Grandma Allene. She is the one I wrote about earlier. She died when I was 21. She taught my mom how to be a smart *** and my mom passed that trait to me. She had lots of offbeat sayings like "blacker than a cat's ***" and "he makes my *** crave a dip of snuff" and "she looked at me like a calf looking at a new gate." Grandma Allene owned a liquor store from the time I was a baby until I was about 7. One of my earliest memories is sitting on the countertop drinking an Orange Crush from the "cold side" of the store.

My grandma Dena was a smart *** in her own right. She died when I was 4, so I really just know stories other people have told me. My oldest aunt had been married a few times before she started shacking up with an Indian guy named John. She swore to my Grandma that they weren't having sex. Grandma's reply? "She acts like I think Indian d***s don't get hard."

[Oldnslo]

OK. I'll tell a Harriet story.

Grandma Harriet's family loved April 1. Grandma's mom, Becky, loved playing practical jokes and, one April 1, Grandma Harriet planned to get her back.

Great Grandma Becky had moved in with Grandma and Grampa, making their lives much more entertaining. So on the April Fool's day in question, Grandma Harriet told Becky to wait by the door all day, because she was expecting a very important delivery. Very important.

Becky waited by the door, as requested, all day.

At the end of the day, Harriet said, "Hahahahahah! April Fools!"

And Becky said, "You goddam fool, it's March 31st!"

[Sooner Born Sooner Bred]

I'll tell a Little Granny story.

Little Granny was my mom's grandma. She worked hard most of her life, as she was a widow with 3 kids under the age of 5 before she even hit 30. She also began losing her sight early and spent her twilight years in a nursing home after she had a leg amputated, but she never once complained. She would say this about her co-residents in the nursing home, "these old people talk about the good old days. They weren't the good old days. They were hard times."

My mom tells a story about Little Granny that I just think is hilarious. Evidently, these two guys were really annoying my mom and her friend and following them all over town. They decided to hide at Little Granny's house. Well, someone spoiled the secret and they looked out the window to see these young lads coming up the hill.

"Granny, tell them we aren't here," my mom pleaded.

"I'm not going to lie to those boys," Little Granny replied. "Let me hide with you."

[C&CDean]

This thread is cracking me up mainly because some of y'all's stories are close to my granny stories.

My 2 grannies are way dead and gone, both being born in the 1890's, but a couple of my fondest memories of my Granny Edith follow:

1. Edith was born, raised, and died in Colby, KS. She was a devout Pilgrim of Holiness (uber hellfire and brimstone, never cut their hair, long dresses with high necks and long sleeves, drab colors, no make up, no dancing, no movies, pretty much no nothing - and certainly no gaudy jewelry) and was married to Homer, who was the town drunk of Colby. Edith used to beat Homer with her broom when he'd roll up a Bugler and smoke it in the house. She'd go "Homer, are you smoking again?" He'd go "nah Edith, it's them eggs you burnt this morning" while us grandkids would crack up. He wasn't allowed ashtrays, so he used the cuff on his pants to flick his ashes in. She's come in a knock the fire outta Homer with her broom going "Homer, you worthless heathen, Satan is gonna get demoted when you show up in hell."

Anyhow, one day granny is sweeping the floor, and she notices the clock on the wall - a clock that came west in a wagon train with her grandparents several decades earlier. It has a beautiful glass front with these cattails and reeds all up the front of it made out of brass. Anyhow, granny looks at the clock, and for the first time noticed there were these snakes encircling the cattails with their heads kind of sticking out - like that doctor logo. She lets out a blood-curdling scream and goes "Satan, filthy Satan, out of my house!!" and she knocks the clock off the wall with the broom and starts beating it with the broom all the way out the door.

My mom picks it up and takes it to a clock shop. The guy fixed it for like $200 (this was in the early 60's so $200 was a ton of $$) and told my mom it was worth "thousands." It was made in England in like the 1600's. It still hangs on my moms wall.

That story was too long. I'll tell another one later.

[IB4OU2]

When I was a little kid my granny on my dads side washed my mouth out with soap for saying "Gosh" she was a devout Church of Christ member.

[Lott's Bandana]

While Dean takes a moment to blow his nose and wipe at his eyeballs...


One of my Grandmothers is still alive at 94.

Retha:

-Gets around with the help of a walker.

-Can't hear a Ruf-Nek shotgun from 2 feet away.

-Call her on the phone and she'll call you every one of her grandchildren's names during the course of the conversation,

and.....

she still drives a Buick.

[C&CDean]

OK, another Edith story.

Edith was obese. Insulin dependent diabetic. She died at age 77 playing "Rock of Ages" on the piano at the church house of a heart attack. Edith had one of her legs amputated between the knee and hip before I was even born and I've never seen her anywhere but sitting in her wheelchair or hobbling on crutches. She swept - and beat Homer - from the wheelchair.

Anyhow, granny used to roll outside to her chickens with feed in the folds of her long dress on her lap. She'd go "chick chick chick" and about 30 of them would flock to her. They'd land on her lap, her shoulders, her head, her wheelchair, etc. On the side of her wheelchair she kept a scabbard with a WWII machete in it. Whenever we'd first show up she would roll out there, do her "chick chick chick" and then she'd just pick 2 or 3 of the fattest hens or a couple young roosters and hold them upside by the feet. They'd settle down and just hang there, and Edith would roll over to a tree stump - that looked a lot like Ghengis Kahn's executioners chopping block with matted and dried gore all over it - and she'd lay them across it and "WHACK!" one blow she'd separate the chicken from it's head. She didn't throw them like I was taught, she would just hold on to their feet and let them flap a while until they quit kicking. She said "if'n I throw em I gotta go pick em up. Besides, they spray blood all over the other chickens."

A couple hours later us kids would get called up to the house and I cannot describe the smell of chicken and dumplings, mashed taters, sweet corn, homemade bread, and rhubarb pie coming out of that little one-room farm house. Still one of my favorite meals of all time.

[12]

Watched my granny clean a turkey we ett (not sure how to spell that one) one year. Shot that morning. Cold, leftover snack that evening.

[Sooner Born Sooner Bred]

Grandma Dena's doctor told her she needed to cut back on eating so much fatty foods. He suggested that instead of frying her eggs every morning that she poach them instead. One morning, she did just as the doctor suggested. . .then turned the jar of used cooking grease she kept near the stove and scooped a big dollop on top of the poached egg "to give it a little bit of taste."

My Grandpa Z (who died in 1960) was an avid hunter. He hunted all year 'round and what the family couldn't eat he would give to widow women who no longer had a man to hunt for them.

So anyway, Grandpa Z had a primitive hunting cabin way back in the woods. It didn't have running water or electricity. One day he came home from town and told Grandma Allene he had bought the perfect thing to keep him warm when he stayed in the hunting cabin. He had purchased an electric blanket.

"That great," said Grandma Allene. "But where are you going to plug it in, your ***?"

[IB4OU2]

My Mammaw "Lucy" had my mom and Dad over for Sunday dinner right after they got married. My Dad's nickname was "Dick". Again my grandparents were devout God fearing Church folk. They were having fried chicken that night and after the first helping Mammaw Lucy passed the chicken to my dad asking, "Do you want some more Dick chicken?". :eek:

Not one could keep a straight face. :)