Memories

The previous blog in which I talked about my grandpa, made me start thinking about my grandma a lot. I decided to dedicate one to her and some of the memories I have of her. I could go on for pages and pages, but I'll try not to.

My grandma was quite possibly the most wonderful woman the world had ever know. She was a loving woman to her kids, grandkids, husband and freinds. Grandma was also the most stubborn woman I had ever known! It was said she had a firey temper too. I had never been on the receiving end of that temper, but my dad had been! Dad shared this story with me...

My dad was still living at home and working on the farm, but had a job and supported himself for the most part. He decided to buy a motorcycle. Knowing my grandma was not a fan of motorcycles, Dad bought the bike and hid it in the barn. The secret was safe for sometime. One evening Dad came in for supper. He walked into the kitchen to find only two place settings, one for Grandma and one for Grandpa. Grandma refused to talk to my dad, acted as if he wasn't there. Grandpa had to get Dad's place setting and even be sure to pass the food to him. At that moment, Dad knew Grandma found the motorcycle. She never had to say a word about it.

Grandma told me stories all the time. She told me about the first time my dad smiled as a baby. She told me about the day she saw my grandpa on the stairs at school and knew he was the man for her. I gew up just across the field from where my granparents lived, so I walked to their house almost daily, especially during the summer. Grandma and I spent countless hours on the porch rocking and talking. I remember standing in the corner of our yard, looking across the field and seeing Grandma outside. I would yell as loud as I could to her and wave like mad. If the wind was blowing just right, it would carry my voice across the field and she would hear me. Grandma would wave back at me, and the treat-of-all-treats, she would ring the dinner bell. I can still hear that bell ringing. A deep, long tone.

She loved Cardinals, or red birds as she called them. As we sat on the porch and talked, our chatter would come to a standstill if we saw a red bird. We would sit in awe and watch it hop around the yard. Grandma would break out into smiles if it graced us with a song.

I have a red bird that frequents my house. It lands in my front yard and sings a beautiful song for me. Each time I see my red bird, I smile. I can't help it. I smile, and I know, my grandma is near. She sent me a red bird.