Pearl

"I'm dreaming tonight, of a place I love, even more than I usually do..." I had a nostalgic moment this evening that prompted me to write this post that I have contemplated for a while. The opening quote is the intro line to I'll be Home for Christmas. It seemed an appropriate way to begin, since reading this post is likely to have the same effect for my Mom as hearing that song often has... tears.

This evening, I was working in the side of the house that I am renovating (the remodeling area is separated from our current living area). It was just prior to dusk, there was a new snow falling outside, everything was freshly coated in a blanket of white, and I was listening to a radio station that plays all Christmas music. And, that's when it hit me... the smell of chili. My wife was making chili for dinner, and as the smell wafted over to my side of the house, I was suddenly flooded with memories of my Grandma. I stopped working for a few minutes, and as I stood and watched the snow fall outside, it hit me hard just how much I still, at times, miss her, even though many of these memories are over 25 years old. So, for sake of my own nostalgia, let me introduce you to Pearl, my maternal Grandma.


My grandparents lived about 100 miles from our house, in a very small town in a rural area. I don't know that you could call it a town, really. It was identified by a dot and a name on most road atlases, but it was really just a cluster of 25 or 30 homes, a church, and a general store along a single road, nestled in a valley with a creek flowing through it. And, it used to be one of my favorite places on earth.

We visited my grandparents about once a month. We would leave as soon as Dad got off work on Friday and drive the two hours. Grandma never knew exactly when we would arrive, so on many of these Friday evenings, she kept a big pot of chili simmering on the stove for our arrival. It was especially comforting on a cold night to walk in to hugs and warm chili. This explains why tonight's smell of chili triggered the memories. We would usually stay the weekend and leave sometime Sunday, after we went to church with them.

At first glance, many might use words like humble, modest, meager, or even poor to describe the life of my Grandma. I never really noticed, though. True, she didn't have much in a material sense, but I don't ever remember hearing her complain, and I think she lived a richer life than many who have much more.

My Grandparents lived in an older two-story house, built without central heat or indoor plumbing. Well, I guess it did have central heat... the house was heated by a big, brown, Warm Morning coal and wood stove in the center of the living room. Grandma would rise early, before everyone, and read the Bible, or write, in her chair by the stove, while she stoked the fire to heat the house for others to wake. And, in later years, the house had some indoor plumbing. My Dad plumbed the water from the pump in the cellar to a small hot water heater and a kitchen sink he installed for them, so they could stop carrying water in buckets from the cellar. But that was the extent of it... no bathtub, no shower, and yes, they used an outhouse... even on cold days!

My Grandma loved family. She loved our visits. And, she loved cookouts and holidays. On many summer Saturday evenings, she pulled a very basic turquoise-colored charcoal grill out of the shed for a backyard cookout. I mostly remember hot dogs, beans, potato salad, cucumbers in vinegar, tomato slices, red cool-aid, and red jello with bananas; with cousins playing hide-and-seek or Marco Polo in the big backyard until the skeeters started biting. Thanksgiving dinner always found the adults crowded around the table in the kitchen, the cousins at the "kids table" in the living room, a big platter of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, and noodles.

But, there was always something special about this time of year for me. I loved to go to Grandma's house for Christmas. Her decorations would not be featured on HGTV, but I wish I had some of them now. I remember an inexpensive plastic sign that consisted of the outline of the words "Merry Christmas" in scrolling red letters. It always hung in the front door window. It had been cracked and repaired with scotch tape... but it was always there. I remember bubble lights on the tree. To this day, I LOVE bubble lights and I bought some a few years ago for my tree. And, I remember when Grandma switched from a real tree to an artificial one. The first time she put it together, there were a few extra limbs in the box. Grandma tied the extra limbs into the tree with string (every year), "to make it look more real". Even as a child, it was never really about the presents at Grandma's house. Oh, there were always presents, but they were usually practical, and nothing extravagant or expensive. It's hard to put a finger on it, but it was more about the feeling of being there. I guess Christmas seemed more real at Grandma's house, because it was more about love than gifts.

For many years, my brother and I had the privilege of spending a whole week of summer vacation at my grandparents house. I always got homesick a few hours after my parents dropped us off, but it didn't last long, and I wouldn't trade those memories for anything. My Grandma loved to take walks, but Grandpa would never go with her. We took a walk nearly every evening during those weeks. We would walk to either end of town, where the road crossed the creek, and throw stones and tree limb "boats" in the creek. Once we walked pretty far into the country on a gravel road and an Amish man offered us a ride in his buggy. Grandma politely refused his offer. When he was out of earshot, my brother and I asked her why she turned down a rare opportunity for us all to ride in an Amish buggy, and she reminded us that "you shouldn't ride with strangers"... to which we responded, "but he was Amish".

Finally, the thought that I originally pondered for this blog is the fact that if Grandma were alive today, I think she would have been a blogger. Many of our modern conveniences, like personal computers and the Internet, would have seemed like science fiction to her. But, she would have loved e-mail and blogging. My Mom and my Grandma wrote letters (snail mail) to each other once a week, faithfully, until Grandma's health failed. My Grandma also wrote her "items" every week. She had a job with the newspaper in the small town about 20 miles away. The paper featured her brief column about events that happened in her even smaller town. I don't want to go so far as to say Grandma was nosey, but I have fond memories of Grandma hanging out the front door, holding the door mostly shut behind her with her foot hooked around it so it didn't let in as much cold for Grandpa to grumble about, and looking up or down the street to see what was going on. Not nosey... just being a good reporter! Grandma submitted her items to the paper and she received a complementary subscription to the paper as compensation. I think her items were the forerunner of modern day blogs, but the word "blog" didn't even exist! I often think of her when I peek through a tilted slat on the miniblinds, to see what's happening outside.

I used to drive by their house to reminisce. I quit doing this several years ago. It was too painful. I'm not sure if it still stands today, but the last time I drove by, it had been neglected and was in severe disrepair, along with much of the town. I think, perhaps, the house was condemned. Although the house is a mere shell without my grandparents there, it holds many fond memories for me. Though it was once among my favorite places on earth, I drove out the lower end of town that day, and vowed I would never return. It would have to suffice to return there in my memories, and that is just what I did on this cold evening in December, with snow and chili in the air.