Grandmama Elise On Washington Road, Augusta, Georgia, August 23rd, 1958, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
What do you remember most about your grandmother? Was she tall, thin, short, heavy? Or maybe she changed shape over the course of your lifetime. Do you remember what she smelled like, or the color of her hair? Is your grandmother living? Or has she passed on after a life well-lived. Out of all the relatives that come to mind, grandmothers wield tremendous power and are often respected by the entire family.
Grandmothers are the Elders, the Wise Ones, the Matriarchs, the glue that holds a family’s odd misshapen tree together. Many writers and artists are influenced by their grandmothers. Frank Gehry’s grandmother was the inspiration for his personal symbol, the fish. He includes fish in his architectural drawings, makes fish lamps, and has even designed buildings shaped like fish.
One of his most famous fish sculptures is the Standing Glass Fish commissioned by the Walker Art Center. Its first home was the lobby concourse between the Walker and the old Guthrie, where it was built scale by scale and exhibited as part of The Architecture of Frank Gehry Exhibition, September 21-November 30, 1986.
After two years in the Walker concourse, the 22-foot sculpture (constructed of glass and silicone and supported by a wooden armature with steel rods) was taken apart in five sections and reassembled at its second and permanent home in the central gallery of the Cowles Conservatory in the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. Gehry made a number of plexiglass models to study the flip of the fish’s tail, the characteristics of its eyes, and the shape of the scales.
The brass plaque on the edge of the pond nearby, calls to mind Gehry’s fond remembrance of his grandmother’s fish:
In Toronto, when I was very young, my grandmother and I used to go to Kensington, a Jewish market, on Thursday morning. She would buy a carp for gefilte fish. She’d put it in the bathtub, fill the bathtub with water, and this big black carp–two or three feet long–would swim around in the bathtub and I would play with it. I would stand up there and watch it turn and twist . . . and then she’d kill it and make gefilte fish and that was always sad and awful and ugly.
Glass Fish Scales, Standing Glass Fish, Flying Fish, Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, Minneapolis, Minnesota, January 2008, photos © 2008-2009 by Liz & QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
In dire circumstances, when money is tight or family tensions rise, grandmothers often step up and help raise their children’s children. Nikki Giovanni was born in Knoxville, Tennessee in 1943 and, though she moved to Cincinnati as a child, she returned in 1958 to spend her summers in Knoxville with her grandparents, John and Louvenia Watson. With explosive tensions between her parents difficult for Giovanni to handle, she chose to live in Knoxville for a time and attended Austin High School where her grandfather taught Latin.
It’s at this time that her grandmother’s influence profoundly shapes her life. According to her biography:
Her grandmother, who is involved in numerous charitable and political endeavors, becomes an increasingly important influence on her (Giovanni), teaching her the importance of helping others and of fighting injustice. When a demonstration is planned to protest segregated dining facilities at downtown Rich’s department store, her grandmother Louvenia cheerfully volunteers her granddaughter Nikki. In high school, Giovanni has two influential teachers: her French teacher, Mrs. Emma Stokes, and her English teacher, Miss Alfredda Delaney.
Her grandparents’ home stood at 400 Mulvaney Street in a neighborhood that’s long since been demolished, a casualty of urban renewal. In 1964, Giovanni’s grandmother Louvenia must move from her home at 400 Mulvaney Street; Nikki’s biography recalls the impact: Although her new house on Linden Avenue is nice, it lacks the accumulated memories of the home on Mulvaney, which Giovanni has also come to regard as her own home.
Nikki Giovanni often mentioned her grandmother when we saw her at the Fitzgerald Theater in January. She had returned to Knoxville on April 29th, 2008 when Mayor Haslam unveiled of a historical marker honoring Giovanni and the old neighborhood where her grandmother lived. It is now Hall of Fame Drive across the street from the Cal Johnson Recreation Center. It was on that childhood ground that Nikki Giovanni stood and recited her poem, “Tennessee By Birth.”
Elise & Her Children, Augusta, Georgia, circa mid-1940’s, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
My maternal grandmother (lead photograph) is standing on the dirt of what used to be Washington Road in Augusta, Georgia. Her neighborhood, too, has been long gone, sacrificed to the growth of suburbs and cities. She was a hairdresser in her 30’s when I was born. My father was “allergic” to work and could not (or would not) support our family. My mother left him at 18, a few years after their marriage, and went to work. During that time, I stayed at my grandmother’s home. When I was a child, we were always close.
I remember the smell of her talcum powder, the imprint mark she would leave when she dabbed her lips after putting on her lipstick, the sound of her laughter in the evenings, her snoring at night.
* * * * *
When you say the words “my grandmother,” who comes to mind? (Most of us have at least two.) Who was your grandmother? Was she the matriarch, a dowager, estranged from the family? What was her name? Did you call her Grandmother, Granny, Grandma, or Grandmama. Did she spoil you, was she strict, how often did you see her, what kind of house did she live in? Does she ever sneak into your dreams?
Get out a fast writing pen and write the words “My Grandmother.” If you have any family photographs of your grandmother, it’s fun to pull them from the archives. Then set your timer for a 15 minute Writing Practice and Go!
For Della Elise, I Miss You, Augusta, Georgia, circa mid-1950’s, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Resources:
- Standing Glass Fish, Working Model for Standing Glass Fish by Frank Gehry — at the Walker Art Center
- Nikki Giovanni Biography & Timeline — at the author’s website
- Nikki Giovanni Historical Marker – April 29th, 2008 — City of Knoxville, Tennessee honors Giovanni at the former home of her grandparents
- Nikki reads her poem “Tennessee By Birth” — at the City of Knoxville, Tennessee historical marker in her honor, April 29th, 2008
-posted on red Ravine, Thursday, March 19th, 2009
-related to posts: Art & Architecture – 2 Reasons, WRITING TOPIC — MEMORIES OF CARS, The Dying Art Of Letter Writing (Postcards From The Edge), You Can’t Go Back, Nikki Giovanni – Hope at V-Tech
I loved my grandmother so very much. We lost her three years ago and she has surfaced in countless poems. She’s tied up with so many of my childhood memories. Great prompt……..
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Thanks, Jo. I’ve had a flood of memories about my grandmother while working on this post. She’s one of my staunchest supporters, even in Spirit. Between her and my mother, I have a strong place to stand.
I miss her, too. And there are many days when I wish I could sit down with her and ask her all my questions about her past. Or sit down with she and my mother and just hang out, rocking on the porch. Lots of energy there.
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QM, this was obviously a very loving post. My maternal grandmother passed when I was only 4 years old, but I have very many memories of her. My paternal grandmother passed 20 years ago. I’ve already written my practice on her well over a year ago. I think I’ve mentioned her on many comments in the past. I loved her so much & she helped shape many of my interests that I carry on to this day. She loved cooking for the family, gardening, bird watching, fishing, hunting, & writing poetry, & so much more. I remember that she always smelled of light perfume & powder. Though she was slightly overweight there was something very Katherine Hepburn about her.
She was deeply religious & I was the one grandchild that shared many of her interests. She & I would spend hours tending to her gardens. Her favorite song was the hymn “I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses…” We sang it together every time. I could go on & on about her, but this has been a long comment.
How wonderful to see the photos of Elise. I know that you still share her spirit. I feel the same about Grandma Elizabeth.
Truly touching, QM. D
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diddy, I think you had an amazing grandmother. Your stories about her are rich. And anytime you leave comments about her, I want to know more. I like these particular photos of Elise. She was often smiling the smiles in these photos, too. I wish she had lived longer so I could have known her better as an adult. I was much closer to her when I was a child. Yet my connection to her was still very strong. After I moved to Montana, the distance between me and family in general widened for about 10 years. She died right about the end of that 10 year period, right before I moved to Minnesota. I cried and cried and cried. I hope she knew how much I loved her, even though I did not see her much in those last years.
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Wonderful photos, QM, and a great tie-in to Gehry’s fish sculpture. Now we get to see it up close.
It seems like your grandmother took care of herself. She was an attractive woman, and even in the photo of her in 1958, where her hair is graying, she has a broad smile and open face. Also, she is nicely attired, black suit dress and black pin hat; I imagine she got out of a car for that photo, perhaps on her way to some function. It makes me wonder why they stopped there to snap the shot. And it’s interesting to see the photo of the person taking the shot, how much broader he (I am guessing) is than she. And did you notice the water tower in the background? It looks like a silver globe; at first I thought it was a hot air balloon or a saucer.
I recently came across my favorite photo of my grandma. She is beautiful in the photo, so carefree. I have often wondered who snapped the shot, was it my grandfather? They fought so much in their older age, grandma complained incessantly about him. So I am curious about the love in her eyes for the person she’s looking at, the admiration.
I’ll scan it and post it in the coming days. The timing is perfect. I almost did so last Friday, but then ran out of time.
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QM, I shared this post with J tonight & because he was born in 1958, he doesn’t remember seeing her this way.
Yes, my Grandma was an amazing woman! She loved costume pins & usually wore dresses, however she was equally comfortable in mens Woolrich pants & jackets. The only thing we didn’t share was her love of hunting.
She told my Mom once that she didn’t want to choose favorites, but that I was her favorite grandchild. I miss her so much!
These were the first photos I have ever seen of Elise, though I remember on our trip to GA of putting Mums on her grave. D
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Oh gosh, even now I can’t remember when my own maternal grandmother passed away. I think it was in 2000. So many years have passed since then, and my heart has moved on so much from all the pain from the past. And it’s a good thing too, because I was so depressed back then. I once had a dream in which I was a golden phoenix/eagle soaring over mountains and valleys with the angelic spirits of my grandmother and younger sister next to me, both of whom passed away in different years. But ever since then, my heart has healed so much than now, I can dwell mostly on good memories.
This is such a wonderful post. I love the various examples of how artists and architects are greatly influenced by their grandmothers. When “grandmother” is mentioned, I think of my maternal grandmother who had been with me and my family since we were kids. I could write all the wonderful things about her as well, but for now, I’ve written a senryu as a tribute to her.
blackened toothy grin
ba ngoai laughs and swallows
watermelon with rice
[*Note: “Ba ngoai” is Vietnamese for maternal grandmother.]
I could have placed this senryu in the main Haiku Challenge post, but that’s okay, I’ll leave it here as it holds much value to me. I know there is a cultural significance for girls to blacken their teeth, but I don’t know what exactly. So if anybody finds information to enlighten me on that, I’d greatly appreciate it. Second, I’d always remember her laughs because she knew that even though we’re not that fluent in Vietnamese, she would still try to communicate with us, grandkids, with our very fragmented Vietnamese. However, I’ve gotten better with my Vietnamese over the years… Third, she would eat watermelon with rice. My mother cannot even do that, but maybe it’s like grandmother, like granddaughter because I happened to like the taste of watermelon with rice!! 😛
I still miss Ba Ngoai, but I know that she’s in a lovely place now, watching over all of us.
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Really lovely story slowWalker. Got me thinking. It’s funny, but when people ask the famous question: “Who in the world, either living or dead, would you most like to meet?… My answer has never altered…My Grandmother, the Mother of my Father. She (I am told) was the sweetest little thing God ever put on earth. She raised a wonderful, generous man, so I’m inclined to believe it. 😉
She was a painter and years ago, someone that lived next door to her and my Grandfather, called up out of the blue to tell us they were getting on in years and wanted to return a painting of hers…back into my family. It now proudly hangs over my bed. The frame was made by my Grandfather, from a special wood sent over from the Phillipines, when My Father was there in WWII. It depicts the crashing waves of Laguna Beach and no one, not even my Father, knew it existed.
I did know my Mother’s Mother. I was sent to her home on and off when my Mother was really ill. I remember she let me play with her ‘pop beads”. They were those pearl looking necklaces that came apart and went back together with a “pop”. I remember her keeping me quiet with pointy, cone shaped colorful suckers. She made doilies that covered the arms of her furniture and she grew the most beautiful violets Huh…funny the things you remember.
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snake crown on head
ba ngoai peels the velvet skin
peppered hair in khan dong
To read more about “khan dong” here:
http://www.cityofseattle.net/helpinglink/StudentWeb/webproject/html/fashion.htm
It’s a North Vietnamese hairstyle that always fascinates me because I loved watching my maternal grandmother combing her long peppered hair when I was a kid. I was just amazed by how long her hair was!! It was as if I was a rabbit and she was a lovely snake just molting her skin (i.e. unwrapping her hair from the khan dong), then revealing her hair. But of course, she wasn’t a snake, but that’s how I thought her hair looked when she uncoiled the khan dong from her head (when I was a kid).
Anyway, I really love this post! It’s taking me a trip down memory lane. 8)
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My maternal grandmother just died this past January. She had a good life…better than most. She was 101. She was great! I was thinking about her today and how important she was for me. I am who I am because of her. Crazy! She lived 1200 miles away but she had a huge influence (in a good way) on all of us.
I said my goodbyes to her last August. I knew it was the last time I would see her. I was kind of sad driving up to Albuquerque. I took my time enjoying the drive, the desert mountains and smell, and the cool night air.
She is missed.
http://mimbresman.blogspot.com/2009/01/grandmother-had-class.html
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A~Lotus, wonderful details about your grandmother. I really love when you write about Vietnamese culture, too. I always learn so much. I didn’t know about the blackened teeth. I did check out the link you provided and read about the khan dong. It did mention the teeth on that page, too, but only in the context of when Vietnam became a French colony in 1884 and the fashion trend changed to dying the teeth white and wearing some traditional clothes that were altered and considered by some to be racy for the times. {Ao Dai Cat Tuong (Cat Tuong-styled Ao Dai) (LINK)} It would be interesting to know where the tradition of blackened teeth originated. I hold a high interest in cultural traditions. They become such an important part of the structure of a society, part of the glue that ties us to the past.
Your flying dream with your grandmother and younger sister next to you sounds uplifting and freeing. My grandmothers have often made their way into my dreams. And they often come to boost me up when I’m not doing well or my confidence is sliding. I often feel them there. One of my paternal grandmothers, Ada, came to me when she died in Tennessee. I was living in Minnesota and had not seen her in years. She appeared to me near the bed and I remember looking up in a kind of half asleep, half awake state. She said she came to say Good-bye. I called Mom the next day and she had passed away. I did not know yet but through the dream. We lived in TN for a while when I was younger and I felt very close to her at that time.
Ah, Grandmothers hold amazing memories, even if we didn’t spend a lot of time around them as adults. There are those pockets of memories that are so rich.
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ybonesy, one thing about the Gehry sculpture is that it’s hard to see the scale of it from these photos (though you sure can see the scales!) 8) There is another photo Liz took of me standing not far from it and you can see how massive it is. But of course, I only released that to family. You have to crane your neck to see the top of the fish. And all the windows in the Cowles Conservatory, along with the glass of the fish, really make you think about materials in sculpture. There is something kind of heavy about glass and also something light since it tends to be transparent.
I like your questions about who is taking the photograph. And now I wonder who really was taking the one at the top of the post. Was it a friend, my grandfather (though I’m not sure they were still together at that time). And I didn’t even notice the water tower until you pointed it out. I love that about old photographs. When you scan them, you can set the size so when you blow them up, you see details you’d never pick up in the original photograph.
Elise did take good care of herself. She always looked pretty to me. She did gain weight more toward the end of her life and that seems to be a trend with me as well. Something I’ve had to work at my whole life. Elise also came from a very poor family and worked hard to better herself over her lifetime. She was an inspiration that way. Sometimes I think older generations must look at the over-the-top lifestyles of some families today and wonder how we got from there to here. Many grandmothers have seen a lot of life.
Interesting about your grandmother and grandfather fighting. And that you remember that. I remember a few fights between my grandmother and one of her husbands, too. They were always fighting. I seem to recall a flying frying pan entering the picture at some point. But overall, she was a kind woman, giving, and was often smiling. Yes, do post the photo of your grandmother. It will be wonderful to see.
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mimbresman, that photograph of your grandmother is so sweet. She looks like a very sweet woman. And she lived over a century. Wow, good genes in your family. Your drive sounds sad, yet healing. When Elise died, I was in Montana. And the day I heard the news, I took a long drive down the Bitterroot Valley, Missoula to Hamilton, cried and thought about all my memories of her. You are right, even though we are far away, the influence is still strong. I feel that way about my mother, too. I haven’t lived close to family since my early 20’s. Yet the pull with some is strong.
Heather, the story about your Grandmother’s painting of Laguna showing up and how the frame was made by your Grandfather is just so touching. And what a tribute that it now hangs in your home. I bet they would both be proud. It sounds like your maternal and paternal grandmothers were very different people. My blood father’s mother passed away over the last 5 years or so. I had not seen her since I was about 2 years old. And when I finally reconnected with that side of the family two summers ago when Mom and I visited, I was told she never forgot me and loved me very much. That was the grandmother that taught Mom to make her Southern Scratch Biscuits (LINK); her name was Estelle. I really like saying the names of my grandmothers.
Hey, I do remember those pop beads. 8) I remember my grandmother loved azaleas. They grow well in the southern climate of Georgia. She loved flowers and I remember both her and my mother in their flower beds when they were younger. They both have green thumbs.
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diddy, so glad you showed the photographs to J. Now that you say that, 1958 — Yes, J. was born that year; I would have been 4 years old. And so J. and I would have lived in Tennessee at the time this photograph was taken. Wasn’t he born in TN? He was such a cute baby. 8)
I like the hill in the cemetery where Elise is buried. It’s peaceful there. And there is a lot of open space. It just has a good feel to it. Mom and I visit many of the cemeteries when we go Down South. You learn many things from family when you visit cemeteries with them. Lots of memories jogged.
Yes, it’s true that J. probably wouldn’t remember Elise this way. He was still pretty young when we moved to Pennsylvania, too. Does he remember when Elise lived with us in PA for a time in the mid-60’s? J.’s namesake is in one of these photographs, too. The continuity of names.
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Some beautiful comments here about memories of grandmothers. A~Lotus, your grandmother’s hair sounds amazing. I’m looking forward to reading about the khan dong.
Also, regarding blackened teeth, although I know nothing about that tradition, I’m wondering if it is something married women did to make them less attractive to other men. At least, that was the question that immediately popped up when I read about the blackened teeth. I can ask my Vietnamese work colleagues if they know anything about it and report back when and if I find out.
MM, I’m glad you posted the piece about your grandmother. You’ve had some influential older women in your life die recently. I’m thinking of your teacher, too, and the piece you wrote about finding out that she had died, coming across her obituary. I know your grandmother was influential, as you have spoken of her, always fondly and admiringly, for so many years.
QM, it is hard not to forget my grandparents fighting. They did it in front of us. She died in 1986, I think; I was 25. Our family spent most Christmas and Easter holidays with her (or her and Grandpa with us when they got older), plus I spent a few summers with them as a middle-school-aged child. As an adult I visited her fairly often, would drive up from Santa Fe, where I was working, and spend a weekend with her now and again.
My mom has many stories, too, of my grandparents’ epic fights. But the thing was, if you ever commiserated with her and said a bad word about Grandpa, she’d defend him to the nth degree. She could gripe about him but we were never allowed to join her, not that we would, except to get her goat.
None of us knew my dad’s mother, except what he’s written about her and the photos we have of her. He admired her so much. I love that about him. How a man views women—just listen to what he says about his mother. My dad’s mother seemed to be a strong woman, politically active, intelligent and a leader in her community. She died when he was young, and I know her from the stories I hear every year when he and I go clean her grave.
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QM, yes J remembers when Elise came to PA in the 60’s, so his memories are later than yours would be, but he loved seeing the photos.
You talk about the night you had the dream. I wonder if it was a dream. I’ve had 2 similar experiences in the past when I was younger. One night asleep in bed I swear I was awake, but couldn’t move. I had a short out of body experience where I sat up & my Grandfather was speaking to me. He had died more than a year before & I inherited his Chevy Impala. He warned me that the car had a mind of it’s own. Only days later the transmission went out. The second experience was again in sleep, I was facing surgery in just a few days. Someone touched my knee & told me not not to worry & that I would be fine. It was my grandma Elizabeth. I felt at peace, though it shocked me at the time. She had been gone for 3 years.
Alotus writing about her grandmothers hair reminded me that mine also had very long hair & when I stayed there overnight she would sit at her vanity & allow me to brush it.
100 strokes. Other than at bedtime, she wore her hair up in a bun style.
I’ve enjoyed reading everyones comments on their grandmothers. D
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Really great shots in this post, QM. Your grandma Elise was a real looker.
I weigh in on the down-side of grandmothers. I don’t mean to be a wet blanket amongst all these fabulous grandma stories; I just didn’t luck out in this category.
My maternal grandmother died 12 years before I was born. She married young, and had seven children in rapid succession during The Depression. Her husband made next to nothing and she hated her life. From the stories I’ve heard about her rash behavior, I think she was mentally ill. I never met her, never wanted to meet her, and have had this weird sense of her unhappiness following me.
My paternal grandma died when I was 7, and I didn’t mind one bit. She was the ruling matriarch of a huge family: a powerful, strict, belittling woman. I didn’t like being around her, there was always so much I was doing that she disapproved of. Like eating candy, kicking balls, and wearing shirts that may have had a button missing. Like my maternal grandma, her domineering presence didn’t leave the family when she died. Her favorites lived in the glory of being “the most important” for years.
So why bring this up? We start with what we’ve been given, and hopefully learn to accept life on life’s term. I got a mom who is generous, warm, thoughtful, and loving.
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My paternal grandmother was great too. She had a totally different personality. She died about 15 or 20 years ago. She was a true Cajun. She did not speak English until she enrolled in school when she was 7. Her great-great-great grandfather (maybe I am missing a great or have one too many in there) was an immigrant from France in the 1820’s (if I remember right). He settled in Louisiana, probably because of the language, and maybe already had family there.
Anyway, my Momo was funny. She was a worrier. She worried about everything. It is probably where I get my uneasiness and anxiety from. She was an excellent cook. Her and my grandfather were a real team in the kitchen. Together they made Cajun cuisine that was out of this world! They were quite a pair. (lately I feel my Cajun cooking gene is finally kicking in…I like cooking).
I always admire how she died. She died happy and peacefully in her sleep in her early 90’s one Wednesday night. Why do I say happy? Wednesday was her bowling night. She loved bowling. She had bowled 2 or 3 lines that night, went home to sleep and never woke up. She was a funny woman.
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Great post, QM, and the photos tell so much about the woman.
My maternal grandmother was a short, round woman barely five feet tall. Her husband was skinny as a rail and about 6’2″ tall. They looked like a ball and a bat when they stood next to each other. I never liked her that much because she didn’t like the grandkids messing in her things and everything in the house fell into that category. We played outside a lot.
My paternal grandmother was my favorite, probably the only person in my life who loved me unconditionally. She had silver hair that fell past her waste when she unwrapped it from around her head. I saw her getting ready for bed one night and watched as she brushed her hair. How she braided it and wrapped it around her head without looking like she had a rope wrapped in coils on top of her head I will never know.
When she comes to me in dreams, it’s because I need her to visit. She appears. We talk and then she leaves and I cry myself awake.
I never knew any of the three of my grandfathers. My mother’s father died the February before I was born in May. He is the only one who almost made it to my birth.
My maternal grandmother died when I was 9 years old and my paternal grandmother died in 1975 at the age of 92. I called her Grandma.
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@QM: Thank you for sharing the dream about your grandmother. That is amazing how powerful dreams can be! One of my cousins told my family about a dream she had when my younger sister passed away. My younger sister visited my cousin in her dreams! Interesting how life is connected in the strangest ways. I am always fascinated with dreams.
@QM and Yb: Thank you both! If you do happen to find anything about the blackened teeth, let me know! I happen to stumble upon it when I read this Chinese fiction novel. It said something about girls dying their teeth because it was a fashion, cultural thing, which is supposed to make them MORE attractive to men (ironically). However, this was a fictional novel, so I’m not sure if that is true. But, I do know that the Vietnamese culture is very similar to the Chinese, so maybe?? Anyway, I am really curious, because my maternal grandmother was from North Vietnam before she traveled down South.
I’m having a wonderful time reading through everyone’s memories of their grandmothers. In some ways, they are very similar!
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From the results I got when I googled “Why do Vietnamese women dye their teeth black?”, it started as a sort of religious thing. Only savages, demons, and other bad things had white teeth so people dyed their teeth black. The added benefit of the process was that the dying process prevented tooth decay and allowed people to keep their teeth for a long time. Men stopped doing it, but the women continued.
The Chinese tried to make the Vietnamese people stop dying their teeth, but the women continued to do so. Poets wrote love poetry about the beauty of a “blacker than jet” smile of a woman.
The process died out among the young, but one of the posts told the story of a young Buddhist nun who had blackened her teeth as another way of renouncing the worldly ways.
Very interesting information out there in cyberspace.
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ybonesy, that’s an interesting point about marriages where people fight a lot, yet defend the partner if anyone else tries to criticize them. I wonder if those are the kinds of marriages where bickering is the glue that keeps them together? You often hear of that, but it’s not the kind of relationship I would choose to stay in for very long!
diddy, yes I thought J. would remember her from the 60’s. Glad he liked seeing the photos. There aren’t many photos of Elise’s side of the family, at least when she was younger. I think they may have been too poor to have had a camera. Just a guess. Quite different on Granddaddy’s side. Lots of photographs and 8mm film documenting the family that go way back.
Great dream remembrances, diddy, about both your grandfather and grandmother.
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Sinclair, thanks for sharing about your grandmothers, memories that are not too pleasant. I’m really glad you wrote about these two women in your life because I was thinking about the Writing Topic and realizing that some would not have fond memories of their grandmothers.
It sounds like yours were very strict, critical, and domineering. If you have other siblings, do you think they would see them the same way? I ask that question because sometimes when there is a range of years between siblings, the older sibs see relatives differently than the younger sibs, and vice versa. Sometimes it’s like the oldest child has lived a completely different life than the youngest, even though they are from the same family. It’s kind of like that in my family.
I also think people change over time. My theory on aging is that some become more bitter and unhappy, while others accept age gracefully and mellow out, accepting that they may have lived a good life, even with all its flaws and hardships.
Another question I have…do you have any theories about why your grandmothers turned out the way they did? I wonder what their parents were like. And how do your own parents see these women.
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Sinclair, I talked to my mom yesterday about her grandmothers. My mom said that both her grandmothers were kind of mean to her and her siblings. My grandfather’s mother didn’t like the woman he married (my grandmother) because she already had two kids and had been married once before. And then my grandmother’s mother didn’t like my grandfather because he was a cowboy. So Mom didn’t have good memories of her grandmothers either. But she still has great stories about them, which I love to hear. And she seems to really enjoy talking about the past.
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QM,
Your observation about different family members seeing people/relationships within the clan differently is so true. I feel very strongly about how things operated in my family of origin; my oldest sister sees it all quite differently.
I think sheer poverty and exhaustion pushed my maternal grandmother over the edge. In those days, women didn’t get to limit their baby output–it was assumed you’d have a small army around your feet by the time you were 32. She died when she was 47–sort of went up in a mighty blaze. My paternal grandmother came from a fanatically strict religious home. When she married my grandfather they experienced great financial abundance while the rest of the county was crumbling during The Great Depression. She was fond of saying, “We didn’t even know the Depression was going on, and we were the first family in the county to get electricity!” Religion and money conspired to turn her into a smug, judgmental ruler. She died in November, and I remember standing around her snowy grave with mixed feelings.
Both of my parents refer to their less-than-stellar mom as “Mother.” Not Mom.
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I’ve been trying to get back to this post all week. I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandmothers since posting it. And reading all these memories from others adds a richness, different angles to my own thoughts and feelings.
mimbresman, I love how you ended your last comment about your paternal grandmother dying happy. How it was her bowling night, she bowled a few lines, went home and never woke up. That’s the kind of insight that makes memoir come alive.
Bob, it’s interesting to look at “favorites” in families. Even though parents and grandparents hardly ever own to having faves, it inevitably comes up in family conversations. You say your paternal grandmother was probably the only person in your life who loved you unconditionally. I think being able to give a child that feeling of love is a gift.
I bet if you asked enough people to search their memories, you’d find that each of them had one person in their lives they felt that way about. Someone who believed in them no matter what. At least that would be my hope for the children of this world.
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A~Lotus, thanks for sharing the dream about your younger sister visiting your cousin. So sad for your loss though. But how wonderful that she was able to communicate that way with your cousin. And now it makes me wonder what happened to her.
Oh, Bob, thanks for sharing your research about the blackened teeth. Interesting about the beings associated with white teeth. And about the Buddhist nun adopting the practice of blackened teeth again as a way to make a statement.
ybonesy, I’ve been thinking more about your comment about how your mother still enjoys telling her stories about the grandmothers she didn’t necessarily like. And it reminded me that my paternal great grandmother (called BahBah by the family) was generally seen as a “mean” woman by my aunts when I was growing up. She lived down the street from them and they would have to take turns staying overnight with her on weekends. I think they were kind of scared of her.
She didn’t like my maternal grandmother (the one in these photographs) mostly because she came from the poorer side of town and she didn’t think she was good enough for my grandfather. BahBah said some nasty things about my grandmother. She’s got this reputation in the family history — yet the stories around her have energy and bite. And I always wonder, how did she turn out so bitter and mean? What caused that turn or was she always that way. My great grandfather, her husband, was an alcoholic, too. And I know there is more to the story than just what meets the eye.
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diddy, I just reread one of your comments about the out of body experience with your grandfather and now I wonder if it was a dream I had when my Grandmother Ada died, too. Or was I actually awake or in a lucid dream-state. It did seem so real, so vivid.
Sinclair, your maternal grandmother died really young — I think of how young 47 seems to me now. About how you portray her spirit as being broken. It’s also interesting about the financial abundance your paternal grandmother experienced during the Depression. How it may have shaped her views of being somewhat smug and above others. Still, she was human. And I wonder where her pain resided. BTW, your comment about standing at her funeral has me intriqued. I bet that would make a good Writing Practice.
diddy, I was also thinking of how you and J. are now grandparents at a pretty young age. And how your lives are being absorbed by your grandson each time he visits. It’s always amazing, the continuity of generations of children that come after our own grandparents. And how someday, he’ll be telling what he remembers about the two of you. Maybe even write his own book. You just never know! 8)
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QM, I mentioned in Bob’s post that we were at Mom’s yesterday. I had picked something up for her last Friday & wanted to drop it off. We had to go past her home on our way to get a load of firewood from P.. M was also home, so he went to help J load the truck. I stayed to visit with Mom & she put on a fresh pot of coffee. We began talking about this post & she went to get boxes & files of old photos. We started with some of the family after you all moved to PA. Even though you were all very young it was easy for me to pick who was who. We then moved on to photos in GA & a lot of the older photos. I can’t tell you how enjoyable it was! I really didn’t want to leave when J returned for me. We will have to finish the rest another day. Mom has so much to offer & I got to see the inside of Aunt Cassie’s home for the first time.
You know, I think Bob is right that some memories become filtered. I am always amazed by how my own family has different views of relatives. D
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diddy, I love that you got to share those moments with Mom yesterday over a pot of coffee. She comes alive when we talk about the family history. And she knows so much detail and so many of the family stories. It reminds me of all the times that family have come together in that same kitchen to talk and share stories about the family. It’s a reminder of how important it is to stop and capture these moments before our mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, aren’t with us any longer.
I’ve been looking at a lot of old photographs, too. And I’m gearing up to start putting a master copy of the family tree together on my laptop with all the changes and details that Mom and I have found over the last few years. I eventually want to add the photographs into the software, too. I really enjoy pulling it all together. But it takes a lot of time! Hopefully, when I get this master copy done, then when Mom and I go back down to research again, we can just type all the changes right into the electronic version. Because she sure has a mountain of research and papers from her years of research. It’s amazing!
Aunt Cassie had the most amazing house [more at Cassie’s Porch — Then & Now (LINK)]. And if you go back to the original photographs of it (and what I pull from memories, things like the photograph of Robert E. Lee that hung in the foyer) you can really start to round out the picture of what it was like to live at that time. There is a lot of history written about that side of the family, too. I was just looking at some of Mom’s research last weekend. Amazing details. And you are right — I am always amazed at Mom’s version of people and the past compared to my own. I was a young girl, she a young adult. And the great thing is that it’s all true — based on our own memories, through our own filters.
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[…] Later Grandma gave me a wool blanket that Grandpa had brought her from Mexico. I was in my 20s. I wonder if she remembered the time we wanted to take her with us in bits and pieces thinking we could hold on to her forever. -related to Topic post: WRITING TOPIC — GRANDMOTHERS […]
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[…] related to Topic post: WRITING TOPIC — GRANDMOTHERS […]
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[…] -related to posts PRACTICE: My Grandmother – 15min and WRITING TOPIC — GRANDMOTHERS […]
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Notes from Anne Elise (aka “Nan”)
I haven’t looked at Red Ravine for some time, but I was going to make contact TODAY, as I am making plans to travel to NM in July. I was astonished to find the blog and the subject of grandmothers at the top of my in-mail!!! Not only is my grandmother also an Elise (as was my mother and as is my own name), but I spent the first part of the morning planning to care for my two granddaughters (10 and 12) this summer. I spent most of my summers with my Granny Elise in Naples, NY, and now it is my turn. I left a full-time job last year and have since discovered that my calling at this point in my life is to be a grandmother, keeper (and creator) of family memories/traditions and caretaker of cherished family possessions. If I don’t tend to the boxes of photos, linens, wedding and christening gowns, clocks, china, silver, etc., their histories will be gone. These things will have no meaning to future generations if I don’t record the context from which they came — at least the part I know. My grandfather was a professional gardener, and when he became and ill and then died, Granny cared for their large personal garden. My job was to weed, cut back spent blossoms, and fix lunch while Granny worked. My life has been inspired by her care of gardens. I tend a large garden surrounding St. Benedict’s Church and another in the lot adjoining our multi-generational city home.
Having just returned from a memorial service for a dear friend and long-time resident of Knoxville, TN, the posts about Nikki Giovanni’s background there were one more bit of serendipity!
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It’s great to hear from you, Anne, and to see that you’ve settled into this important role in your family. I love the description of how your roles was to weed, cut back blossoms and make your grandmother’s lunch. And that she passed on this skill and legacy of gardening, memory-making, historian to you.
Can’t wait to see you all this summer.
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Anne Elise (aka Nan), how great to hear from you. And those are some amazing synchronicities. I love the name Elise and you don’t meet all that many of them, so it’s great to know of another (actually 3 more!) who share that name with my grandmother. 8) You sound like you are the archivist in your family, the one who will record the memories connected to those treasured family objects, memories, traditions. Your life sounds wonderfully full.
Can’t believe you just got back from Knoxville, too. I think I may have been there once when I was younger, but not as an adult. We did live in Tennessee for a time. So you are going back to New Mexico in July? Is it writing related or for just the pleasure of it? There is great inspiration in gardens and gardening. We have a few tiny gardens at our home in Minnesota but I’ve got the fever this last week as the temps climb into the 60’s. We’d also like to put in a rain garden this year. We have big plans! Thanks again for stopping by.
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I wanted to come back and add a comment here — when I was researching author Gabriel García Márquez to add the link in the interview with Lisa Loeb (LINK), I discovered that he, too, was inspired by his grandmother. So I wanted to add his thoughts on that here. His grandmother’s name was Tranquilina Iguarán Cotes.
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And then it happened: his epiphany. On January 1965 he and his family were driving to Acapulco for a vacation, when inspiration suddenly struck him: he had found his tone. For the first time in twenty years, a stroke of lightning clearly revealed the voice of Macondo.
He would later write:
And later, regarding that illumination:
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Thanks for sharing that, QM. It’s such a great find. Isn’t it amazing how finding his grandmother’s voice turned the story into something he could believe?
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[…] What traditional recipes will you be sharing this Thanksgiving week? Are there any that have been passed down by your grandmother? Bob mentioned he’s making Aunt Annie’s Scalloped Oysters. ybonesy’s family always […]
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[…] on red Ravine, Winter Solstice, Monday, December 21st, 2009. Happy Birthday Grandmama Della Elise. You walked through the circle with us last […]
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[…] you look closely, you might spot me there in Tennessee, in a half circle with my paternal grandparents, Ada and Jess, smirking behind that 70′s smile. Back in Minnesota, it’s a lot colder, and […]
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[…] time came, she was ready to die. We were visiting the South, walking down the cemetery hill from my grandmother’s grave in Georgia. I burst out crying; she hugged me and held me close. I thought the tears inside […]
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Missing my grandmother today (the woman in the photograph at the top of this post) who was born December 21st, 1919. A Solstice baby, she would be in her 90s today. She died January 9th, 1984. Thinking of you today, Della Elise!
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[…] snake plant in the lead photograph was given to my mother Amelia Ernestine by my grandmother Della Elise in 1966 when our family moved from Georgia to Pennsylvania. When my mom died in April 2021, my […]
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[…] Writing Practice on the WRITING TOPIC — GRANDMOTHERS, Friday, January 19th, […]
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