Grandmother, Part II

Grandmother at my wedding

     Grandmother did spoil us! She looked forward to Easter, in particular. I don't know why Easter was her favorite holiday, but it was. She always boiled and colored eggs for an Easter egg hunt at her house. I remember that she only dyed them yellow, pink, and blue. Her yard was made for an egg hunt! There were all kinds of shrubs and bushes. There was that Royal Poinciana tree, with its big roots and nooks and crannies. Daddy would always hide eggs in the hollow pipes that held her clothesline. Even though the egg hunts were usually just Billy and I, we still had the best time. Usually, Grandmother would have extra baskets with candy for us, and Uncle Son would give us whatever Easter baskets the Foremost Dairy had that year. And, yes, they would hide real boiled eggs in the hot Miami sun. We'd eat them for days and never once got sick.
     However, I never understood the depth of her love for us until I became a grandmother myself. It is fun to be able to spoil your grandchildren--not to have to worry about disciplining them or caring for them on a daily basis. They come to visit; you spoil them and have fun; they go home for their parents to do the hard work. Grandmother loved us enough to surrender the fun of being a grandma and accept the serious responsibility of becoming our "mother."
    When Mommy died, Grandmother came to live with us and take care of us, and Daddy. She took a break from her job; she moved from her little house and her belongings to take care of us. She gave up the life she had made for herself--her friends, her fun, her freedom. At first, she was there for about ten months. The summer after Mommy died, she and my sister moved back to her house, while my brother and I stayed with Granny. Once summer was over, Daddy decided to let me do the cooking and cleaning. Each week day, my sister stayed with a neighbor until he got home from work.  This was such a difficult time for me. For all of us. I was barely 14 and did not know much about cooking and cleaning. Grandmother came to our rescue again. She insisted that she come back and take care of us. This time, though, she sold her house so that the move was permanent. Grandmother gave up everything.
    She was no longer the grandma who spoiled us. She chose to take care of us. To cook. To clean. To discipline, when necessary. To comfort. For me, especially, she often ran interference between Daddy and me when she thought he was being unfair. Grandmother changed so much. I remember how she was so meticulous in her appearance, wearing high-heel shoes and just the right accessories. Now, instead, she wore cotton house dresses and slippers. She didn't have her hair done every week. Going to church or the doctor was just about the only reason she'd dress up. There was no way to understand just how much she gave up for us until I became a grandmother. I never argued with her, until she lived with us. The fights a teenage girl would have with her mom? I had those fights with Grandmother. She was the one who nagged me about cleaning my room or washing my clothes. And Grandmother could have never imagined that Daddy would die only five years after she moved in, leaving her as our sole parent.
    She still had one way to spoil us--with her delicious food. That never changed. When I dieted, she would make up special lunches and dinners for me. When my friends came over, she'd be sure there was tea and a little something to snack on. Honestly, I think her Sunday fried chicken helped woo my husband! In him, she found a new person to spoil
    I also have good memories of Saturday nights watching "The Lawrence Welk Show" and teasing her about her crush on Tom Netherton. She laughed at "The Jeffersons" and "All in the Family." She was obsessed with "Dallas." Uncle Son believed that, as much as she liked her shows, she enjoyed "peeping" on the neighbors more. Poor Grandmother. She couldn't look out of the front window without his accusing her of peeping.  Of course, she did get to see Mike Enterline's angry girlfriend drive her Jeep right into his house. Peeping did pay off!  We'd play 500 Rummy, and she was a card shark. Grandmother could be surprising. One night I was playing Don McLean's American Pie album. An old-timey, blue-grassy song came on. To our surprise, Grandmother lifted up her house dress, just a little bit, and started clogging away in the kitchen.
    After all she had given me, I was able to give her the one thing she wanted most--someone to spoil. When my son was born, her great-grandson, she was able to be just a grandmother again. She loved Michael with all her heart. He WAS her boy. She made his favorites for him--macaroni and cheese, cut-up hot dogs, and, of course, cornbread. It was sad that we lived hours away, but she was excited every time we brought him down. The year before Grandmother died, Michael and I came down and spent Easter with her and my sister. Grandmother was so happy to have Michael there for the whole week. I'm glad I was able to let her be just "Grandmother" for him. Michael was young when she passed, but he remembers her. She would be so happy to know that.

Michael and Grandmother, Easter 1985

    When I think of Grandmother, I think of her at the end of a long day, when she was relaxing. She'd be sitting at the corner of the couch. Her legs would be crossed. No lights on. She'd have a little glass of water with a straw on the table next to her. In her right hand, she'd have a cigarette. In her other hand, she'd be holding a clean Vienna sausage can for her ash tray. Quiet. No TV.  She'd just be thinking and smoking. Smoking and thinking.Until her death, she was always grieving for Daddy, her only and beloved son. I imagine those quiet evenings where the only times she could just sit and remember those who had left her behind. Her parents. Her husband. Her son. 

Grandmother Part I

     It's interesting how different my two grandmothers were. Granny was soft and fluffy. She would hug us and get some sugar. She was a talker--certainly a Jones family trait--and she always moved quickly. When Granny cooked or cleaned, she did it quickly. I remember how fast she could cook breakfast, dinner, and supper. And how quickly she cleaned up afterward. (Or how quickly she asked Granddaddy to help her clean up!) Granny was a washer-woman at the dairy, and she would fly through her job.
     On the other hand, Grandmother was slim. She was taciturn, and it was rare for her to control the conversation. Fast? The word did not exist in her vocabulary. Grandmother did everything very deliberately  and precisely. She started supper right after cooking breakfast. She was so slow at everything, that Uncle Son used to tell her that she'd be late to her own funeral.  Grandmother worked as an upholsterer, a profession that required preciseness. While Granny had five children, Grandmother had only my daddy and us. We saw Granny in the summer and a few times a year when she came to visit us; however, we visited Grandmother every Sunday afternoon and almost every holiday. Grandmother wasn't a hugger, nor did she tell us that she loved us, but she sure showed her love.
     My brother and I looked forward to visiting Grandmother on Sundays. After church, we'd change into play clothes, and drive down to Little River. When we got there, Sunday dinner was on the table.  Grandmother would always make fried chicken, cornbread, and, the only vegetable I remember, LeSueur's Baby English peas. She would make those just for me. Both my brother and I wanted to eat from the special dish that had been Daddy's when he was a child; Mommy made us take turns.  After dinner, the adults would go and talk, and Billy and I would play.

Daddy's Plate--fried chicken where the clown is, peas on the left, cornbread on the right

     I always took the time to read the funnies from the Miami Herald and the Miami News. Then the adventures would begin. Grandmother had a large yard, plenty of room to play. Most of the time, we would go out and play under her Royal Poinciana tree. I called it the "pickle tree" because the leaves reminded me of a big pickle cut in half. When it was in bloom, we'd pull on the branches and make it rain flowers. When the seed pods had formed, we'd use them as swords and play pirate. One of our favorite things was to take her metal lawn chairs, lay them down so the back became the seat, and pretend we were on air boats. Uncle Son had a plant nursery in the next lot, and we'd play out there.

Royal Poinciana with flowers and seed pods

     When we were tired, we'd go in and get our Sunday treats. Grandmother always had boxes of Cracker Jack for us and Pee Wees, small bottles of fruit-flavored drink, unique to South Florida.  We were always excited to see what prize we had in our Cracker Jack. The best prize was the magnifying glass--which we would promptly use to try to start a fire. Never happened. The worst prizes were the little plastic toys. Billy and I would trade prizes, at times, but that never seemed to come out fairly. Just in case that wasn't enough of a snack, often Grandmother would have Ritz cream pie, just for a little dessert. Sometimes, Uncle Son would give us a dime and walk us to the corner store to buy more candy.
     Once the adults had talked enough, we'd get back in the car and drive a few blocks to spend some time with my Grandma Crenshaw, Daddy's grandma. More treats and then the drive home. Tired, happy, full, and loved.

Act Like A Lady

"Act like a lady!" The admonition Mommy gave me any time I was going somewhere. I knew exactly what she meant. It seems, to me, that there aren't many mommas teaching their daughters what "acting like lady" means.
Many people think that Scarlett O'Hara would be the epitome of a Southern lady. I'd say they're wrong. Mommy and Granny would not have approved of many of Scarlett's ways. The true Southern lady in Gone With The Wind is Melanie Wilkes. Many people think that only rich Southern women are ladies. Again, they'd be wrong. My family were not rich Southerners. However, the women were ladies, and they taught us girls to be ladies.

Sissy and Reatha Jones

One of the first things that we learned  was to watch what we said. Scarlett was way too sassy. If she spoke to Granny like she did to Mammy or Melanie, Granny would have quickly put an end to that. I'm not saying that Southern ladies are mealy-mouthed ninnies, but, instead, a lady would be more like Melanie. Calm, collected, kind--but, when needed, she speaks with conviction and strength. Southern ladies can also be some of the funniest ladies, yet they are funny with class. I was also taught that Southern ladies did not curse. It pains me to hear Southern women curse so loudly and freely. One can say more with an arched eyebrow and a steel magnolia look than all the curse words one knows. And, of course, Southern ladies know the power of a well-placed and appropriately spoken, "Bless your heart."
Southern ladies also know how to dress appropriately for an occasion.I know I'm from a different generation, but I dressed for birthday parties. We dressed in our Sunday best for church--even wearing gloves in the hot Miami summer. We also knew that a picnic called for shorts or jeans; a trip to the beach meant a bathing suit and at least a t-shirt for a cover-up. Southern ladies have the good sense to cover up the bits that the good Lord means to be covered. Mommy made sure I was always dressed appropriately. Maybe not store-bought clothes, but she would sew what I needed. Kind of like Scarlett using the drapes when Rhett came to visit. Appropriate for the situation.
Actions are important. Southern ladies do not fight or brawl in the dirt. They do not flirt indiscriminately. Although, when they choose to flirt, few men are able to resist. This is one thing that Scarlett was a master of and Melanie lacked! A Southern lady knows how to be the proverbial steel magnolia. Granny, Mommy, Aunt Nancy, and Aunt Frankie all had difficult times, but they endured with grace.My aunts and Granny had to work to support their families, yet they never lost their femininity.
My examples of true Steel Magnolias taught me that a Southern lady is more than her clothes, her words, or her actions. She is both tough and tender. She works hard and plays hard. She has faith in God and confidence in herself. She loves with all she has to give, and she will give all she has to those she loves.

You are invited to dinner.

    "You are invited to dinner." Words that I learned to fear--after the city chicken and broccoli trees, I just wanted to stick to supper and Grandmother's cooking! However, I did have the opportunity to expose my friends to some good old Southern cooking. My childhood best friend Dana Jones liked my mom's black-eye peas. All these years later, she remembers how good they were. However, my high school bestie Patti though that they tasted like "dirt." Her words. Almost everybody loved Grandmother's fried chicken and Lane cake. There was general agreement on the subject of Grandmother's cornbread. Not one person ever disliked it. Nobody made cornbread and corn pone like Grandmother. Hot with butter, cold with butter, cold by itself, crumbled up in pot likker or buttermilk--no fancy chef has ever made anything better.

However, there was also Grandmother's pepper sauce. She used an old Avon Skin-So-Soft bottle with a cork stuck in it to make her sauce. There was vinegar, of course, and then a blend of every pepper Uncle Son and Daddy grew. There were Cayenne peppers, purple jalapenos, Scotch bonnets, habaneros, and whatever hot peppers they could find to grow. If she felt like the sauce was getting a little weak, she'd add a little more vinegar and many more peppers. I don't like spicy foods, so just the smell when Daddy popped the cork made my eyes water. The family used that pepper sauce very judiciously--just a little drizzle over greens. I didn't use it at all. One night, my friends Rose and Beverly came for supper. The sauce bottle was on the kitchen window sill (all that sun probably helped ferment that stuff). Rose spied it and wanted some. Beverly, Grandmother, and I tried to tell her that no, no she did not because it was really hot. "No, no! I love spicy foods," Rose protested. Grandmother said, "Rose, you ain't never had my pepper sauce." Rose would have none of it. She asked for a spoon so she could have a taste. Again, we begged her to put it on some food, at least. Nope, she swallowed a spoon--straight. Poor Rose. She asked for what happened, but I did feel sorry for her as her eyes watered, her face reddened and sweat began pouring down her face. We said for her to eat some white bread, but she grabbed her glass of water and chugged it. That just made it worse. Beverly and I could not help but laugh, but Grandmother was worried she'd choke. Finally, she got down some white bread, marshmallows, and milk before the burning stopped. She never even so much as looked at that bottle of pepper sauce again.

     Rose was not a fast learner in the Southern food area. Yes, I am a True Florida Cracker. I eat plenty of Cracker/Southern foods, but there are some that I cannot stomach. Black-eye peas? Yes. Collard greens? Nope. Grits? Yes. Hominy? No, nope, never, never, ever will I eat that nasty stuff. Again, Rose and Beverly were at the house for supper. That night Grandmother had a bowl of  plain boiled hominy on the table. Rose had never seen hominy before. It looks like wet popcorn, but it sure doesn't taste like popcorn--wet or dry. She asked about it, and Grandmother told her it was hominy and would she like some? Again, Beverly and I told her, "NO!!! You won't like it, Rose."  Grandmother was all in on Rose trying the hominy. I think she wanted a hominy-eating buddy. Rose took two big spoonfuls of it on her plate. She took the first bite. She didn't say anything, but the look on her face told Bev and me that it was not what she expected. After the pepper fiasco, Rose's pride had been hurt, so she managed to eat both of those giant spoonfuls of hominy. I had to give her credit. I know I would have gagged. Unfortunately, since she ate all that hominy, Grandmother thought it was her favorite and would cook some up, if she knew Rose was coming to supper. Again, Rose brought that on herself. And Grandmother did always have a soft spot for Rose.     

    Plain, boiled white hominy

Y'all hungry?

     One thing Crackers love is food. Talk about, fix it, eat it, brag on your granny's cooking, brag on your mama's cooking, brag on your own cooking. Start thinking about what you're making for supper right after you've eaten breakfast. Admittedly, I grew up in a "mixed" neighborhood--one Cracker family mixed in with a bunch of Yankees.
      I never realized how differently we ate in my family until I spent the night at my best friend's house and did not eat my supper first. At home, we'd have some kind of meat--usually fried--two or three types of vegetables, white bread and cornbread or biscuits, and tea. (I don't need to say sweet or ice, because that's the only way we had it.) It was always served from bowls and a platter set on the table, and Mommy did give us some say over which vegetables we ate--at least two of the three.

    Imagine my surprise, when her mother called us down to "dinner," and the plates were already filled and sitting at our places. On my plate was a stick with little chunks of breaded meat, a giant stalk of broccoli, and a roll. I looked at my glass, hoping for some help to swallow down whatever this food was, and it was filled with milk. Not just milk, but powdered milk. My mommy had taught me that I was to eat whatever was put in front of me when at someone's house, and here I was stuck with this. I politely asked what the meat was, and I was told it was "City Chicken." What relief! It was just little chunks of breaded chicken. I wrestled a piece off with my fork. I did notice no one else was picking it up with their hands, like I would eat fried chicken. I popped that chunk in my mouth and gagged. And covered up the gag as best as I could. What was this stuff? No chicken I had ever eaten tasted like this! I had to take a swig of that tepid, nasty, water-milk to keep from choking to death. Mrs. Jones then asked, "Donna Jo, have you never had City Chicken? It's breaded veal." Well, I didn't know what a veal was, and now I didn't want to know and I certainly didn't want to eat it again. (Actually, I have NEVER eaten another piece of veal.) "I'm fine. Thank you. It's delicious." (At this point, I was none too happy with Mommy's rules of polite behavior!)
     At least the roll was there to help. It was actually a novelty too--a white, soft dinner roll. If there had been a basket of them on the table, I certainly would have eaten more than my allotted one. Still, there was that gigantic stalk of broccoli staring me in the face. What a decision! To eat another chunk of the meat or to start on the broccoli. I knew what broccoli was, but Mommy never made it. She made "normal" vegetables like  field peas, crowder peas, English peas, well, any kind of pea. She made pole beans, green beans, Lima beans, butter beans, baked beans. She made greens of all types, but never a green tree of any type. I gritted my teeth, took my fork and knife, and sliced me a piece of the broccoli. It was just as nasty-tasting as I expected, and, worse than that, it was raw! I was used to nice soft vegetables, cooked with bacon grease. This was bland and hard. At least I didn't gag, but I did have to swig that milk-water to get it down.
     Unlike Mommy, Mrs. Jones did not insist that I clear my entire plate. Whew. I managed to eat all the roll, most of the "City Chicken," and a few bites of broccoli. Enough to be polite, but not enough to make myself sick. And I determined to eat at home before going off for supper at someone's house again. Or at least ask what they were having for supper first.

2016 Florida Reading Challenge

     I find myself finishing up my 2015 reading challenge. To be honest, many books were types I didn't want to read. Graphic novel? Isn't that just a comic book? Young adult fiction? Not really my interest.  One category that I am disappointed that I didn't read was a book set in my hometown. In my case, Miami. That made me think, what if I put together a list of books that were solely about Florida? And I did. I tried to cover most of Florida's distinct areas. I've included a little humor, some non-fiction, a children's book, and some books that I think are the best ever written about Florida. Will you take my challenge and read one book a month? I have read most of these; some I included from others' recommendations. I will be taking the challenge myself and will give updates and reviews throughout the year. Happy Reading!

2016 Florida Reading Challenge

The Shepherd, the Angel, and Walter the Christmas Miracle Dog  by Dave Barry

The Corpse Had a Familiar Face: Covering Miami, America's Hottest Beat by Edna Buchanan (non-fiction)

Because of Winn Dixie by Kate DiCamillo

The Everglades: River of Grass by Marjory Stoneman Douglas (non-fiction)

Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank

Hoot by Carl Hiaasen

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Strawberry Girl by Lois Lenski

The Orchid Theif: a True Story of Beauty and Obsession by Susan Orlean (non-fiction)

The Barefoot Mailman by Theodore Pratt

The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

A Land Remembered by Patrick D. Smith

The Poetry of Wallace Stevens   (I included Stevens's poetry because some people like poetry; he was one of the best, if not THE best, twentieth century poets; and he loved Florida.)

The Christmas Dime

 The Christmas of 1969 is one that I will never forget. My family had been through a terrible year--my mother died, and my father remarried very quickly. I was just barely fourteen and felt confused, depressed, and isolated. My daddy seemed to love my new stepmother and her daughter more than he did me.

Christmas Day was a disaster. My stack of presents was small compared to my stepsister's. My stepmother was "ill," so I had to cook chili for Christmas supper, instead of our usual ham and all the fixings.

     But then, a bright spot. Usually, we went visiting on Christmas Day--traveling around Miami to see my grandmother, aunts, uncles, various cousins, and, especially, my Great-grandma Crenshaw. This year, it was decided that we would stay at home, but Grandmother and Grandma came to see US. 

     Grandma was an amazing woman. She had experienced so much--from Dixieland to Rock and Roll; from the birth of flight to the moon landing; from the mule wagon to the Model T to the Camero; two World Wars, the Korean War, the Viet Nam War, and the Depression. Births and deaths; gain and loss. Faith and loss of faith. Grandma was barely literate, but she was so wise about life.

    Grandma was poor, so she didn't give us presents. But that year, as she left, she slipped me an envelope. "Shhh, don't tell the others," she said. I took that envelope to my room and opened it. Inside I found a recycled Christmas card with "I love you, from Grandma" laboriously written in pencil. And included in that card was a dime. One dime. I began crying because that small gift, that dime, that widow's mite, showed me that I was still loved by someone. That dime was the most precious gift I have ever received for Christmas.