Christmas Memories Vol. 2
My Grandma B came of age right before the Depression. She was one of eight children, raised by their mother after my great grandfather left the work camp and disappeared to Indiana to start a new family. These were not friendly times for a single mother. My great grandmother had to take in a lot of laundry and put in a lot of time to earn enough to feed her family. As the second oldest child, my grandmother was required to shoulder a lot of responsibility for her younger siblings while her mother worked. She helped stretch the food to feed them all, helped with darning and mending and other household chores to extend the life of their belongings, and learned frugality as a way of life before she turned 18.
Throughout her life, she retained this frugality. She fell in love and married my grandfather, who was a kind, generous man with a good sense of humor who valued happiness and life much more than wealth. Instead of trying to use his engineering background to make money, he ran the town implement and spent his time gardening and fishing and hunting...things that made him happy. Between his good nature and her natural ability to stretch a dollar they didn't take trips to Europe or anything, but they managed just fine.
When my grandfather died, my grandmother was about 50. She couldn't drive, she had no office skills and she lived in a tiny town. So she made money babysitting and cleaning houses and doing whatever she knew how. She walked everywhere, she kept her house at 60 degrees, and she darned her pantyhose. She got by.
Grandma B never spent a dime on herself. Ever. My mother, an only child, took responsibility to make sure she had clothes and shoes and other necessary items. But Grandma was proud, as well, so there had to be an OCCASION for her to accept anything. She would not hear of taking money from my parents for basic necessities.
There were a lot of things she needed, but we couldn't just buy them for her. So my mother, who is one of the cagiest people I know, concocted a brilliant strategy. Grandma B was a born-again Christian and loved Christmas about as much as anything. She was like a little girl, giddy with anticipation of the holiday. Before her conversion, my grandmother was pretty and vivacious and dramatic and loved a good laugh. And though her conversion made her a more serious, somewhat stern person most of the time, when it got to be Christmas time she'd loosen up and you'd see flames of mischief and glee in her eyes. She would not say no at Christmas. Therefore Mom would buy 6 months of anything Grandma might possibly need and give it to her for Christmas. (Her birthday was in June...perfectly timed for Round 2!)
So we would buy paper towels. Toilet paper. Dish soap and laundry detergent and Saran Wrap. Canned goods and flour and crisco and pantry items we knew she'd use. Pots of rouge and face powder and tubes of red lipstick, the cosmetics she still allowed herself. Housedresses and slips and all the Leggs pantyhose we could find in her size. White leather oxfords with a separate heel (her preferred shoe for all but the dressiest occasions.) And cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, her favorite dining treat in the world. We would wrap every item individually and put them under the tree and hand them to her on Christmas Eve, and she would open each one and gasp with surprise and gratitude and tell us we shouldn't have. She'd marvel at each little package, and she'd mean it, because a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew was an extravagance in her book.
My mom and dad and brother and I would head off to church around 11pm...they did the standard candlelight service of carols, and it's always fun to cram into a pew in a jam-packed church and harmonise to Joy to the World at midnight. Grandma B would stay behind to clean up the kitchen. We were Lutherans, after all, and as a Baptist she felt that we weren't saved...our service wasn't really her cup of tea. But when we'd come home, Grandma had always lined up her sundries with the same sort of pride I found in my Barbie Dream House.
Man, I loved my grandma.
Throughout her life, she retained this frugality. She fell in love and married my grandfather, who was a kind, generous man with a good sense of humor who valued happiness and life much more than wealth. Instead of trying to use his engineering background to make money, he ran the town implement and spent his time gardening and fishing and hunting...things that made him happy. Between his good nature and her natural ability to stretch a dollar they didn't take trips to Europe or anything, but they managed just fine.
When my grandfather died, my grandmother was about 50. She couldn't drive, she had no office skills and she lived in a tiny town. So she made money babysitting and cleaning houses and doing whatever she knew how. She walked everywhere, she kept her house at 60 degrees, and she darned her pantyhose. She got by.
Grandma B never spent a dime on herself. Ever. My mother, an only child, took responsibility to make sure she had clothes and shoes and other necessary items. But Grandma was proud, as well, so there had to be an OCCASION for her to accept anything. She would not hear of taking money from my parents for basic necessities.
There were a lot of things she needed, but we couldn't just buy them for her. So my mother, who is one of the cagiest people I know, concocted a brilliant strategy. Grandma B was a born-again Christian and loved Christmas about as much as anything. She was like a little girl, giddy with anticipation of the holiday. Before her conversion, my grandmother was pretty and vivacious and dramatic and loved a good laugh. And though her conversion made her a more serious, somewhat stern person most of the time, when it got to be Christmas time she'd loosen up and you'd see flames of mischief and glee in her eyes. She would not say no at Christmas. Therefore Mom would buy 6 months of anything Grandma might possibly need and give it to her for Christmas. (Her birthday was in June...perfectly timed for Round 2!)
So we would buy paper towels. Toilet paper. Dish soap and laundry detergent and Saran Wrap. Canned goods and flour and crisco and pantry items we knew she'd use. Pots of rouge and face powder and tubes of red lipstick, the cosmetics she still allowed herself. Housedresses and slips and all the Leggs pantyhose we could find in her size. White leather oxfords with a separate heel (her preferred shoe for all but the dressiest occasions.) And cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, her favorite dining treat in the world. We would wrap every item individually and put them under the tree and hand them to her on Christmas Eve, and she would open each one and gasp with surprise and gratitude and tell us we shouldn't have. She'd marvel at each little package, and she'd mean it, because a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew was an extravagance in her book.
My mom and dad and brother and I would head off to church around 11pm...they did the standard candlelight service of carols, and it's always fun to cram into a pew in a jam-packed church and harmonise to Joy to the World at midnight. Grandma B would stay behind to clean up the kitchen. We were Lutherans, after all, and as a Baptist she felt that we weren't saved...our service wasn't really her cup of tea. But when we'd come home, Grandma had always lined up her sundries with the same sort of pride I found in my Barbie Dream House.
Man, I loved my grandma.
Comments
Would love to tell fishing and hunting stories, BAPs!. Perhaps I'll dig a few up when I'm home...maybe even carcass pictures!