Essays

Little Grandma:
A Remembrance
by Anna Alexander

When I was ten, my Little Grandma came to live with us. It was a disruptive event. We were already eight in the family, my parents, my five brothers and me.

It was in my bedroom that Grandma's belongings appeared because I was the only girl. Sharing my bedroom was not a new experience. Relatives were always visiting. When girl cousins arrived, we shared beds in my room. My brothers made room for the out of town male cousins. This time there was a difference. Grandma was very old, and this would be a permanent arrangement.

To be honest, I didn't understand why she was moving in with us. Her lovely Victorian mansion was located five blocks from our house. Often our destination, as we strolled on a warm summer's eve, was Grandma's house. We entered through the front gate but not the front door.

A meandering path took us past Grandmother's flower garden to the back door. In my mind the garden appears lush and colorful as it when I was that little girl. A carpet of portulaca or moss as it was called spread its pattern over a large area of the yard. its margins marked by white painted bricks. In the back, along the fence, were stately hollyhocks. Their flowers seemed made of crepe paper, crisp, crinkled blossoms that bent with the evening breeze. Four-o-clocks, small sassy flowers, bloomed on a green bush. They multiplied each year, returning from seeds that lay fallow over winter.

 There were tall flower spikes rising above a green base. My mother called them spider plants. The petals were feathery in bright shades, mostly pink with touches of white. Sweet peas I remember because the smell was not pleasant to me. I can still smell that peculiar fragrance. Roses climbed a trellis and in the backyard morning glories greeted the inhabitants each dawn.

The entry through the back door was where Grandma greeted us in her costume of dainty gingham or miniature floral print. Her dress was protected by a clean white apron, and on her head was a mobcap. Since her dresses were made by a seamstress her cap was of the same material and it covered her hair. Only once did I see her without her cap.

The summer heat remained into the night. We sat on the front porch to catch a breeze. In the dim light oozing from indoors I saw her remove her cap. The white hair was pulled back and coiled into a bun. Small tendrils were lifted by the breeze. She shook her head and tucked the soft wisps inside the cap as she replaced it on her head.

Grandmother was the baby in her family. Her parents left the older children in Ireland Only the youngest accompanied my great grandparents to America. Little Grandma survived the trip well. She should have. She rode safely inside her mother's womb, declaring her presence after her arrival.

Looking back, I marvel at what Grandma accomplished. My great grandfather was Irish, and his family followed the building of the trains westward. Whatever job he held for the railroad it paid enough to support the thirteen children he sired.

The thing that amazes me is the knowledge that my grandmother used some of that money to purchase rental properties. All of the properties, including the Victorian house she lived in, were in her name. She saved for these properties, negotiated their purchase, and they were hers. Whether my great grandfather knew, no one seems to know.

Her move to our place came not because she was feeble, but because her baby failed her. Uncle Dennis, or Dinny as he was called, lived with his mother until he was fifty. His siblings expected he would remain a bachelor and care for their mother. My grandfather was dead and Dinny was now the man in the family. At fifty, Uncle Dinny surprised everyone by falling in love. The lady, a widow with modest means, convinced him to share those with her. His marrying was a mild surprise compared to what came next.

Grandmother entrusted Dinny with the collection of rent from the properties and payment of taxes with the money she designated for that purpose. Dinny had a flaw, though. He was a gambler. He used the tax money to gamble, winning enough periodically to pay the taxes, or at least to satisfy the tax department.     Now the tax bills came to my grandmother and it seemed if she did not pay she would lose many of the homes she owned.

In spite of her children's best efforts and a lawyer’s skill Grandmother lost most of the property .My memory tells me it was considerable. The only remaining property was her own home and a couple of small homes nearby. With lost income, she could no longer afford to stay in her home. The houses were sold, and the money they brought was invested for her use. Where was she to live?

It seemed as if my father was the only one in a position to offer his mother sanctuary. The real reason was the fact that my mother was fifteen years younger than my father and the only family member capable of coping with the aging matriarch.

In retrospect, her moving in with us set the tone for the kind of person I became. Grandmother was feisty and opinionated. She was independent by nature. That fierce independence was apparent in her stories, which were numerous.

Sharing a bedroom with her meant talking in the dark after the lights were out. She spoke of her interests, her church, and her family. I can hear her laughter as she told of outwitting everyone and everything, including life itself.

The tenth child in her family, she was tiny. Friends predicted at her birth she was too small to survive. Since she did survive they predicted she would never marry. Once married, people said she would never be able to have children. She snorted with pride as she harrumphed, "Well I had thirteen! All of them lived and most married. The neighbors said I looked like Mother Goose on Sunday mornings with my thirteen goslings in a row. I fooled them all!"

She painted a picture of a girl who married young, but refused to grow old in her stories. She spoke of going to dances. Even with thirteen children she loved to flirt and everyone wanted to dance with Kate Hannigan.

Some time after the children were born, my grandparents had a disagreement. It must have been serious, since according to Grandma my grandfather said he was sick and tired of the situation and would be better off single. I laugh when I think of her answer.

She sat as tall as she was able and with a disdainful snort said, "If there be anyone in this family getting a divorce it be me, and, I leave the way I came. Without thirteen children!"

Oh, she loved to tell that story. She always giggled when she recalled the event. Her brogue, which I can't begin to describe, made the words rich and meaningful.

She lived with us for nearly ten years. "Tay" was her beverage and I learned to drink it with her. It was an uncommon tea my mother purchased at a specialty shop. Grandma drank it with sugar and cream; something I couldn't do, preferring it plain and hot.

She praised my mother for her care and always confided to visitors my mother served fish on Fridays. It was certainly true, and I had to grow up and leave home before I knew there was a religious requirement. To me it was an eleventh commandment, "Thou Shalt Have Fish On Fridays!"

A friend once suggested the Church excused anyone over sixty-five from observing fast days. My eyes opened in surprise when Grandma said indignantly, "Weel I have a lang way to go!" My father was nearing sixty at that time, and she had already buried five of her thirteen children. The guest beat a hasty retreat and placated my grandmother, at least on the surface. I don’t remember the exact words Grandmother used when the lady left, but I can remember the heat scorched my ears!

When grandmother was too frail to care for at home the children placed her in a nursing home. Not the spacious ones you see today, but a private home used for this purpose. The owners seemed to care, and the place was clean and the residents neat. She lived another few years. When she died the doctor said she died from old age. No one knew when she was born and her age was a guess. The family and the doctors seemed to think she was at least one hundred.

She made me proud to be a woman. She showed me it was possible to make the best of things. If I am independent in heart and spirit it is because she pointed the way. My love for all things Irish, and my pride in being so come from her stories. However, America was her home and she loved it and gave several of her sons to its cause in World War I.

St. Patrick's Day is still a special day to me. My mother fixed corned beef , potatoes and cabbage. My father stopped at the Irish tavern on the corner and brought home green beer and green carnations. We all wore something green to school or work, and dessert was coconut cake tinted green. The big thing came when Little Grandma made her annual pronouncement. Seated at the head of the table she would look around at her grandchildren and say,

"There be two kinds of people on St. Paddy's Day. Them that air Irish and them that wish they wair."

© Anna Alexander
All rights reserved
© 1998

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