My maternal grandmother, Mémère, had 16 grandchildren. Of the 16 she had favorites, and I was one of them. My mother became very ill after I was born, and she took care of me until my mother recovered. Perhaps, that's when the close attachment began. She loved me unconditionally, I'm sure of that. The other grandchildren teased me about being her "pet", and I knew it was true, because she treated us differently, even though she was good to all her grandchildren.
She was a fine, upstanding Catholic lady who spent a good deal of time in church, however, on many a Friday evening she headed out by taxi to one of the illegal gambling establishments in Jefferson Parish, adjacent to New Orleans. On occasion, the police conducted raids on the gambling houses, but my grandmother never got caught. That would have been a hoot. I believe the mafia owned the place she patronized, and the police were well-paid for mostly staying away. It's also possible that the owners were warned of the raids when they came.
She had more than her share of alcoholics in the family, including one son and several sons-in-law, and even as she said, "I damn every drop of liquor that was made", she continued to serve wine on holidays, and she drank the occasional toddy and even gave me a light hot toddy sometimes when I had a cold and fever. She was a prime example and influence for me in living with ambiguities and being a bit of a rebel.
But it was her love for me that I remember most. She would not have refused me anything within reason, and when I'd had enough of the turmoil in my own home, I'd go to spend a few peaceful days at her house, my place of refuge. She'd cook my favorite meals and coddle and pamper me for a spell.
She spanked me only once, when I was about 6 years old. As we were walking home from church one Sunday, my wide-brimmed straw hat blew off my head as we were crossing the street. I turned and ran to get it, nearly into the path of a car. She was so frightened that when we reached her house, she gave me a good one.
Mémère was a gifted pianist and could have had a career playing concert piano, but she married and had seven children, as women were expected to do in those days. I believe that she was frustrated for the rest of her life that she was too busy to keep up with her music. We'd beg her to play, and sometimes she would, but she was so upset when she made a mistake that she wouldn't oblige us often.
She was a superb Creole cook. She spent much of her life in the kitchen, cooking three hot meals each day and having a large crowd of children and grandchildren over for Sunday dinner each week. She never cooked from recipes. Her mother taught her, and she picked up skills on her own. My mother, and my sisters, and I tried to mimic her dishes as best we could, but none of us quite reached the high peak of the best of her dishes. I don't know how she did it.
I wrote the greater part of this post at OCICBW in the comments, and then I expanded it for use here on my humble blog.
My grandmother was my first s/hero. They were cut of a very different cloth - often, against the bias of the fabric of the rest of their lives.
ReplyDeleteI'll bet our grandmothers are having a grand conversation in The Great Bye and Bye about us.
This is a beautiful story. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteI'll bet your own grandchildren feel the same way about you.
They were cut of a very different cloth - often, against the bias of the fabric of the rest of their lives.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth, that's a lovely way to put it. I hope the old girls are talking a mile a minute about their recalcitrant granddaughters, who learned many of their lessons all too well.
Ruth, she was quite a woman.
Lovely remembrance of your Memere. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteMauigirl said it before I could. Lovely.
ReplyDeleteMy grandmother was also very important to me. I was named for her and in many ways my career an academic in biomedical research was inspired by her longing to do medicine...something Not Done by a lady in 1918.
ReplyDeleteShe was a character, my grandmama.
Here's to the character we inherit from our grandmothers.
IT
Thanks Maui and Paul.
ReplyDeleteShe was depressed for much of her life when I knew her, as was my mother, but she, unlike my mother, never allowed the depression to get in the way of living her life. I remember once as a teenager, when she was talking about something or someone taking her usual dark view of the situation, I said in a kind of desperation, "Mémère, can't you look on the bright side of anything?"
IT, I raise my glass to strong grandmothers.
ReplyDeleteI had a strong grandmother. My aunts tell me that I'm just like her and that is the ultimate compliment. Thank you for sharing your story and bringing up those good memories in the rest of us.
ReplyDeleteHappy Advent to all. May we have joyous expectation.
Thank you, Mimi, for this powerful remembrance of Mémère. I find that as I get older, I have deeper and deeper appreciation for my grandmothers. May our grandmothers' memories continue to be a blessing for us.
ReplyDeleteThank you Grandmere--
ReplyDeleteand you brought back memories of my Grandmother, who was one of the first army nurses, and graduated from UC Berkeley --both despite being stone deaf. She read lips and was quite determined.
I have no doubt that all decent Grandmothers are still whooping it up in heaven!
My real life grandmere was a staunch Methodist of the Scot's-Irish sort, but I think of her, my maternal great-gradmere, and, well really, all the women in my life (LOL) in this same beautiful way (including your responses on this thread, grandmere; I'm sorely 'fraid that they've handed most of those things down to me, and I'm not really sorry about it at all).
ReplyDelete:)
Thanks everyone. Grandmothers are mostly a very good thing. I never knew my paternal grandmother. She died in the 1918 flu epidemic, leaving behind a husband and five children.
ReplyDeleteI hope that I'm a good grandmother. I do the best I can, but the assessment comes from the grandchildren themselves.
Thanks for this insight. Both my Grandmothers died before I was born. My maternal grandmother died when my mother was only 7, it was always said she never recovered from the death of her eldest son in the Great War a year before. I often looked at her picture when I was young and wondered what she was like.
ReplyDeleteBrian, I look at pictures of my grandmother whom I never knew, and wonder what she was like. Folks said she was a lovely lady. I wish that I could have known her.
ReplyDeleteIt sounds lovely to have had that type of relationship with your grandmother. When I was born I was the first granddaughter on my dad's side. My grandmother made me gorgeous handmade clothing. She and my mother both were amazing seamstresses. It is a crying shame that all those clothes got passed on to others but that's the way things were then. When my blond haired and blue eyed cousin was born I was just O.U.T. as far as my relationship with my grandmother. My daddy was always her favorite child but the prettier girl won out as favorite granddaughter.
ReplyDeleteRoseann, I'm afraid that some of my cousins may have been as disappointed as you were that your cousin was the favorite. I try not to show favoritism with my grandchildren, but I have only one girls amongst 6 grandchildren, and I share something special with her, that I don't share with the boys. Perhaps, the boys think she is my favorite. I hope not, because I love them all, and I would die for any one of them. Sometimes, I think that I love my grandchildren more than I love my own children. I don't know. How do you measure love?
ReplyDeleteYou know Mimi, I'm not sure how you measure love but I know for certain that even the tiniest bit changes the whole world.
ReplyDeleteYes, Roseann, I believe that's true.
ReplyDeleteI missed it on OCICBW so thank you for posting it here. This is a wonderful story!
ReplyDeleteLindy, thank you for your kind words.
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