"Sometimes Memories Sneak out of my Eyes and Roll Down my Cheeks." -- Author Unknown
The memories that are making me tear up are of my grandmother. Every night before I go to bed, I see her face framed in a photograph, and I smile.
I can remember every inch of her small home on 25 South Street. I loved watching Lawrence Welk with her on Saturday nights. Her house always smelled like something homemade, especially her bread. Every Sunday, she would bring a dessert to our house. She shared her baking and cooking with her pastor and her mailman as she would leave her side door open so the mailman could take his weekly loaf of bread.
My grandmother didn't have much in the line of furniture; everything she owned was a necessity. However, she did have two pieces that I own that I treasure. One was a painted washstand she used as a nightstand, and one was an old commode from her back porch that was home for tools. I asked if we could replace them, and she said she had something she could use. The next time we visited, she had replaced the washstand with a TV stand and never replaced the commode. I have that washstand in my entranceway with
a picture of her at its side and a little statue I gave her when I was little saying World's Greatest Grandmother. I fondly remember her talking on her party line, sitting at a phone stand. A few years ago, I was at a craft show with my best friend and found a phone stand exactly like hers. So, I bought it instantly, and it proudly sits in our upstairs foyer.
Her Catholic religion was a significant part of her life. She had a weekly ritual of going to St. Francis Cemetery to water the family flowers. I remember saying to her that I didn't know we had so many relatives, and she said they are not all relatives, just people who need us to water their lonely plants. Then, I remember her taking me to the Shrine of the Martyrs in Auriesville, NY, with the Rosary Altar Society members. She was president for 37 years. I swear that the bus ride was nine hours long. I was always so proud of her for helping the sodality women up the steps of the bus and leading them to their seats. Then I realized she was their age.
That ride from Batavia to Leroy always seemed so long because we had that ritual of saying the rosary. We always had to go to church early to get that good seat in the first pew. One Sunday, I didn't put my nickel in the collection basket at church and lied about it. When I got back to her house, I asked if I could walk to the corner store because I had found a nickel. That was the day I literally learned that lying doesn't pay.
In 1972, I got my first teaching job in Leroy, NY. Taking my third-grade class to her house was such a great memory, remembering her smiling at my students and giving them one of her favorite molasses cookies.
She had an old 1962 Chevy that we all seemed to have owned one time or another. After we were married in 1974, we ended up with 62. The one thing you would never do is take down all of the statues that lined the dashboard. It was like a traveling altar. So one day, we were driving home from Batavia, and my husband said, you better turn all those statues to face the road because we have no brakes. We somehow made it to our apartment on Lake Street, and we believe Grandma and all her saints got us home safely.
My mind seems to be fixated on memories the older I get, and lately, I have been just thinking about my Grandma and how much I loved her and respected her. I continue to miss her every day; my mother always told me I reminded her of her mother. She's the one that taught me how to cook, bake, pray, and crochet. That's probably true because today I have my list of people I pray for; I go to church early to get that good seat, crochet, and am told I make pretty good spaghetti sauce. My grandmother died in 1983, our hearts were broken, but today my heart is filled with memories of her and all she taught me.
At her funeral at St. Joseph's Church in Le Roy, Father Zupa said when you pray, you now have another saint in heaven to pray to, Jennie Bellow. It is funny how memories take you back to an exact time, and you feel them drip down your cheek. Our memories are unique because they belong to us. To all the grandmothers young, old, and have passed, thank you, you are treasured.
Rosie, this is dedicated to you. We shared the same Grandma and her love.
