Tribute To A Lovely Lady

Her platinum curls were lavishly piled high on her head, like a queen’s crown. Every stray hair was bobby-pinned in place behind a floral scarf as she dashed about the cozy kitchen, armed with cleaning solvents and a beef roast. Moments later she tasted the fresh made applesauce prepared from apples gathered from her backyard. She smiled. Donning an oven mitt, she pulled an award-winning apple pie from the oven and reloaded it with a pan of roast and vegetables. Then she hopped about the kitchen table plopping down dishes and silverware. Everyone would be here soon and she wanted the dinner to be just right.

There were a few more things to do, as she filled the pastry bag and added final embellishments to the exquisite layer cake. She stood back and nodded with pleasure. Although some arthritis had set in, she hadn't let that stop her.

Untying the kerchief from under her chin—she referred to as a babushka—she paused and patted her hair and smoothed her outfit. She was a petite lady boasting a good figure in soft lavender shorts, tan colored hose and a sleeveless top. She laughed easily and her emerald eyes shone bright and happy. Then her delicate lips parted and a continuous stream of tales detailing every memory since the creation of man.

This woman was my eighty-something mother-in-law.

At certain times of the year my husband and I and four children would drive out to the mid-west to see Grandma. During one visit we all had plenty of quality time around table, but our teenagers wanted more. They asked to walk the mall with Grandma. Not with me or their Dad … they wanted her all to themselves. We got the picture and waved goodbye. My husband went off to take a nap, in seconds his thunderous snores rocked the house. I settled into the couch for some coveted reading. Soon we were both sweet dreaming.

There I stayed until the ceiling-high grandfather clock delivered seven pounding booms. For a moment, I wondered where I was and why I was sleeping at this time. Then I came to. The kids had gone off with Grandma. But that was hours ago. Shouldn’t they be back by now?

Fearful thoughts made me dizzy. Something must have happened … had my mother-in-law passed out somewhere in the mall? Maybe she had an accident and careened into a ditch. Or perhaps they were abducted by aliens. Enough! I pulled out my cell phone and tried to call them. No response. I rubbed my temples and threw water on my face. Should I be calling the police?

Exactly five hours and seventeen minutes later they returned.

No blood. No horror stories. Just the opposite.

Full of laughter and loud chatter, the kids burst through the door. Grandma proudly followed, all five feet of her. Her mascara eyes were lit and glowing and flushed peach cheeks pinch-ready. She was the picture of vitality—fit for an energy drink commercial. Twenty years had simply melted off. After all, she was with family and isn’t that what it’s all about?

Everyone gathered around to share their experience at the mall; finding great bargains, sampling tasty snacks. And as they sat in the food court, they had the best conversation ever.

I kicked myself for not going.

But I would get my turn.

There were other visits when the kids went out and I was home alone with Grandma. Opportunity knocked. The walking path was calling me. The newspaper and hot coffee was calling my mother-in-law. I squatted down as I tightened my shoe laces. She looked up and graciously waved me out the door. But then she began to talk and talk some more - about everything ... family, neighbors, friends, and family some more .

Incidents from the past, present and those to come were all timelessly strung together as the God of the universe sees our doings. All her thoughts and emotions confronted many issues, some with contented memories and others with great anxiety.

I untied my walking shoes and perched comfortably in a kitchen chair. As she rambled on, Grandma poured a cup of coffee for me and another for herself and placed some homemade bakery in a dish. I leaned close, my hands resting on the arms of the chair. The living room clock chimed through the minutes and the brilliant sunlight began to dim. The television droned into the evening news. Dinner items sat on the counter unattended as Grandma talked and talked.

I just listened.

Florence A. Gurr

February 10th 1930 – May 24th 2019

… and that’s how I live it.