August 19, 2013 Sixty-five days ago I sat here at my computer and wrote a tribute about my grandfather who had just passed away. I received the call from my mom while my husband and I were attending a wedding at our church. During the call, mom said that grandma wasn’t doing well and was in intensive care with internal bleeding. You see, she had fallen twice the day social workers had met with her to prepare her for grandpa’s pending death. I believe it was her desire to follow grandpa and she didn’t have the strength to go on without him. Doctor’s told the family to prepare for a double funeral when grandpa died; sure that grandma only had days to live. Miraculous as it may sound, grandma, who was 90 years old, beat the odds and survived 65 days without grandpa, overcoming the internal bleeding and the most horrendous hematomas that I have ever seen. She wasn’t able to attend services for grandpa due to her condition but she pulled through and returned to her apartment. Mom said that grandma would catch herself talking about grandpa as if he were there, but would stop herself and say, “He’s not here anymore, is he” and mom would have to answer, “No mom he’s not”. Last Saturday, mom called to tell me that grandma was in the hospital with a blockage in her leg. Probably from the hematoma’s that had never gone away. There was no blood flow or circulation in her leg and the only treatment was amputation. The doctor’s were pretty sure that she wouldn’t survive the surgery, so between doctors and family, they decided not to do the surgery. She was moved to the oncology floor of Riverside Hospital and placed under the care of Hospice. Family stayed at her bedside day and night until she passed around 1:00 PM today. Once again, mom called to inform me that one of her parents had passed. I had left my phone in my car so she left a message. I knew even before I listened to it, what she was calling to tell me. After listening to the message I drove home thinking of one memory in particular of grandma and me. I have many memories, but this one really stands out in my mind. I was in the fourth grade and taking 4-H for the first time. I believe the course was “Fantastic Foods”. Fair time was just around the corner and I had to choose what I was going to make for judging. I had decided to make a Lemon Chiffon pie. Grandma was the best cookie baker and pie maker around and I just knew if grandma helped me, I would earn a blue ribbon and maybe even a trip to the state fair. So one Saturday morning, we put on our aprons and placed all the ingredients needed for pie crust on the island in her olive green kitchen. I can remember it felt so fancy in her kitchen because of the olive green side by side refrigerator that she had. I had never seen one of those before and I thought it was so “upper class”. Another thing I remember about the kitchen, that I had never seen anywhere else, was a wall phone. It too was olive green and had a cord that could have stretched for miles (only in a child’s eyes). Off the back of the house was a large deck that stretched the entire length of the house and a large pond where my sister, brother and I spent lots of time swimming, fishing and ice skating. But on this particular visit to grandpa and grandma’s, I only had one thing on my mind, and that was baking the best pie crust that anyone had ever tasted. So, with all the ingredients at hand, grandma taught me everything from how to measure the flour and level it off using the flat edge of a knife, to making those fancy designs on the edge of the crust. She helped me quite a bit on the first one, but then it was my turn to fly solo. I began measuring my ingredients and it wasn’t long until she stopped me because I was measuring over my bowl; that was a no-no. You might make a mistake in measuring and ruin the entire recipe, she told me. After all my ingredients had been placed in the bowl and the crumbly mixture resembled the size of peas, it was time to put flour on the island so that the crust wouldn’t stick when I rolled it out. I remember getting flour on the multi-colored carpet that covered the kitchen floor and I wondered if she might get mad at me for making such a mess. She assured me that things like that happened when you did any kind of baking and that we would clean it up when we were finished. I was feeling reassured when she handed me her wooden rolling pin and instructed me to begin rolling from the center to the outside edges. I thought, who can mess this up? Well, I did. It wasn’t thick enough on one side and too thick on the other, you know how it goes. So, into a ball the dough went and I started over. Time and time again, I wadded the dough back into a ball and began rerolling it. I wasn’t mastering this task as well as I thought I would. When I finally got it right and was feeling pretty proud of myself, she informed me that we needed to make a fresh batch of pie dough since this batch was overworked and would be tough. WHAT?! Finally, after many attempts that day, I had a crust that was worthy enough to go into the oven. It looked just like grandma’s and I think it may have smelled just a tad bit better than hers when we put it on top of the stove to cool ( I think it was my ego talking). To shorten this already lengthy story, I went on to win a blue ribbon that year and proudly displayed it in my bedroom for years. I still have it tucked away in a scrapbook somewhere. I never made it to the state fair but that’s okay, I have a cherished memory that is better than any ribbon I could have ever earned. To this day, I have grandma’s pie crust recipe and have tried unsuccessfully for years to duplicate that perfect dish that we made many years ago in her “upper class” kitchen. I do have a wooden rolling pin, just like the one grandma used, but I have retired the thoughts that I could ever make anything that was as good as grandma’s. I have come to the conclusion that it will probably never come out of my cupboard again unless I need to use it on an unwanted intruder someday. That being said, I still had the strange desire, while I sat in the driveway today, to come in the house and bake a pie. It didn’t take long for me to dismiss that idea. I figured the mess in my kitchen and the frustration of rolling out the dough would be far greater than the chances of baking a good pie. How I wish now, that I would have taken time over the years to bake more pies with Grandma Zimmy. Not so much to be a blue ribbon pie maker but to have more wonderful memories of times shared with her. I feel very blessed to have lived 50 years with my grandparents living but I am sure that grandpa and grandma are rejoicing in heaven tonight after being apart for 67 days. Heaven has two very special people that I had the honor of calling my grandparents. They will be truly missed by all. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Psalm 23:4
Posted on: Tue, 20 Aug 2013 04:13:33 +0000
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