I won't attempt to explain her relationship with any of my siblings, but I want to talk a little about her relationship with me. I'm my mom's baby girl. I think that there's something special about a mom's last girl, not to say that my mom's other girls aren't special to her, I just think that as I grew up she knew I was her last chance at girliness. Added to this is the fact that all three of my sisters left at once after my 9th grade year and Mom and I were out numbered and had to band together. Anyway, on to the reason for this post today.
My mom, dad, and Aunt LuAnn just went to Wyoming to spend some time with my grandma who at 98 years old has finally reached the point where she can no longer live on her own. To call my grandmother stubborn would be a vast understatement, and we all envisioned having to drag her bodily from her house as she spread-eagled the front door with her fingernails dug into the door frame. It didn't quite work out that way, as she ended up in the hospital with a terrible case of pneumonia and then my father tricked her into the long term care facility by telling her she was simply changing rooms. I know it sounds cruel, but if you knew my grandma, you'd understand the need for such devious trickery. Bless my father's evil genius.
This trip was to see Grandma and to dig through the vast amounts of "treasure" my grandmother has been compiling for the past 45 years: quite an undertaking. A few years ago my mom and I went to visit and saw what we could become if we didn't change. We were scared straight and each went right home and cleaned out a couple of closets. Anyway, my mom called each of us asking if any of us wanted the super special collection of limited edition Native American plates made by the Franklin Mint. Shockingly, she got no takers. She asked me, "Is there anything you want from Grandma's house?"
Whenever I think about my grandma's house, the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of my childhood come rushing back. My favorite room in the house was the front bedroom. It was the room I most often slept in when we visited as it's location just down the hall from my grandfather and his epic snoring made it less desirable than the rooms in the converted garage.
It was my mother's old room, and I loved to imagine her lying on the bed gossiping with her girlfriends, primping at the tiny, built in vanity my grandfather lovingly made for her, or picking out an outfit from the closet. Apparently when my grandfather built the house my 15 year old mother dreamt up a lavender and white color scheme, even making a bedspread in those very colors in her home ec class at school. My grandpa loved his Cargy Vee, but he couldn't resist a bargain. As a result, the entire house was painted with the garish colors of the bargain paint bin resulting in among other things, a flamingo pink living room. As horrible as that was, my mother had something even more devastating awaiting her. All she wanted were white walls, but as she ran into her room she was greeted with screaming neon yellow. She sobbed in agony, knowing that they would stay that color (my grandparents didn't have the money for new paint) forever.
They didn't. Some time between my mother's high school years and my birth my grandmother wallpapered the entire room in flocked floral wallpaper. As a child I loved to sit on the floor and pet the walls, amazed by the texture of the paper. The wallpaper at our house certainly didn't feel like this! When I shared this insight with my mother she responded with something like, "I should hope not!" It took me a long time to understand what she meant.
That wallpaper became a source of laughter and ridicule among my family members over the years, one more charmingly strange thing about my grandmother's house. Even when I knew I should hate that wallpaper, I just couldn't. I made fun along with the rest of my family, but each time I visited the house I'd sneak into the room and surreptitiously stroke the walls.
So, when my mother asked the question, "What do you want from Grandma's house?" I laughed and said, "I know I can't have it, but what I'd really like is a piece of that flocked wallpaper from your old bedroom." Silence on the other end stretched for a moment, followed by "Really?" We laughed about it and then I admitted my life-long love for the horrible wallpaper. I knew it would go no where. My mother isn't the type to go into her mother's house and willfully destroy anything. She's a rule follower and worrier (good thing I didn't inherit that! Ha!) and I didn't think any more about it.
When my mother called me and said, "I cut you a piece of that wallpaper," you could have bought me for a nickel(I earlier posted a combination of two sayings. My sister corrected me and I'm now ashamed of myself. Ashamed forever.).She even sounded a little defiant when I questioned her about it, saying "You wanted a piece of that wallpaper, so I snuck into the room and cut you a piece from right near the window." I pictured her sneaking into that room armed with a pair of scissors and a mother's love, defacing her mother's home in order to get me a piece of wallpaper that she personally found hideous.
That's love baby. Love.
Who's the favorite NOW Matthew?
8 comments:
I may live to regret this if I'm the one that's wrong but I'm going to go out on a limb here and say I think you've got it wrong Maury, I think the expression is "you could have knocked me over with a feather"
funny that we blogged about grandma's house on the same day. Yours was great. I loved it. I had no idea of your love for the wallpaper. My favorite room was the back room where Christy and I slept because it was full of drawers and cupboards to look in. And it had Aunt Cheri's groovy wallpaper.
No, I'm wrong. You're right about that.
Love It!!!
When I was asked that question, "What of Grandma's do you want?" I had to go for her carrot cake and meat loaf recipes. She would make those for me with lots of love when I would go and visit her during my college years.
Oh. I guess Mom doesn't love me best—but not for the reason you said. Mom didn't even offer me the Indian plates made by the Franklin Mint.
Also, about the smell at Grandma's house: Once, when I was in 6th grade, I wrote a story about Grandma’s house that I was going to turn in for a school district writing contest called the Liberty Writers Contest. When Mom edited it for me, she made me remove a line in there about how I loved the "musty" smell of grandma's house. She made me change the description to say that the house smelled like vanilla. She said that saying grandma’s house smelled “musty” gave the wrong impression… and that the judges who read it would think that her house was dirty. But—as everyone who ever went into that house knows—THE HOUSE SMELLED MUSTY. Not a bad musty, but the kind of musty that you get when you go into a slightly damp cellar. Maybe it reeked to high heaven. You see, I LOVE that place and my memories are a little cloudy. The house probably smelled bad to anyone but a grandkid.
The rest of the story: I won the Liberty Writers award. The judges loved the story. I even got back some teary letters from the judges about how my story reminded them about their own grandparents. So, for the next three years when the competition came around, I decided to turn in a version of that same story each time. I would add a little each time, and most of what I wrote in the extended versions was stuff I made-up to make people cry. I won first place three years in a row.
Matthew,
You should ask for the Indian plates. I know that Emily would just love to hang them on your wall in an arrow formation.
Grandma's house DOES smell musty. Mom's editing reminds me of Grandma's edits of Grandpa's stories. Also, you are an evil genius. I love that at that tender age you had already figured out how to manipulate adults for your own gain. Bravo Matthew, bravo.
Great post, Maurs. Now I'm going to have to go read Jamie's. :)
Matthew, your evil genius story gave me and my hubby a good laugh.
As "Senior Metaphor" would of said, "I'm burning a candle at both ends and I didn't just rock the cradle, I tipped it right over" Jamie, you are right on the expression. What did you say, Maury? I loved the post, grandma's house does smell musty, I can't pinpoint it, but it it NOT vanilla. The walls maybe, but not the smell!
I just finished the Dr Who episode-you know which one I mean...and now I'm bawling over that and Grandma's house smell. I need to get out of my house and get something done.
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