Ode to Jeannette

My grandmother died on April 14^th at the age of 90.  And let’s be specific: my father’s mother (because my mother’s mother is a whole different can of worms!) She was my Mawmaw. I was the first grandchild born and this is the name I gave her and it stuck for all the other grandchildren. This woman was the kindest, sweetest, dearest person to me throughout my entire life. I didn’t have a very good childhood. And my summers, left with my step-mother, were nightmares – until I would go to my grandmother’s in Houston for weeks at a time. She was a super woman, filled with wonderful stories that I never, ever tired of hearing. She was my savior in so many ways. And it was from her that I was always called Cinderella.

As a mom of one, solitary child, I think of my Mawmaw often with the three children she raised on a tiny budget that my grandfather eked out to her. But even more significant was HOW she ran her every day. I can’t know what things were like with the three children. I do know that when I spent summers with her, she was constantly moving, in addition to teaching me how to knit, sew, cook, crochet.  Her schedule went pretty much like this:

Get up at 5am to cook my grandfather breakfast. Clean the house (which was ALWAYS immaculately clean), do laundry. Fix me breakfast when I got up around 9:00. Do more laundry, go the grocery store, meet with a customer (she sewed on the side). She would then fix us lunch – a lovely meal that I still have fond memories of but have yet to replicate in its loveliness. After lunch, she watched her "stories", sewed a little, painted (she painted tiny oil paintings) before my grandfather got home at 4:00. Then, she put the towels out for my grandfather’s shower (at 4:00) and would have dinner – complete with dessert – ready for us at 5:00. On the dot, because Pawpaw liked to watch the news while he ate. After dinner, she would do all the dishes, sit down and knit/crochet for a few hours, go to bed and read until 10:00. And then get up and do it all again the next day. I am not exaggerating in the least. This was the schedule. Every. Day.

My grandfather made a decent living, but it wasn’t huge. They were not well-off people. But they traveled – something she loved terribly and always yearned for more. And clothes. She loved beautiful clothes and would often try to copy what she loved with her own patterns.

As the mom of one – ONE! – child, this is amazing. I don’t know how she did it! That house was SO clean. All the time! How can I ever complain about anything?! This woman did not complain. She was hard core. And I constantly try to keep my life in perspective when compared to hers. She had an 8^th grade education and came from a poor family. She was married around the age of 18 to an older man who died shortly after they were married. She then moved back home. My grandfather married her as a flirtation to supposedly piss off his own family – she came from the wrong side of the tracks. And so it stuck for almost 50 years.

She taught me important things about men: never go to bed with torn or ugly nightclothes. Men don’t want to see that. Always consider yourself fortunate if your husband is kind and smiles and loves you sweetly – so many men don’t. Dismiss their shortcomings if they provide these things because that’s what matters when you’re old – not how many chores they did. Keep a man if he makes you laugh. Keep a man if he tries.

My grandmother liked Bob for these reasons. She boiled things down to the simplest truth. It wasn’t about material possessions. It wasn’t about words, but actions. And she saw that Bob pulled his weight in this category. Whenever we would go through a bad patch, I would ask her advice and she would say, “But sweetheart, do you love him?” And that was my answer.

I will miss her terribly, but I hold her close in my heart. She’s always there. And always will be. I have treasured all the things she has given me because she knew how important the legacy of family is to me – because I have so little. I know from where I came because she filled in the blanks and made it all come to life. I knew the day would come when she would pass. It was inevitable. But you’re never ready and you certainly aren’t prepared to accept it. This post only touches on a few of the great things she did for me growing up. The list is too, too great to write.

I love you, Mawmaw.

With my father, when he went into the Army.

With her older sister, Rhea, who she deeply admired and found strength in.

While many say I look just like her, I never looked this good.

With my Pawpaw, whom she loved despite everything.

With my father, in 1950, in Crowley, LA during a rare snowfall. My dad was six.

And here, pinning my father's Eagle Scout award on him. She was desperately proud of my father. Always.