The Conical Glass: My grandmother

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

My grandmother

Today would have been my maternal grandmother's 103rd birthday. She was the first of my grandparents to die, and the only one whose death was sudden and unexpected.

I always felt closest to my dad's mom, who lived only 80 miles away when I was I growing up, whereas my mother's parents were across the ocean in Sweden. I did see them almost every year, though. They lived in a little red house in a village in the western part of the country, not far from the Norwegian border. My Grandmother Vera was the archetypal cookie-baking grandma; her home was always immaculately kept. I always picture her in the kitchen, pulling a tray of cardamom rolls out of the oven. No matter what she was doing, though, she always had time for me; she taught me to play several different games of solitaire, and most mornings, we'd go shopping in the nearby town of Bengtsfors. I loved Swedish soft drinks, so different than the American kinds, and I was always allowed to pick one out to have with my dinner. She'd give me a krona coin or two so I could play tombola (a type of lottery in which tickets are drawn from a revolving drum) at one of the booths in the town square. Once, I won an alarm clock, which I used for years and years; sometimes I'd win a package of coffee that I'd proudly give my grandmother, who, like most Swedes, drank a fair amount of it every day.

When I reached my teen years, I thought my grandparents' little village was the dullest place in the universe. Now that I'm older, I often fantasize about retreating there for some peace and quiet. The red house is still in my family, now used as a second home by my relatives in Sweden. My grandmother, gone so many years now, lives on in spirit; my mother and aunt both inherited her infinite patience, her kindness and gentle, nurturing soul -- traits I only wish I had, but strive toward, in her memory.

posted by 125records @ 11:11 AM

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