Grandmommy

My Grandmother Somerset was born 101 years ago today. Thanks to my shutterbug Dad, I have this wonderful slice of time to remember my grandmother by (I'm the little one sitting on my grandfather's lap). Like all of my family that have gone on before me, I wish that I could just sit on the porch once again and visit with her for a while.

Most of my memories of my grandmother are centered in the kitchen, where she was in a continual state of "bustle". She hurried to do this and that, getting together a wonderful meal for her favorite visitors, her grandchildren. Roasted pecans and Lane cakes come to mind. 

Everyone has those special "sense" memories that, once you experience them again, bring back a long-buried memory so quickly. Two things she always seemed to have on hand - signature tastes of my grandparents' household: Welch's grape juice (served in tiny Tupperware tumblers at every breakfast) and Dr. Pepper, a six-pack of bottles kept on the floor by the fridge. Sip either one and I'm back at her table with the red countertop radio tuned to the Noon Farm Report. 

Her youngest child, my Aunt Jo, is just a few years older than I. Having a child reaching her teen years when you're in your 50s - in rural Alabama - must have been an experience. I remember visiting one summer and playing one of Jo's albums loudly and constantly, with no complaint from Grandmommy. The album? Black Sabbath. 

Holy cow. She really did love her grandchildren!

Summers at her house meant horseback riding, pea shelling, egg gathering, honeysuckle, toothless relatives who told the best stories, and laundry day with white sheets and the strong smell of Clorox.

And love.

My grandmother was a caregiver, not unusual for women in her era and place. She took care of folks - family, friends, community.  She was always doing for someone.

I'd be a better human being if I was more like her.