YIKES! I'VE TURNED INTO MY GRAMMA SCHMITZ!!
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror the other day. I was attired in a brown skirt with some blue detail on it, brown sandals, a blouse with some more of the blue/brown motif - and working the theme until it almost broke, a necklace of brown wooden beads and blue glass particles. Holy Mother of Pearl! I'm my Gramma Schmitz 40 years ago. She was all pop-beads and plastic glass. And if she didn't match her accessories with her clothes, then she wasn't leaving the house. That's 1960's southern California for you.
There were other peculiarities about Gramma. She was a POTTER! Laughed? We couldn't get down the breezeway fast enough and around the corner to bust a gut, as they say. Her Santa mugs, her fish plates, and those garish ashtrays would bring us to the brink of bladder control. But he who laughs, laughs last. There are expensive specialty shoppes aplenty these days that carry just the sort of craft we howled about. I'd give my eye teeth today to have some of her pieces.
Actually, my sister Brooks DOES have some of Gramma's stuff - the fish plates - and a hefty stack of them, too. I'm thinking of asking her to give them to me for a trade. I've got a really fab necklace with green gems (are they emeralds or are they Memorex?) encased in bronze borders (wink-wink, nod-nod). Cool thing is, when this jewelry turns your neck green, folks think it's the sunlight shining through the stones!
People, save the outraged phone calls about me being a grandma-basher. Of course there are heartwarming memories: I would like to have sheets that are as slick and satiny as her concrete driveway was; I'd love to have a garage with one solid wall nothing but boxes holding untold treasures; and I would adore to have a window in the family room where you can press your nose up against the screen and smell the sun.
After a moment's reflection, it occurs to me maybe being a castoff of Anna Schmitz isn't that bad. Lord, I could be like my other grandma, Bertha. With hosiery the color of flesh and the texture of gauze that she knotted right below her knees, with black lace-up shoes that had heels that measured three-by-three-by-three. Bertha, who inspected her nail beds all day long, wondering when that Knox Gelatin was going to kick in and make those puppies strong. No pop-beads and plastic glass for this gal. And strict? She thought a good idea for a snack was an orange! An orange! When all we wanted was cake. Hey, speaking of cake . . . .
There were other peculiarities about Gramma. She was a POTTER! Laughed? We couldn't get down the breezeway fast enough and around the corner to bust a gut, as they say. Her Santa mugs, her fish plates, and those garish ashtrays would bring us to the brink of bladder control. But he who laughs, laughs last. There are expensive specialty shoppes aplenty these days that carry just the sort of craft we howled about. I'd give my eye teeth today to have some of her pieces.
Actually, my sister Brooks DOES have some of Gramma's stuff - the fish plates - and a hefty stack of them, too. I'm thinking of asking her to give them to me for a trade. I've got a really fab necklace with green gems (are they emeralds or are they Memorex?) encased in bronze borders (wink-wink, nod-nod). Cool thing is, when this jewelry turns your neck green, folks think it's the sunlight shining through the stones!
People, save the outraged phone calls about me being a grandma-basher. Of course there are heartwarming memories: I would like to have sheets that are as slick and satiny as her concrete driveway was; I'd love to have a garage with one solid wall nothing but boxes holding untold treasures; and I would adore to have a window in the family room where you can press your nose up against the screen and smell the sun.
After a moment's reflection, it occurs to me maybe being a castoff of Anna Schmitz isn't that bad. Lord, I could be like my other grandma, Bertha. With hosiery the color of flesh and the texture of gauze that she knotted right below her knees, with black lace-up shoes that had heels that measured three-by-three-by-three. Bertha, who inspected her nail beds all day long, wondering when that Knox Gelatin was going to kick in and make those puppies strong. No pop-beads and plastic glass for this gal. And strict? She thought a good idea for a snack was an orange! An orange! When all we wanted was cake. Hey, speaking of cake . . . .
Cake Comments:
"Does this cake rock? Bet your booties, Granny!" says one fan.
"I'd hock my rings for a slice of this cake," enthused another.
"They didn't make cakes like this when I was a kid," exclaimed Grandma Rose.
Cake Fact:
One cake should feed 12 paternal relatives or 15 maternal ancestors.
One cake should feed 12 paternal relatives or 15 maternal ancestors.
posted by Small but Tall | 7:05 AM
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