on my kitchen counter: a walking stick with redbud leaves to eat (who knows what they eat? i need a better field guide.), a praying mantis who appears either very pregnant or a glutton, flies and stinkbugs to feed the mantis and 2 sticks “just perfect for slingshots, mom.”
it’s been a good morning, science-wise.
so here i sit, eating shredded wheat with blueberries with one hand, typing with the other (but please note: this blog does not in any way endorse eating or drinking at the computer. ever. don’t ask me about 3 ruined keyboards whose drownings may or may not have resulted from the spilling of two large coffees and a Cherry Coke®. do as I say, not as I do.)
I want to write about my grandmother - my father’s mother. and it’s my blog so I can write about whatever, right? like the 4 types of dutch cheese that live in my refrigerator right now or that my cat is limping and we don’t know why or that generic dishwashing liquid is crap but I keep forgetting that and buying it anyway. stuff like that. it’s my blog and my time, after all.
so Mil was quite a girl. what I remember most is that her house was awash in color. no, it was exploding with it. she did everything in technicolor, from the purple butterfly wallpaper on the dining room ceiling to the deep red walls in the living room that were painted with pheasants - or was it peacocks? probably peacocks. The stairwell was the most beautiful apple green you’ve ever seen. And many of those old metal lawnchairs (2 are in my basement) painted in different hues spotted the lawn.
She was the kind of old lady who found rocks and driftwood that looked like faces and brought them home to glue on googly eyes. she painted huge butterflies electric blue and attached them to the front of her house. she astroturfed every hard surface outside the back door in neon green, and next to it grew a huge, lovely garden with cannas and roses and iris and anything that comes in purple. When she discovered (and mastered) a new craft, she’d go to town with it, and by that I mean every bit of space in the house was at different times covered with doilies, afghans, 10,000 piece puzzles (glued together and shellacked, of course) and the aforementioned googly-eyed personifications of stuff from the woods. and dolls. and those glass clusters of grapes. I thought those were so cool.
her basement was awesome. AWESOME. the entire space was open and all the concrete walls were painted 3 foot sections of rainbow colors. the floor was randomly placed carpet sample tiles in the same shades. it was a riot of bright hues and delighted every grandchild who came to visit on Sunday (you could play so many games there - hop from color to color, play tag and base would be the purple stripes, etc). there were usually several large crocks of pickles-in-process in the corner, and we were instructed to never ever open the lids. I’m not saying we did or didn’t. but we loved pickles.
there was a trunk brimming with the 50’s and 60’s bridesmaid dresses and formals my aunts had worn. I distinctly remember always choosing a periwinkle taffeta with a portrait neckline and a long twirly skirt, while my cousins would pick the yellow satin sleeveless with elbow gloves and the pink net with matching pillox. can you say fashion show?
a huge green sectional that was actually 3 curved couches sat in the center, and created a large semicircle when they were connected. we jumped and climbed over it ad infinitum but she never said a word to us. I think that’s why it was there.
my grandmother lived to be 95, still fixing her own hair and driving her car almost to the end (and was very angry when my dad had to take away her license for refusing to accept the new 4-lane highway and driving into oncoming traffic because that was Where The Road Had Always Been) and cooking herself (and us if we were staying overnight) a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, grits and industrial strength coffee every morning.
She literally crackled with verve and life. She collected everything and had difficulty parting with any of it, but painted or wallpapered at least one room a different color nearly every month. She loved change. She was quick, blunt, practical, no-nonsense and could sometimes be thoughtless. She wanted to learn everything about everything. She wanted to do things Her Own Way, and lots of times would not listen to reason. the world sometimes seemed very black and white in her eyes. She was a little tacky.
I’m a lot like her.
She was odd: she once offered me $50 to promise I wouldn’t cut my hair. She thought beards were satanic. she kept a pet raccoon. she told us makeup was a sin but kept tubes of old, unused Coty lipsticks in her top dresser drawer (yeah, we snooped.) She played favorites among the grandchildren (i’ve never been anyone’s favorite but that’s okay). She taught my sister to drive when she was 12. she had no television but believed every word that came out of the radio. She was probably what we would now term bipolar.
And yet, as a child I felt an excitement and freedom at her house, with the colors and the energy, all the little collections of interesting things and her energetic pushing aside of the boundaries of taste and decorum. I loved the beautiful craziness of it after the calm white space of my mother’s home, the only color there touches of flow blue china and honey-colored pine floors (it’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong - my mother has wonderful taste, and it’s very scandinavian-country and tasteful in its own farmhouse way. you’d love it.) but my bedroom at home was soft green and cream. I wanted fuschia and a multicolored floor. and glass grapes.
Don’t misunderstand; I adore the serene loveliness of a more neutral home - a place where there is judicious use of color and not so much that it’s like living in a crayon box - to visit. I think it’s fabulous that everyone expresses themselves and their personality in their house and stuff and it is them. Japanese craft books and most things Martha-style make me crazy happy, and decorating that doesn’t go to extremes in any direction has me drooling with envy. Spare white walls tempt me weekly, and simple tan linen sewing projects, and rooms where easy peace rules. It’s a gorgeous aesthetic I will never master. My house makes some people a little nervous. it gives me energy.
I’m a lot like her.
