My Nana was about the opposite of my Dodo. She was a tiny thing a poor family in Alabama. She married into a moon-shining family who were very tall, I have a picture of great-aunts, guarding the stills with rifles. Staring down from their 6 ft height with imposing, scary stares. In the dust bowl years, they took their three daughters and left the poor white trash life physically, mentally and spiritually, and moved to armpit of California: Bakersfield.
My grandfather died when my mother was 11, of an illness that could have been cured with anti-biotics just a couple years before they were available to the public. It was his death that hardened my mothers heart to God. In the bustle of the tragedy, no one sat down with her and explained anything more than “God took him home”.
Nana was my quiet, resourceful, sewing grandma. She was a seamstress, who provided for her girls by sewing elegant gowns and suits for other women. They took in borders to help make ends meet, and she was able to keep their small home with her income. I don’t ever remember talking to her as a child, just sitting at her sewing table as she cranked out clothes for me and mom. She would give me scraps to ‘make’ clothes for my dolls.
She taught me by example, not by words, about excellence. Excellence in a straight seam no one would see, in a properly sewn button. Every time she visited, she would bring the scraps of fancy fabric and lace. I spent hours pouring over the colors and textures, and as I grew in skill, made elegant Barbie period costumes to sell at a boutique. She was proud of me, making mini-versions of what she was creating.
When I was searching spiritually, she sent me a Bible and a small cross necklace. Through all my bad life choices, she loved me. But her eyes truly sparkled when I chose to follow Christ, and she cried happy tears when I chose to follow Skeeter.
Nana was a simple woman. Her only ‘fun’ outlet was her bridge club, she never learned to drive and had no desire to see the world beyond Bakersfield. One daughter was just like her, another chose the wild life. Nana agonized over the one daughter’s life failures, then watched her precede her in death. My own mother was ashamed of her humble upbringing and left for glamorous San Francisco at 18.
Nana took care of her simple life until she was 92 years old and broke her hip. She decided she wasn’t going to do therapy, and that is was her turn to be taken care of. She moved in to a nursing home and quietly, as she lived her life, faded away. I almost missed seeing her before she died, but God worked it out that my car broke down outside B-field. Stopping my busy LA life to spend quiet time in her presence one last time.
I have her first electric sewing machine, and I am teaching Lil Angel to sew for her Barbies. And at times, I try to be quiet.
January 24, 2008 at 9:00 pm |
I love the idea of bringing to light all of the memories of people who have touched your life. With it already the 24th, are you double-timing it to catch up, so you can do one a day later? I just love this idea, again.
I might do something similar but I don’t know if I can think of one person per day.
Where in Alabama was your grandma born? I’m from there, too. (as you might know)
January 25, 2008 at 2:01 am |
She lives.
She lives through your sewing. You’ve extended her life through teaching your daughter. She lives. 
January 25, 2008 at 12:43 pm |
Umm Farouq, thanks for the encouragement!! Although I love the idea, I’m actually having to rethink my ability to commit to this, as I’m not getting my today and tomorrow work done writing about yesterday’s influencers. Maybe we’ll have to think of an alternative, like the 52 project, once a week.
HEY! I knew you were Southern, but didn’t know it was ‘Bama!! My relatives are in Birmingham, but I know they were from a smaller town originally. This is too funny, 3 of us having Alabama roots.
Another reason for a coffee morning after Feb 3.
Ziad, you are such an affirmer! Thank you for that…it will get be off my duff to get those 55 sewing projects done.
!