She was searching for just the right tree topper and came up with this. It's a traditional Seneca head dress. What a conversation piece, huh? Thought you'd like it. I did.
I know it's been awhile since I've posted. With the holidays upon us, it's been crazy. Speaking of the holidays, I swiped this photo from my sister's Facebook page.
She was searching for just the right tree topper and came up with this. It's a traditional Seneca head dress. What a conversation piece, huh? Thought you'd like it. I did.
She was searching for just the right tree topper and came up with this. It's a traditional Seneca head dress. What a conversation piece, huh? Thought you'd like it. I did.
Listening for Grandma
My clan grandmother lived behind our house until she passed away. She helped to raise my mother as a child, and in return my mother promised to take care of Grandma in her later years. So, when my mother married, my dad agreed to build her a little place she could call home.
Her visits were usually few. She either came to use the phone, or ask my mother to take her to town. Occasionally, she would come to watch television for a few minutes, then leave without a word.
Grandma Ida spoke very little English. "Lie die, dog," was about the only phrase she knew. It always made us chuckle.
One summer afternoon, my mother had just taken the clothes off the line and brought them inside to fold. She, my two younger nieces, and myself were in the living room helping her, while watching television. We could hear the squeak of the back screen door, followed by slow footsteps.
"Dud-zoh" Mom called to her. "Come on in." One by one, the three of us joined suit.
"Hi, Grandma! We're in here. C'mon in, Grandma."
Her visits were usually few. She either came to use the phone, or ask my mother to take her to town. Occasionally, she would come to watch television for a few minutes, then leave without a word.
Grandma Ida spoke very little English. "Lie die, dog," was about the only phrase she knew. It always made us chuckle.
One summer afternoon, my mother had just taken the clothes off the line and brought them inside to fold. She, my two younger nieces, and myself were in the living room helping her, while watching television. We could hear the squeak of the back screen door, followed by slow footsteps.
"Dud-zoh" Mom called to her. "Come on in." One by one, the three of us joined suit.
"Hi, Grandma! We're in here. C'mon in, Grandma."
Eyes in the Back of Her Head
My adoptive mother was born in the early 1900s. The time and the fact she had many siblings made for some pretty interesting stories. This is one of many.
One afternoon, Mom and I were busy doing something, I don't exactly remember. The little ones were playing, Vi was sitting cross-legged on the chair. You know where the front windows are? That's where she sat with her back to the window. She didn't walk until she was about 5.
"Why's that?" I asked.
Oh, I don't know. Maybe she just liked for us to carry her around. Anyway, all of a sudden, she blurted out, "Oh, Dad fell off the bike." Mom and I just looked at her. Mom said, "What are you talking about?" "Oh, he came around Spring's corner too fast and fell off. He's okay. He didn't get hurt."
Dad finally came home. He started to tell us how he took the corner too fast, went off the road, and fell off the bike. We looked at each other.
She's always been that way. Vi, I mean. Odd.
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