Grandma Told Stories

The last Grandma story (for now):

Grandma was a fundamentalist Protestant and a Pentecostal charismatic who talked in tongues when the spirit moved her. This was quite different than the European Catholicism of my mother's people, which was the way I was raised. However, loving someone with a different religion was my first clue that mysticism and goodness belong to all religions, and all (or none) are valid paths. She also retained many old Appalachian mores, superstitions, and beliefs.

She often told me ghost stories about events that happened in the family over the years.  One of my favorite stories was the one about "The Three White Horses.”

The Three White Horses
Grandma’s paternal grandmother, Luella, lived on a farm in Pickett County, Tennessee with her husband, Ewell. She was sitting on her front porch on 1 Jun 1919, when unbeknownst to her, their son Thomas (my great grandfather) died. Luella told Ewell that she saw three white horses running in the fields by their house that day. He just laughed at her and told her she was seeing things. Three months to the day, she went into the cornfield to fill her apron with ripe corn for dinner. There she had a stroke and died on 1 September 1919.   

Grandma also told me she once heard a strong, decisive knock on the front door to her house.  When she opened the door no one was there.  Later she discovered that a relative had died at the exact moment she heard the knock. These stories scared me half to death, and I had trouble sleeping for many nights after hearing that one.  Still, I was fascinated and could not stop asking for more.

My father died in 1995, and Grandma was bereft at losing her son. I came into town for the funeral, and I was dropped off at Grandma's house a couple hours before with the understanding I was to keep Grandma company until my mother came to pick us both up. It never occurred to me that Grandma hadn't been told I would be coming. She answered the door red eyed and with tears streaming down her face. It killed me to see her that way. She said she didn't want company right then, something I had never heard her say before. I felt so bad for intruding. I apologized and hugged her and said I'd walk to my Mom's house (probably only about a 15 minutes walk - no big deal). When Grandma realized I didn't have a car she refused to let me leave. 

Then I had to make it right somehow, you know what I mean? It was super awkward and one of those moments you will always remember. I realized it couldn't be Grandma who made it right, she was a 90 year old woman beside herself with grief. I had to do or say something that would change the tone, but still honor the feelings of that day. The best I could come up with was (in a small voice) "Grandma, could you tell me the story of the three white horses?"

She look at me out of the corner of her eyes for one long moment (as if to say, "Are ya kiddin' me, Colette?). Then her eyes crinkled up and she laughed out loud, a most welcome sound. She patted my knee, and proceeded to tell me the story. She was the grandmother, I was the grandchild, and we both knew how that worked. 

This brooch belonged to Grandma.  Not three WHITE horses, but still...

My Grandmother's Ghost

My mother saw her own mother’s ghost. I think that is why Mom was reluctant to speak of her mother. Grandma (Veronica from my post Enduring Love) died in November 1950. Mom was pregnant with me, about a year later, when she woke up in the middle of the night to see her mother standing in the doorway of the room. Veronica had on her favorite blue coat, and her ribbon hat (apparently a popular style of the late 1940’s). She was trying hard to communicate with Mom. Although her lips were moving and she was urgently trying to speak, Mom could not hear what Veronica was trying to say. She sat up in bed, leaned forward and said “What?” to her mother. At that point my father woke up and the apparition disappeared. 

Many years later (in the late 1980’s), I went to a Spiritualist church for an adventurous night out with a group of friends.  I am not a member of that church (or any church), but sometimes my friends and I would go to a meeting or two at the Spiritualist church each summer. Like many locals we would go for the fun of it when the church hosted open "spirit readings" for non-members. They were good at it, too; very spooky stuff.

In preparation, I concentrated hard all day on asking my dead grandmother to send me a message telling me what she had been trying to tell my Mom that night so long ago. It must have worked, because later that night the Spiritualist minister pointed me out in the crowd and told me that there was a grandmotherly spirit standing right behind me. He said the spirit wanted to give me her message herself rather than relate it through the psychic preacher. He instructed me to concentrate and meditate over the course of the next few weeks so that the “materialization” could take place. "Holy shit," I thought.

He must have seen the look of terror in my eyes, because he took great pains to reassure me there was nothing to be afraid of. Yeah, right. I was absolutely terrified at the thought of seeing a ghost. I thought, “OK, no problem – I won’t concentrate, I won’t meditate, and then nothing will happen.” I only wanted a freakin' message, I did NOT want to see a ghost.

I'm a big chicken about things that go bump in the night. Like a little kid, I was too afraid to sleep. I dozed fitfully, sparingly, and nervously for the next 2 nights. I was afraid to close my eyes because of what I might dream, and afraid to open my eyes because of what I might see! It's funny now, looking back on it. However, I was sincerely scared at the time.

By the third night I was exhausted. I fell deeply and peacefully asleep. I dreamed of my maternal grandmother. I clearly remember seeing her in that dream, and I know she took a long time to tell me many things. When I woke up I could not for the life of me remember anything she said, except for one message I was to give to my mother. She told me to tell my mother not to let her feelings get hurt so easily. 

I called to convey the message to my mother.  She seemed surprised and shocked with what I called to tell her, but she didn’t say much. It was a short phone call. Later I discovered that she had been fighting with her sisters for weeks because she had taken offense at something one of them had said to her, and she was nursing a serious case of hurt feelings.

I wonder if this is the ribbon hat?

Inexplicable

Have you ever had something happen you simply could not explain? The incident that comes to mind for me is the Case of My Magic Earring.

A dear friend, JE, once gave me pewter earrings imprinted with a quilt block pattern. They are my all-time favorite earrings.  

When my father died in 1996, I flew back to Indiana from NYS to give the eulogy at his funeral. My daughter, M, was in college and had exams. I wouldn't let her come. I hope she forgives me for that eventually! T had events going on at work and I convinced him it would be best if he stayed home. In truth, I wanted to go alone because I did not want to be a mother or a wife for that event. I wanted to be a daughter. I wore my pewter earrings to the funeral. Afterwards my brother, Big D, invited everyone to his house for a reception.   

We went straight from the church to the reception. I was up and about all afternoon talking to people I rarely get to see. When I was ready to leave, I reached up to touch my ear and realized one of the earrings was missing. In a panic, I went back into the house and searched high and low for the earring. I eventually accepted the loss and sadly went on my way. It was a day for loss, it seemed. When I returned home I put the other earring in my jewelry box. Even alone, it had meaning to me and I wanted to keep it.

I usually give the eulogies at family funerals.  By 1996, I had given two eulogies: at my Dad's (1996) and at my brother F's (1995) funeral.  A couple of months after Dad's funeral I was having one of "those" days. Specifically, I wanted to reread the eulogies and get all nostalgic in the process. I still do that from time to time, but now I also read eulogies I gave for my Grandma (2000), my brother W (2004), and my Mom (2015).  It is kind of getting out of hand.

My husband and I each have our own home offices. My computer was on the fritz that day, so I was sitting in T's office using his computer instead. On his desk was a small bronze container with a lid. I casually opened the lid to see what he kept inside. Imagine my surprise when I saw my missing earring! I screamed for T and he came running. He claimed to have no knowledge of the earring or how it came to be in that container in his office. 

Now remember, he did not go with me to that funeral. His office was upstairs and mine was downstairs. I rarely went into his room. It was just a fluke that I was using his computer that day. How did that earring find its way from Indiana to New York?

I checked my jewelry box and the second earring was still where I put it. I was seriously spooked, trying to imagine there was a reasonable explanation that would present itself in time. I decided to ignore what had just happened. The mind is a powerful force for denial. 

Later in the afternoon the power went out in the house just for a few minutes, long enough for the non-battery driven clocks to go off and start blinking. I reset the downstairs clocks. I went upstairs to use the bathroom and saw the alarm clock in our bedroom blinking. I ignored it, thinking I'd leave it for T to reset because it was somewhat complicated and I am THAT lazy.

By the time we went to bed I had successfully convinced myself nothing strange had happened.  Then I suddenly remembered the alarm clock. I sat up and leaned over to see if the clock was still blinking but noticed the clock had been reset.  I mumbled a thank you to T for resetting it and closed my eyes to go to sleep. A few moments later I heard T mumble, "I didn't reset it, you must have." My eyes flew wide open. I replied, "No... I didn't!" We both lay there for a few long, uncanny minutes feeling unsettled at best. His voice in the dark said something like "Please don't become a big nut!" I assured him I wouldn't and we eventually relaxed enough to fall asleep.

Afterwards, I referred to those earrings as my "magic earrings." I regaled my nieces and nephews with the story. Whenever I travelled I wore them as a good luck charm. One niece in particular, K, would always ask if I was wearing my magic earrings when I was on the plane.

About 16 years later, in 2012, I was flying back to NY from a visit to my daughter in Orlando. Of course I wore my magic earrings. On the way, I realized I had once again lost one.  I figured I had it on borrowed time and was thankful for the joy it had brought me and my large extended family.  I let it go. Perhaps it will find its way back to me again?  Geez, I hope not. I don't think I could handle it.

The remaining magic earring.  I carry it with me inside my purse now.

Going Back

We made a whirlwind trip to Upstate NY in mid-May. It was the first time we went back since moving to Florida in March 2014. We arrived late Friday and left after lunch on Monday. Absurdly short visit, I know; but T is not a good traveler. I apologize from the heart to those dear friends I was unable to see this time. The guilt and regret I feel is palpable. But this trip had a specific purpose.

Our friend, ShS, died in January and we were unable to go back for her funeral. We specifically planned this May weekend with the old gang to honor her and help her husband process the loss.

Saying goodbye to her was one of the last things we did before leaving NYS over two years ago. She was not sick yet. Still, when I hugged her goodbye at her doorway that cold March day I was overcome with sorrow and didn't want to let go of her. I fought tears as we drove away. It would be an understatement to say I don't usually cry. I am usually steely calm with goodbyes, so Tom asked if I was okay. I told him I had a strong feeling I was never going to see ShS again. It was one of those moments when the future reaches back with fully extended claws to rend your heart with foresight. Spooky.

On a lighter note, while there we went to our favorite Vietnamese restaurant. When I walked in, the waiter immediately remembered me! He also remembered my standard lunch order after all these years. Whatta guy!

His kindness reminded me how we impact everyone we meet. A kind and gracious waiter can make a customer's day. We might remember him/her for the rest of our lives. Relationships take many forms. Make no mistake, we all play a role crafting goodness and light in this world.

Yes, we went to Wegmans. I had a hilarious "moment" with an elderly stranger who was sitting down in the dining area eating an entire Mini Ultimate Chocolate Cake all by her sweet self. As I walked by, I saw the cake and exclaimed "Look, it's one of those cakes!" She heard me and said, "I am just trying to make sure I stay fat." Ha! I'll probably never forget her, either.

Just so you know, we brought a small, empty carry-on suitcase on the plane. Before leaving NYS we filled it up with 3 dozen bagels for our return. The security bag scanner at the airport got a big kick out of it. Six of the bagels were garlic. Now the suitcase will forever smell of garlic. I don't care.

Bagels, ripe for the picking

Heaven on Earth: the produce section at Wegmans

FYI - We are going to be preoccupied with a family wedding this weekend, so I probably won't be checking my or other people's blogs for a few days.  If you send comments I will publish them and respond Monday or Tuesday.  Have a good weekend!