Daddy also built a duplex cottage about thirty yards behind our house where my two grandmothers lived, side by side. They were simple one room cottages, each with a small kitchenette and bathroom, probably just the right size for a grandmother with few possessions but a big heart. They mostly stayed to themselves, tending their gardens, and doing needlework, but they came up to "our house" for dinner a couple times a week and to join in our shopping trips. When I was growing up, I never thought of them as anything but my grannies, someone to love and someone to love me. It has only been in recent years that I began to wonder what they might have thought of each other? They were two mothers-in-law living side-by-side, one living in a house built by their son-in-law and the other dependent on the generosity of their daughter-in-law. Such an arrangement might not be as workable today, but back then it was a different time.
I was the caboose-end of six children, three boys and three girls. We were step-laddered by age two years apart, except for my twin brothers, so our ages were quite spread out, oldest to youngest. I suppose I didn't really feel like I fit in with the others; I wasn't overly studious, I wasn't dreaming of boys, and I wasn't an athlete. I liked to hunt and fish, but I wasn't as serious about it as the others that were. I was just me. My brothers and sisters probably thought I tagged along too much, but I didn't (although they may say otherwise).
Every now and then I would decide I would be happier living somewhere else, so I would "run away from home" to spend a couple days with my Granny, where I would be more appropriately appreciated. I thought that was a pretty safe plan. Since I was only thirty yards away I could still see everything that was going on up at the "big house," see visitors come and go, and know when my brothers or sisters were going swimming or playing basketball. I always wondered why my mom or dad didn't come bring me home. I would see them at some point during the day and they would say something like "Well, how's it been? Is everything okay with you at Granny's?" It always bothered me, though, that they seemed to see my "running away from home" as a fun thing to do, whereas I saw it as a bold statement of my dissatisfaction with the status quo at home.
It wasn't until I became a mother myself and had read all the latest child-rearing techniques that I realized I had been hoodwinked by my own parents! It was when I saw it in black and white in the latest child-rearing book that I saw how the technique worked. In order to allow the child to maintain good self esteem, the parents should show basic concern for the child's welfare, but allow him some space to work out the basic problem for himself. I have to admit, I've used the technique many times with my own boys, but it always concerned me that they did not have the safety-net of a Granny living a short hundred feet away.
Granny was always so accommodating when I came to her on one of my "run-aways." We would play cards and bake cookies, and I learned so much about gardening by working side by side with her. She didn't have a TV until later on, but we would listen to the “stories” on the old radio. She taught me the basics of needlework, and as my skills improved I was allowed the special honor of helping stitch her quilts. But what I remember most, and what still brings up a crystal clear recollection when I close my eyes, is the smell of her perfume. My Granny wore lilac. Oh, it was so sweet! She would show me how to dab a little behind each ear and on the pulse points, and then a drop on the nose while she sang "a little dab'll do ya" from the Brylcreem commercial. This special routine was always followed by a granny hug in her soft and ample lilac-scented bosoms.
After a few days of Granny-love, my indignant defiance would soften and I would be ready to return to the natural love that flowed from my parents and siblings, who were always ready to welcome me home ... well, until the next time!
My other grandmother moved away to live with other relatives, leaving Granny alone in the cottages for a couple years. In Granny’s last few years her health deteriorated significantly, and she was moved into our house where she could be more closely watched by my parents and me, as all the siblings had moved on to college and had started new lives away from the nest. Encroaching senility snatched away great chunks of the special relationship I had with Granny, and at times I have to admit I began to see her as more of a burden, than a blessing. After all, I was now sixteen and had other more important concerns in my life to consider than the demands of her care, and the sometimes embarrassment when friends slept over and Granny roamed the house in the middle of the night.
Granny died when I was eighteen and away for my first year of college. Mama and Daddy are gone, too, as well as my other grandmother. I know that they are all watching over me now. Daddy is out on the lake finally doing some serious fishing without the encumbrance of squirmy children. Mama is probably sitting by the picture window finally getting to do some reading and enjoying the peace and quiet. I especially feel that Granny continues to watch over me from her lovely cottage in the heavens. She's probably tending her garden, baking cookies for little cherub girls, and dabbing them with lilac-scented water, and loving them in her tender, ample bosoms.
I still think of Granny from time to time, more so now that my boys are approaching the age of one day making me a grandmother. I can only hope that when my sons have children of their own, they will come to think of me as I have my own grandmother. When my boys were growing up, I would never let them call me "Mama", because my mother was Mama. And likewise, my grandchildren will have to call me Nana, or Grandma, or some other endearing name, but not Granny ... for there will never be another like my Granny.
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