November Writings: Sunny Days

I remember the summer I spent with my grandmother in Texas when I was 13 years old. It was one of the most enjoyable summers of my life, because my 13 year old ego was completely and utterly indulged by my Magaw. 

I had my own bedroom with a luxuriously fluffy queen-size bed. Sure, the room décor left something to be desired with the antique collection of stuffed animals surrounding a vast collection of thimbles lovingly gathered from all over the world, but it was quiet, it was peaceful and safe, and I was happy. Per my Magaw’s request, I made my bed every morning but Sunday, because of course, if God rested on the 7^th day, then so should we. I would take any opportunity she gave me to not make the bed – amen!  

My grandmother and I would sit out every morning on her patio, shaded from the beautiful sunny morning and eat breakfast while we watched the feeding frenzy of birds and squirrels devour their food she always set out for them. My favorite birds were always the hummingbirds who danced in the air around the hummingbird feeder. I always thought they were magical, and my grandmother shared my love. It was blissful on those warm Texas summer mornings, eating breakfast while planning our days together.

My grandmother would get the chores finished up mid-morning, and then we would typically spend some time with various projects. I busied myself sewing some shirts and vests with material and patterns I selected from her favorite fabric store. I listened to my favorite music in my bedroom, taking time to read some books I had checked out from the library. I was obsessed with a book on Eastern religions, and devoured that book while listening to Milli Vanilli or Faith No More on my stereo. I wasn’t the hippest 14 year old around, but I thoroughly enjoyed that summer. 

In the afternoons, no one was allowed to utter a word while we had tea and watched Jeopardy. NOTHING was to come between Magaw and her Jeopardy. She yelled out answers at the tv, “WHAT IS…”, cheering for herself when she (usually) answered correctly. Gasping, “OH NO!” when the contestant missed one, how could they not know that?

In the evenings, we would walk over to the pond and visit the ducks. I visited that duck pond every time I went to see my grandmother since I was a baby, and it held such exciting memories for me – especially those times when the ducks were feeling extra brave and would start to chase me or my younger brother. Once I was older, of course, I was not ever frightened of the ducks. 

On Sundays, we would go to church and her Sunday school class. It was a large class of people around my grandmother’s age. They all doted on me while I smiled shyly. I remember my grandmother had made this skirt out of rose material of which I was given the scraps. I looked at the scraps and told her there was plenty of material here to make a matching vest for her skirt. She doubted me, but listened, and we went to the fabric store to purchase some supplies and in a couple days’ time, I had completed a nice vest to go with her skirt. She was never more proud of anything than she was of that vest, and she told the story to her Sunday school friends every time we gathered. My Magaw loved to dote on me. 

I loved that sunny summer with my grandmother. It was such a special time with her. 

Today, my Magaw lives with my mother. She has little of her memory left because of dementia. She is still a ray of sunshine when I go to visit her, but she doesn’t really know who I am any longer. I often say she is a walking, talking “Chicken Soup for the Soul” book, she is full of smiles and sincere enjoyment of family when we are around her. She tells us we are all such blessings, but I truly think she is the blessing. I will keep those memories of that summer in my heart for the both of us. I miss my Magaw.