TATER

A fond fare thee well.  This time tomorrow I will be on a jet headed for New York, to catch up with people I know and love, and to meet a few folks I have yet to see face to face.  I am a bit sad that a couple of you I longed to meet couldn't make the journey, but such is life.  That I strongly dislike flying is not a secret to those that know me, so fox hole prayers will be said, and appreciated from those that care to add their two cents for the continuation of my existence.  Have a great weekend all!  Al will be posting part five of our fiction series this evening, and I look forward to reading whatever his interesting imagination can cook up.  I will not have the weekend free to write, so my response, though still scheduled for next Thursday evening, may be pushed back a day, if my schedule is too hectic early in the week.  We shall have to wait and see.  I look forward to meeting those that are making the trip to NYC!

This post is dedicated to my Grandmother Hunt, my mother, and to all the women in this world who love and nourish their children.

 

Clickity-Clack click click SNAP!
Grandma has just claimed 40 points with the 66 spinner,and is scratching her score on the notepad beside her.  Cigarette smoke curling its way heavenward, threading a blue finger through her horn rimmed spectacles.  She grins at me across the oak table and chuckles, “Your turn taterbug.”

I watched her bring the ever present Vantage to her lips,  as she fixed me with her smiling blue eyes.  “I’ve had  three robins at my feeder this morning,  and  a hummingbird!
Me and old charlie here almost got us a squirrel this morning too, didn’t we?” She said, as she patted the head of Charlie Brown, the amazing 20 lb. Dachshund who was lording over the game from upon the throne of grandma’s ample thighs.  I didn’t think that Charlie could catch much more than a free meal and a nap, but I smiled nonetheless, from imagining his effort.

This large Den, overlooking my Papa’s tidy backyard, was my grandma’s domain.  The bird feeder her entertainment, and Charlie her confidant and friend.  She preferred to spend the day at the carved oak table, playing gin rummy or dominoes, taking on all who dared, and soundly whipping us all.  She kept a harmonica in the pocket of her housecoat, along with her pink cigarette case that had the little pouch for her Zippo lighter.  When I was a baby, she would rock me on the soft expanse of her ample bosom, and play the harp for me.  She loved to tell me how “I would just stare and stare at her with those big blue eyes” until I would drift off to sleep.  No matter what I was wailing about, as soon as I heard music, I was at peace.

We sat many hours together at that table, swapping stories in peace.  Slapping the bones down, or shuffling the deck.  I wish to God I could remember all the stories she told me of her childhood, growing up in Ryan Oklahoma.  I sensed a lot of pride and pain in her words.  She was Salutatorian to my Papa’s Valedictorian of their high school (or was it the other way round?), and the star of her basketball team.  she described with bitterness the fights she took on, while growing up under Jim Crow.  I realize now, being mixed breed Cree Indian and white  was a burden for her in those years.  Somewhere between, in the no man’s land of privileged white and burdened “colored”, she was accepted by neither, really.  She told me once  that she took her shoe to a bunch of mean hearted white boys who were threatening the colored girl down the street.  She beat them all into retreat with her courage, resolve, and a wooden heel, even though they were older and scarier than her. She didn’t really say so, but I think the girl and her were actually secret friends, who grew up together in a time when that wasn’t tolerated.

My grandma raised four kids through the dust bowl and depression, a position she took, but probably wasn’t meant for.  She had too much intelligence and fight to settle down with a man while barely out of high school.  My father was always quiet on the subject, but his mom and dad fought like cats in a bag all through his childhood.  Violence too.  My Grandma hid her hurt in cooking and humor, and my Papa stepped out on her when he could.  Their’s was a love and hate affair than ended in a truce by the time I came round.  I always wondered why they had separate rooms and routines, but never thought to ask.  I was Grandma’s boy, and she taught me to take things as they come.  She taught me strategy and patience, she taught me to stand up for myself against all odds.  She played favorites, and I felt honored to be in her massive sphere.

I dreamed of her last night,  She comes to me in sleep and offers her encouragement.  She has done so off and on since she passed.

If I have even an ounce of that woman’s fire, I know I will get on, come hell or high water.

 

 

2 Comments
lynette
oh my word, that is such a beautiful tribute to your grandmother. tater, this is stunning. what a wonderful thing for you to have had her in your life and for her to have had her little "taterbug." wow. this is really, really wonderful.
Thursday, February 22, 2007 - 01:50 PM
Tony
What a great memory. Thanks for sharing Tater. I had a much loved Grandmother myself, who was one of the few safe places in my childhood. Thanks again.

Episode four of the fiction series by Alto and Tater, is now posted.  I have no inkling what Al will come up with next, and look forward to his constant challenge.  Please feel free to comment, as this series is open ended, and we haven't ruled out the possibility that you may influence certain plot directions.  You can find episode 3 HERE, and episode four, the latest entry, HERE.

For those of you following The Letters Project Co Blogger Fiction Series, the third installment is now available for reading at BlueAlto Blog!  What lies in store this week?  I'm about to go over and find out for myself...

Seems there was a bit of confusion because of my layout, about the fiction series.  For those of you interested in reading it, and contributing your comments,  Entry one can be found HERE, and entry two penned by me, can be found HERE.  The loose and nondescriptive title for this series is The Letter Project, and can be found on the sidebars of both of our sites.  Episode three will be posted later in the week over at Al's blog.  Thank you for your patience, and happy reading.