She Get It From Her Grandmama

I was at a loss for a topic when my calendar reminded me last night that today is my maternal grandmother’s birthday. She’s been gone for 22 years but I think about her all the time. She’s the first person I greet at my altar each morning. My love of clothing and food come from her. She’s one of the fiery women in my blood. I’m spoiled because of her. Her staples of peppermints, Clabber Girl baking powder, and Swan’s Down cake flour are in my pantry. Her hairbrush and mirror adorn my altar. Her crucifix hangs on the water goblet. Laura Lee Lumbard is the reason I exist.

I remember the exact layout of her townhouse. She sold her house in Michigan and moved to Illinois to care for her only daughter’s first daughter. A velvet bench sat in front of the stairs. I couldn’t have a pet, but a small shelf housed my fish tank to the bench’s right. The neutral tones of the love seat and couch with scenes printed on them. The floor model TV, the China cabinet, the antique phone on the wall. Her sewing machine with its special table. I rode my tricycle around the court that the adjacent units shared. The back door of her unit led to storage and laundry, carefully up the open tread stairs. She let me put the quarters in the machines. She kept them in a round container with a light mauve top and grey base.

The linen closet sat at the top of the stairs. To the left, the bedroom I took naps in and that my parents, sister, and I shared while our new house was under construction. The powder holder with the giant puff in the second bathroom. The jars filled with bright colored sand and the fuzzy pink toilet seat cover. Her high bed I would climb up on and look at my reflection in the mirror on her dresser. She had that solid, sturdy wood furniture. A fur stole hung in her closet. Her black mink lived at the fur vault in the summers.

The cookie jar on the deep freezer probably originally held animal crackers. It was clear, bear-shaped with a red twist top. I can see the metal pie plate she made biscuits in, that’s why I love them. Other treats included chicken and dumplings, egg/sausage/cheese scrambles, pancakes with peach preserves. She taught me to tie my shoes. I enjoyed looping the buttons on the little booties she wore in the winter. We watched Wheel of Fortune together.

She picked me up from school in her blue Buick. I watched the road from my booster seat. She made peach cobbler by instinct; I don’t have that skill but I’ve found a recipe that meets her standard. She would mix pattern pieces to create the garments she wanted. She made my princess Halloween costume, a pink dress and a matching cape with gold trim. A blouse and skirt set in a rust, black, and gold print reminiscent of Ankara, I don’t recall the occasion. She made clothes for her dolls, small and life size. I enjoyed walking to the office with her to drop off the rent check. She would buy me M&M’s and hide them in the drawer under the microwave, a secret from my mom.

She took me to the hospital to meet my little sister when she was born. My sister would crawl backwards as a baby and sometimes ended up under the sewing machine. I would go with her to visit her good friends Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong. Her best friend Mary Colbert was such a stylish lady. There are pictures of her and her sister, Aunt Lena, on one of her visits. She grew tomatoes on her porch. Planters with Dusty Millers and assorted other flowers. An array of plants sat in front of the sliding glass door inside. 

I remember the jug she disposed of used insulin needles in. I would sit at the kitchen table with her while she checked her blood sugar, pricking her fingers daily. I remember being excited when she came to live with us. She taught me to make cornbread by eyeballing ingredients. How lovely to have her around all the time. I remember a terrifying night when she fell down the stairs going into the basement. I hid behind the couch; it scared me so bad. There was a blue refillable ice pack that she used when she returned home from the hospital. She went to visit my uncle one summer and was unable to return.

We visited her several times in Michigan and buried her there too. The sun had the nerve to shine on the worst day of my life. She looked different clad in white in her casket. The look when your spirit has gone to its new realm and your body is left behind. Per Granny’s request, no one wore black. She had no interest in everyone sitting up there looking like a bunch of crows. I’ll have the same directive. Put on a good look or stay home. I haven’t been to her grave since. I’ll change that next year.

I pulled out her obituary to refresh myself on her life preceding my birth. She was born in Mississippi, lived in Arkansas for 22 years, and moved to Chicago in 1951 during the Second Great Migration. She was the third of eleven children and raised three children of her own. She worked as a seamstress and then as a nursing assistant and physical therapy assistant in nursing homes in Kalamazoo. Her creative and caring nature, evident in her professional life.

Some days it wears on me that she didn’t get to see me do anything important. She didn’t get to experience my track meets, photos from my trip to Europe, high school graduation, crossing into Deltaland, college graduation, my big girl job, or the house I cherish. I cook because of her. I sew because of her. I’ve dug in the dirt and try to keep my outside plants alive because of her. My inner child flourishes because she protected and nurtured my innocence. 

I can’t fully recall what her voice sounded like but I know it would click immediately if I heard her call my name right now. She wore Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds and shaped my early world. I love her more than I can properly express. I’ll make a mini pound cake and put it on the altar. She knows that a full size one is too much temptation for me. I’m grateful for her watching over my life and carrying my petitions where they need to go. She heads my spiritual court and looks out for me always. I’ll sit under her portrait and listen for what she wants me to know. With all of my love, Happy 99^th Birthday Granny.