The Grandmother I Always Wanted: Creating That Quilt of Memories

By Linda L. Austin

Recently a blast from the past brought a smile when my granddaughter Alex sent a text early one morning. “I’ve been making ‘red milk’ for Gage (three-years-old) with food coloring like you used to do, and he loves it. I can’t keep up with the amount of milk he’s drinking now! Haha!” I remembered asking my first two grandchildren, Alex and Chloe, what color milk they wanted. Often blue was the choice, but yel low and green appeared occasionally. That simple trick eliminated the reluctance to finish their milk.

The news of the illegal immigrants in New York refusing to move to a shelter after getting used to hotel housing threw me back to Roanoke Christian Service Camp in Washington, NC. The newsreel of the shelter showed a large room with no privacy for the single men and military cots that appeared to have a thin mattress. Their comments about the cot instantly created a vivid memory of sleeping in a cementfloored room with five other girls on a canvas cot with no mattress, only a folded blanket beneath the sheet. The rooms were minimum accommodations with exposed framing, no wallboard, and no air conditioning in the sweltering June heat. We were happy to be there.

Photos recall happy times since most photos are taken at gatherings or events that are special: vacations, holidays, family reunions. Sorting my deceased sister-inlaw’s loose pictures, which are either vintage ones of her childhood or of my children and grandchildren, gave me a peaceful, contented period to reflect on early times. As I write notes to the grandchildren, I plan to put a few of her photos in each envelope. Perhaps they will prompt an instant of sweet memories for them.

Food is a worthy instigator of memories. A smell of fried chicken may recall southern Sunday meals. A steak on the grill can elicit times at Ruth’s Chris with family for a celebration. A recipe brings up memories of deceased aunts and their goodie tins at Christmas. Tapioca reminds me of my husband’s mother since I had it for the first time when I met her. Butterbeans are always connected with my paternal grandmother Kaky and Chicken and Pastry with my maternal grandmother Hurley. Quick moments have their value in repeating a memory to savor once again.

Parents and Grandparents who keep journals have memories that are carved in stone. We forget so much, or the details become fuzzy or altered, but the written word at the time of the event preserves the past for the future more accurately. As I add to my journal periodically, I often wonder who I should give it to, and will they read it. Are my musings and ordinary recollections worth recording? Then I think about how precious a journal from my mother or grandparent would be to me, and I continue writing.

Each day our past looms in memories to remind us of how we came to be who we are. We relish delighting in the pleasant ones, but even the undesirable, painful memories added a fragment to shape us.

It is pleasant to have an almost forgotten memory of sweet times flash into remembrance. We never stop creating memories, so we grandmothers need to generate good ones for us and our grandchildren to draw on when disappointments, tensions, or trials appear. Our future is simply an accumulation of anticipated memories. As Michael Landon said, “The one thing I need to leave behind is good memories.”