Such a Wonderful Grandmother

I wrote about my Grandmother a few days ago. This is my favorite photograph of her and me.  It has always been framed in my bedroom, still with the big red nose sitting on top.  It was taken in 1992 at her 95th birthday party just after I burst into the church at the end of mass.

My blog the other day inspired me to email several members of my family to share their best stories of "Rosetta Loretta Pitstick Kavanagh Barmann."  Grandma was loving, funny, stern, constantly cleaning or cooking, and very matter-of-fact.  Just about every story I got back reflected her ability to say exactly what was on her mind.

My cousin Mary C, shared this story . . . . 

"When I brought my first-born to introduce him to Grandma, she took him in her lap and slowly looked him over.  She intently checked out the look of his face, examined the shape of his head, uncovered his feet and opened his hands.  With what seemed to me to be a scowl and a frown she spent an inordinate amount of time examining my precious child.

"Finally she looked up at me, pointed to a slight flat area on the side of his ear and said, 'You see this flat spot, he got that from the Pitsticks.'  No congratulations, no oooohing or ahhhing, just a stern acknowledgement that he had passed muster into the family clan by virtue of his ear anomaly."

And interestingly, my sister Cece had a very similar story about when Grandma came to see her firstborn . . . . 

"Don't ask me why I expected some words of wisdom or sentimental talk, since it was Grandma, but her words when I gave him to her to hold were, "Well he feels just like a sack of flour!"

My brother recalls the day of his ordination when he asked Grandma for advice.  She told him not to watch soap operas because they are filled with lots of sex.  But Kev reminded her that she watched them every day.  "It doesn't matter for old ladies," she said.

And when she gave Mary C a talk about sex, Grandma told her "she purposefully paced and extended saying the evening rosary as she knelt beside the bed with her husband.  Her rationale she said was her hope that he would fall asleep so she would not be called upon to 'do her duty' with an amorous spouse."

And my sister Kathy remembers this story . . . . 

"Grandma asked me to carry plates and silverware to the table.  At the last moment she wanted to include napkins, but I told her I couldn't carry it all.  She said, 'Just stick the napkins down your blouse and carry them that way,' at which time she did a double take and said, 'never mind, they will fall to the floor the way you're built.'"

And my favorite story is from the last time I saw her.  She was 97 and living with my Aunt Monnie and Uncle Chuck.  She sat stroking my hand, as she always did, and told me that she had something to tell me that she hoped I would never forget.

"So many people tell you what to eat so that you'll live longer.  Others tell you to exercise or work less, so you'll live longer.  None of those people have lived longer.  I have.  Trust me, there is nothing wonderful about living longer.  I'm sitting here with my urine in my purse (she had a catheter), and I hurt most of the time.  So I say, eat what you want and pray that it takes you early."

Aunt Monnie, a bit frustrated, said to her, "Mom, you keep saying that you wish you were gone. When is it that you would have liked to die?  85?  88?  92?  When?"

Grandma looked at her, stuck out her tongue, and said, "Thursday.  That lasagna was terrible."