Remembering Part 2

I know my Grandma lived a full and amazing life and is now with my Grandpa, but I still find it difficult to believe she is gone. Until last year, she was my last surviving grandparent, my Father's Mother. She was the woman that I looked up to and admired so much. It really reminds me to appreciate people around me and each day that I have. Never know how long that may be. Growing up my mother and father told me how very much I resembled my Grandma when she was in her youth, I hope that is true, because if I am anything like her, it means I will be strong, beautiful, and stubborn for the rest of my life.

My Grandmother outlived my Grandfather, but he was the one that she spoke of most. They had spent over 5 decades together as husband and wife. Their devotion to eachother is something that has always warmed me and filled me with a sense of pride and nostalgia. Their lives were not easy, but they choose the best path they could despite suffering through WWII.

Grandma was a beautiful woman who immigrated to the United States from Germanyto settle in New Jersey. Her mother, brother, and sister also came here. In Germany she had worked as an au pair, in New Jersey she continued that work. Her love of children was evident to me along with her strong sense of devotion to family. Grandpa called her mousel, meaning little mouse, it was a term of endearment and she had a small collection of mice made of crystals, ceramic, and even plastic in their china cabinet. I always wanted to know the origin of that nickname, at one time I may have, but now I do not.

Grandma’s cooking was amazing. While I was never a fan of the rare roast beef that was bloody in the middle, my Papa (my mother’s father) enjoyed with horseradish, I adored the many pickled items that appeared as a staple on lazy susan at the center of the table of my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Pickled cucumbers, vinegar coleslaw (a recipe handed down to my father that is delicious with a yellow hue from the turmeric…I still have never mimicked it well enough to do it justice), homemade dill pickles, and my favorite pickled beets. A holdover from that time that delights me still is to buy seedless rye from Solley’s, real mayonaise, and small tins of anchovies wrapped around capers. This simple sandwich can take me back to my childhood.

My sister-in-law’s family is from Russia (just like my Mother’s) and they are also extremely fond of pickled items, including fish. My brother and sister-in-laws wedding was catered by a traditional Russian chef and began with a tremendous array of smoked fish and an incredible assortment of pickled items, I was in hog heaven! LOL, I digress, as usual!

There were many summers that my family visited Grandma and Grandpa in their small, neat home in Northern New Jersey. What was so wonderful about their place was the enormous plot of land it was situated on. There was room for a large garden to plant a variety of vegetables and herbs. Fruit trees and even grape vines grew there alongside lush berry bushes and vibrant flowers.

During the spring and summer months there would be several bird feeders strategically placed throughout the property. They would attract a myriad of aviary life to watch with delight. There were vibrant hummingbirds and impossibley loud, belligerant blue jays. One year there was an especially inventive squirrel that would not leave the bird seed alone no matter how ingeniusly my Grandpa tried to squirrel-proof it. I remember watching the squirrel take a flying leap off the roof once just to land in the middle of the feeder spraying seed and squaking bird everywhere. The feeder weighted down with squirrel perched precariously inside weighted down the thin tree limb from hung swaying back and forth hypnotically as it sunk lower and lower towards the ground. By this time Grandma was shouting at it from the window to "get down" and "scram", but that foolhardy squirrel would do no such thing, he was finally exactly where he wanted to be and was making the most of it.

"FWAP", birdfeeder and squirrel where swatted from the tree. My Grandpa had come up behind them and knocked that rampaging squirrel from it's roost. I was flabbergasted, having never seen my Grandparents carry out such violence. Working as a team they refilled and rehung the birdfeeder with an alacrity that belied their ages. They would be ready when the squirrel returned.