by Beth Goodman

Disclaimers: None whatsoever. Oh, maybe a spew alert.

Feedback is always welcome: bethgoodman@e-scribblers.com.

Copyright © 2004 by Beth Goodman. All Rights Reserved.

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As my grandmother reached her eighties she lost most of her sight to glaucoma and cataracts. By default, I became her personal secretary in my early adolescence and handled all the reading and writing responsibilities. I was even added to the checking account and given power of attorney so I could legally sign stuff for her. Good thing I was an honest kid, eh? (Not like I was completely devoted to Granny or anything.)

When my cousin Annie and her husband Jon had their first child, Genevieve, they brought a book over called "Grandmother Remembers" that was filled with questions and blank spaces to write in the answers to create a special memory book.

Of course, the job of reading the questions and entering the answers fell to me -- little did I know what I was in for.

Some of the questions were really easy:

Q: What is your favorite color?

A: Blue

Q. What was your mother's maiden name?

A: Emma Ferguson

But those were just kinda warm-up questions before you got further in-depth.

Now, I should have realized that Granny was enjoying herself too much when we got around to the question about "What is your favorite song?" I was all poised to write down Little Brown Church in the Wild Wood or The Old Rugged Cross which I knew Granny loved, when she announces her answer: Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.

For those of you who don't know, it's a silly Christmas song that she and I used to sing that goes like this:

After that I decided not to assume anything about what her answers might be.

A bit further in to the book, we got to the more thought provoking questions, one of which was: What is your greatest regret?

Wow. Now, that's a question. I personally was stymied, and couldn't begin to imagine what Granny might say. She was an amazing woman who had led a full and often difficult life.

She was born in a little bitty town named Pulaski, in Iowa in 1897. She was delivered at home by the local doctor, who had arrived with his horse and carriage. Her mother passed away when she was 4 and her father died when she was 13. Her sister Keith (yes, her name was Keith -- but that's a story for another time) who was about 10 years her senior took her in to raise her. But Granny had a lot of problems with ear infections, and it was ultimately decided that she needed to be in a drier climate for her own health. She was shipped off to Colorado to serve as a Nanny for some friends of the family, and attend a teaching college while she was there. (Back then, public education only went through the 8th grade.) She earned her teaching certificate, and since her health had improved, she returned to Pulaski where she taught in a one room school house.

It was about this time that my grandmother met my grandfather, who was teaching nearby. For their first date he walked her home from church, and the rest is history. It wasn't long before my Aunt Elnora was born (only the family calls her Elnora, everyone else calls her Alice, but that's also a story for another time) and the Buchanan clan was under development.

With a wife and child to support, my grandfather found that teaching wasn't really paying the bills (like that's new) so he took a more lucrative job with the railroads that would ultimately move him and his family all over the west and finally leave them in Denver. My Aunt Irene was born in a boxcar -- well it was re-done to serve as a home, but it was still a boxcar. My mom, Bette, and her twin sister, Bonnie, finally rounded out the set.

Life was far from perfect though. Granny said my grandfather didn't handle the responsibility of being a father very well, and he was very disappointed to have no sons. In fact, when the doctor told my grandmother that she had just delivered twin girls, the first thing that went through her mind was: "My God, what will I tell my husband?"

Mom and Aunt Bonnie were tiny little things, and Granny couldn't produce enough milk for them. It was a constant uphill battle to keep them fed, and to find things to feed them. For a long time the babies were given only malted milk, because the wisdom of the time said that you should never give a child solids in their first year. (Now it turns out that I love malted milk, but Granny couldn't stand if after fighting to get it down the twins day in and day out, so I wasn't allowed to drink it in the house!)

My grandfather began a losing battle with alcohol about this time, while Granny battled to care for her children. To add to the difficulties, the nation was entering the Great Depression and my grandfather lost his job with the railroad.

Granny had to start taking in ironing and other odd jobs to help keep the family fed, and they often found themselves moving in the middle of the night when they couldn't pay the rent. My grandfather's alcoholism deteriorated rapidly. Ultimately my grandmother divorced my grandfather, something that was almost unheard of at the time, and struggled to raise her girls on her own.

Granny worked as many as four jobs at a time to keep food on the table and a roof overhead, and the kids were pretty much left to their own devices. Of course the world wasn't quite as scary then as it is now, and the neighbors did keep and eye on them, but for the most part they weren't raised so much as they just happened.

My mother, in particular was an incredibly difficult child who became an unbelievably difficult adult. I realize now that my mom is most likely manic-depressive, along with having very poor social skills, and her problems were only magnified by the lack of a steady adult presence in her childhood. I know that Granny always felt quite a bit of guilt and responsibility for my mother, and the way she would systematically attack the rest of the family, but I know that she did everything she possibly could for her kids. I think that one of the reasons Granny took me in to raise when my mother had me out of wedlock at the age of 42 was because she saw it as a way to redeem some of that past history. I know for a fact that she absolutely loved helping me develop and pursue my dreams. I never wanted for anything as a child, even though we lived of off Granny's social security and school pension. Money was never abundant, but we always found a way to do the really important stuff.

Granny's life continued to be one full of struggle and strife, but she kept plugging along, always looking forward. I believe the happiest years of her life were the last 15, when she lived in her own house for the first time, which my Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Ed had purchased for her -- no mean feat for a public school secretary and a high school teacher. This was also the time that she and I lived together, and while I know that I often drove her to distraction, I also know that she and I were a match made in heaven.

So... Considering all of this, such a life filled with difficult decisions and roads not taken, I wondered how she would answer: What is your greatest regret?

<drum roll, please......>

"I should have taken that grasshopper with me" she says.

"???" I say, as I stare at her like her hair was on fire.

"I haven't told you that story?"

"If you did, I obviously didn't pay attention."

"Well, it was like this: A few years ago your Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Eddie took me out for the afternoon and one of our stops was at a nice little bar. I had never had a "grasshopper" before and decided to give one a try. Not long after our drinks were delivered, we were informed that we were disturbing a private party that was being held in the bar, and could we please quiet down. We tried, but soon after we were asked to leave, and my greatest regret is not taking that stinking grasshopper with me!"

Yep. That makes perfect sense. My octogenarian grandmother kicked out of a bar for being rude and disorderly.

I quietly wrote her answer and the details down in the memory book and then set it aside to be dealt with another day -- I couldn't take any more.

I have to admit, that in retrospect, that answer fit my Granny perfectly.

She knew that she had done the best she possibly could in life, and that decisions once made could not be undone. I hope that when I am eighty, and look back on the choices in my life, that I can have such a "greatest regret."

At the moment, my greatest regret is that my time with my grandmother was all too short, and I would give anything to be able to talk to her now about the way I've led my life. But some things are not to be. Yet, while Granny may have moved on for now, I can revisit her as often as I like in the stories of her life and our life together: with no regrets at all.

Take me to Life With Granny 7...

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