I think of her as Mighty-Mite. Short on height
but long on inner strength, Grandma believed in
family and doing the right thing. Her children were
always better than most, and all her grandchildren
had great possibilities. They just needed to be led
down the proper paths, and it made her happy to
show them the way.
Grandma had clothes in her closet that went way
back. My teenage cousin claimed they were the ones
she wore over on the ship from Sweden. When we
coaxed her to get some up-to-date clothes, she said
she didn't need any new clothes, the old ones were
still good.
One spring she surprised everyone when she
bought herself a softly tailored suit, and matching
hat, in robins-egg blue. She looked beautiful, and
her eyes bright as mischief told us she not only
knew her color, but how to wear it. However, her
hair stayed coiled up on top of her head, something
she never ever changed.
When she reached her late eighties, she longed
to return to the small town where she had raised her
four children, and where my uncle still lived on the
family farm, in northeastern Colorado. This was
considered an excellent idea by all the family, so
she sold her Denver home and moved back to Haxtun.
Buying a house in town, she settled in. My
uncle made plans to help his mother in any way he
could. So he told her he would come early, around
seven on Friday morning, to mow the lawn. When he
arrived, the smell of newly mowed grass let him know
the "deed had been done", and the lady of the house,
now serving her rich aromatic swedish coffee along
with her slightly sweet pretzel shaped rolls, had
in fact, "done it".
The next week he started half an hour earlier
but the scene was the same. The third week he
headed out at five AM. Surely this time he'd beat
her to it. Well, he didn't, and she had "done it"
again.
"I give up," he said.
"Good," she replied. "But do come by for
coffee."
About six or seven years later, Grandma
decided living in a one bedroom house with a small
yard would be easier, and so she moved once more.
Grandma, now in her nineties, seemed to have
reverted to earlier times. Although she had a
refrigerator, she decided it was an unnecessary
expense. She unplugged it, then she took everything
down into the cool dirt cellar which was located on
one side of the back porch. When my mother came for
a week's visit, she took one look at the cellar with
the steep steps and the slanted, hard to lift door,
then promptly brought everything back up.
They discussed the whole thing, about
refrigeration and how little it actually cost, and
the very real danger of those stairs. At least my
mother discussed it while Grandma seemed to listen.
Next morning while Mother shopped, Grandma
proceeded to empty the refrigerator, and down it all
went into the cellar again. Mother vowed not to
lose this battle as her brother had his. After
filling the refrigerator once more, she took a
hammer and some large nails to that cellar door.
If that little house is still standing, my
guess is the door is still nailed shut. As for
Mitey-Mite, her response sounded something like,
"Well, if my daughter thinks it's that important to
use the refrigerator, I'll let her.
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