Happy Family Day Part 1 - The Grandparents.

My Grandma B died long before I was born, so I never got to meet her. I don't even really know that much about her. The only story I have ever heard about her was that when she cut bread she would put the loaf under her arm and saw away at it. She would always cut towards her chest, and my Mom would cringe at the thought of Grandma giving herself a mastectomy. After hearing this story, I always had a better understanding of the phrase "It's the greatest thing since sliced bread!"

I don't really know much about my Grandpa B either. We did not visit him very often. I remember one visit when I was three or four years old and I tried to go to the corner to pet his dog Tippy. Grandpa yelled at me. Although he was trying to prevent me from getting bitten, it was probably not one of the best things for him to do considering how timid I actually am. After that day I was always very scared of him and did not talk to him much. I do regret it, since I think he would have been a very interesting man to talk to.

I think it is Grandpa B's genes that have given me my love of music and musical talent. I do remember one time when he was down at our house, and he was sitting in a chair by the piano. I knew he liked music and would sometimes play his fiddle for me so I decided to play the piano for him. He really seemed to enjoy himself, but Dad wasn't enjoying it as much and told me to stop so I did.

Music was the biggest bond that Grandpa and I had. During Christmas of 1983 I was given the greatest gift I have ever been given. Grandpa never learned to read music, he only played by ear. At the age of 87 his memory of the songs was starting to go and people at the nursing home where he lived were complaining about his fiddle playing. He was asked to give up his fiddle. Since I was the grandchild who had learned music the most, he chose me to receive his most precious posession. I can still see the look of sadness and the tears that welled up in his eyes as he asked me if I would like to have his fiddle. In fact, as I write this I have a tear or two in my eyes as well. Once in a while I will pull the fiddle out and scratch out a tune or two on it in honour of him.

My Grandpa R passed away just before my second birthday so I do not have any memories of him either. But I see my Grandpa R every time I look in the mirror, since I look just like him. I even have his bad eyesight, too!

Grandma R was a beautiful lady. Back in October I dedicated a blog in memory of her, but I talked more about her death than her life. Grandma moved from Ireland to Canada in 1925. One night I managed to locate her immigration record in the Library and Archives Canada database. I wish I had been old enough to talk to her about her trip across the ocean to Canada and how she felt when she finally arrived and became a citizen. It could not have been easy for her, but she came here for a better life - one that was free from the war and poverty.

She made a wonderful life for herself, she married my Grandpa and had two children. Her house was always comfortable and full of laughter. She taught me many things, including proper manners and that I must always use them. I remember once that Grandma told me "When serving ones self, a proper lady will never scoop mashed potatoes from the centre of the bowl, always from the side." To this day when taking food out of a bowl to put on my plate, I always scoop from the side of the dish, never from the middle, and I always remember the day I learned that lesson.

One Christmas when I was visiting her, my cousin and I wanted to go up the street to the park to see the nativity scene. The park was beside a bridge that went over the river, and had a pedestrian bridge under it. I was instructed not to go under the bridge, but was not told the real reason why. I later learned that seedy people would hang out on the bridge at night doing whatever it is that seedy people do.

Of course when my cousin and I got to the nativity scene, I looked and could see no reason why I should not go under the bridge. I was part way across when my cousin looked at me and yelled "Mom's coming!" so I turned and started to run. I caught my toe, tripped, fell, and gouged my knee. The worst part was finding out that my cousin was just playing a joke on me, and Mom was no where in site. I got back to the house and Mom wasn't there, so I showed my wound to Grandma. The conversation went like this:
me: Grandma I tripped and fell and hurt myself.
Grandma: Goodness! Where did you do that?
me: At the park.
Grandma: You went under the bridge, didn't you.
me: yes
Grandma: what did your Mom tell you not to do?
me: Go under the bridge.
Grandma: Well, I won't punish you for going under the bridge. God has already punished you enough by making you fall and hurt yourself.
me: ok.

To this day I have the scar on my left knee. It is a reminder that there are always consequences to our actions, and it also reminds me that I should always listen to my Mother. And it reminds me of just how cool my Grandma was.