I looked at the printed check in astonishment. My whole world had turned upside down because of a fact I had never heard before.

"Iva? I never knew your name was Iva!" Grandma looked slightly bemused. "No one ever called her that," said my mother, Fara Lynn.
"I don't see why, that's a pretty name," I said, trying to make up for my lack of knowledge.
Grandma snorted.

I remember the yard-sale clothes she bought for Megan and me, kept in a trunk with a broken lock, so we couldn't get locked inside. I remember the freezer, full of yummy treats that we didn't necessarily have at home-- ice cream and orange "push-ups" and frozen Snicker candy bars. There were cookies in the pantry and squash in the skillet. She always made a point to buy orange juice when she knew I was coming up.

I remember the pink bottle of "Mr. Bubble" bath soap in the bathroom, and how much I looked forward to bath time at Grandma's house for that reason.

She used to play "Claw" with Matt, Patrick, Megan and me when we were very young. Grandma would hook her hands and chase us around the house. We would scream and run to hide away from her. Once, we thought we had escaped her and we decided to hide in the walk-in closet to lay in wait. The closet light was off, so Matt peeked in first. Suddenly, emerging from the blackness came Grandma, with her claws outstretched. We all screamed and were off again.

She used to sing while she was walking around the house alone, her house shoes scrit-scriting on the floor. I can still hear that sound of her feet in my head. I miss hearing it in person.

A Hodgepodge of Jarad's Memories
Monday, April 26, 2004

An early morning breeze had long banished the night's humidity. Before my eyes had set sight on the paint by numbers painting at the foot of my bed, the soft scuffle of slipper shod feet was barely audible amidst the buzz of an a.m. TV show. The aroma of rich coffee and cigarettes tickle my nose. Soft beautiful singing gave me cause to lie for just a minute more. UP! Grandma! Cousins! UP! I still remember the metal against metal squeak and click the doorknob had between the guest/play room and kitchen.

I do recall when grandpa was still alive, he decided to let me shoot the bb gun. Grandma, grandpa and I all went out the back door; grandma stood by the big tree on the left, and we stayed on the porch steps. Grandpa demonstrated, then let me have my turn. I put it up to my shoulder, sighted, and being one to be distracted easily, turned slightly to my left, and at the same time pulled the trigger. That speeding bb narrowly missed my grandma!

The floors of that house were a menace to us cousins. Every trip we would end up chasing each other round the house, wearing socks of course, and someone sliding out around a corner making the whole house rattle with their heads thonking on the floor.If I recall grandma did get everyone socks with treads on the bottom for x-mas one year. Lastly I can't even begin to calculate how many miles we put on the driveway with the lil burgandy jeep and the pink scooter.

Reminiscing draws me to my afghan so perfectly stitched in white and red by those long slender fingers. A hand carved elephant that still perches upon a shelf. An Underwood typewriter, with a new ribbon could even write a few letters. A cast iron fry pan that has cooked countless pounds of bacon, dozens upon dozens of fried eggs(with lots of pepper), and of course her fried chicken. I have a hunch she contributed to my becoming a chef, and it took me till now to realize it.