To My Grandmother

This morning we had bacon and aebleskiver for breakfast. My aebleskiver pan was inherited from my father's mother, Serena. I don't remember that she ever used it, but it was lurking in the back of one of her cupboards, just begging to be set free. I scrubbed it, used it once a long time ago, and then put it in the dark recesses of one of my own cupboards. Why I was inspired to use it today I can't say, but it was certainly worth the effort. Even the little guys ate those pancake puffs like they were ambrosia.

I have not always been fair to my grandmother. She has been gone some years now, so maybe memory has softened some of the rough edges. She was a determined lady and was pretty good at getting people to do what she wanted them to do. Unlike my mother's mother, she wasn't good at giving hugs and generally making a child feel loved. But she did love us, and now I can see the ways in which she expressed it. The signs were there but being kids, we didn't always recognize them. Like most people, I suppose she was shaped by her dreams and desires, and as the oldest of eight children, she probably had to make those things happen for herself. She was a fighter. She put herself through school to become an RN. In a time when diabetes was a killing disease, she managed to live well into old age. When her only child died as a young man, she dealt with her grief and didn't let it rule her. She lived on her own until the very end of her life and stayed active with her church, family and friends.

Many things were important to her. Her family. Her Norwegian heritage. Her faith. And although we didn't always appreciate the way she shared these things with us, her sharing was a way of showing her love. And today I felt love as I celebrated my Norwegian family ties with as much joy as I do my Irish ties. I think I'll be making aebleskiver more often.