I think I like “things” too much. I would have a very hard time parting with things like this. Partly because they were from Granny’s, so remind me of her; partly because they’re fairly ‘irreplaceable’ and feel like a link to a history of which I wish I knew more. I need to think up some good, practical uses for these things to justify keeping them. 🙂
There is also a ‘normal’ green bowl Granny used to serve me her little homemade pot-pies in. Yum..
They all have a nicely embossed floral motif, and I use them for everything. Small servings of goodies for the kids, a place to put my tea bell, spoon rest, even as lunch or dinner servings (in the oval ones).
Granny used to put my little pot pie under the broiler to brown up the crust. They’re oven-safe, but I haven’t put them in my oven yet. Maybe I could make little cupcakes? 🙂
I believe there are 5 oval dishes (2 green, 2 pink, and a blue) and about half a dozen or so of the small ones (no green among them). There are also some small brown ones, in both the wide and tapered styles:
They have the most beautiful robin’s-egg-blue on the inside. The photo doesn’t look quite as brilliant as they seem in real life. 🙂
A friend of mine thinks these dishes and others like them (Granny also had some smallish bowls that had a handle, almost like a measuring cup, but in the same color/material as the pastel ones above) came in Quaker oatmeal. Much better than what they put in cereal boxes today, do you think? 🙂
**A little research is calling these wider ones “custard” bowls, and the tapered ones “ramekins.”
At 7 this morning (her time zone), my Granny passed away. She was 93 years, 6 days old.
|Granny Crackers, waving at Baby late last summer.|
She isn’t in pain anymore, and I rejoice that she’s gone to be with the Lord, but oh, I’m sad for me. :] A large portion of my happy childhood memories involve her, and the property she and my grandpa retired on, about the time I was born. My dad’s property adjoins theirs, and summers with my dad were often summers-at-Grandma’s, if he was working. And a better place for childhood summers I can’t imagine. To get to her house from Dad’s, we had to walk a path through the pasture, pass through the trees, cross the bridge over the creek, and trek up the hill to her house.
Once I fell in the creek. One minute I was standing in my little red orphan-annie style dress (that Grandma had made me) with my hand full of rocks, and my arm extended over the railing, ready to drop the rocks. The next moment I was in the water, howling for fear a crawdad would get me. Even that day I was astonished that I could not remember *how* I fell.
Her home has a daylight basement, and a ‘deck’ (long balcony, really) all along the main floor, overlooking the creek, Dad’s place, and across the highway to the lake and mountain.
|From my dad’s, in the lower area|
Once my cousin kicked my little brother off the deck. He touched her stomper, and she booted him. I saw him fall, ran to announce the event to the family indoors, and my dad raced home with him in his arms as blood trickled out of his ear. Her mother snatched her up right quick. His eardrum broke and he spent the night in the hospital, but he was okay. She had her britches lowered, her backside well-tanned, and went to bed without dinner. It is all quite burned in my memory. 🙂
Grandma’s property had a chicken coop, a winding lane, an ancient orchard on a hillside, huge cedar trees, and other old buildings, including an outhouse. One less-enjoyable summer our other cousins were with us most days. My eldest cousin coerced us into the outhouse one day, and abandoned me there for some time, warning me that Bacchus (the ram who spent his time ramming his head into the wall of the old barn on the other side of a fence, not 8 feet from the outhouse) would get me if I came out before she returned. That was a long day. Everyone laughs at the way I demanded to serve my own applesauce at dinner (and not let that cousin perform the duty), but they don’t know the back story. 🙂
Granny became “Granny Crackers” after sending us home with a box of graham crackers for the trip when Big Sister was just little. She confused the Gram with the graham with the crackers, and that became her name.
It works, because my Grandpa was a popcorn fiend.. I was about 2, and Grandma was babysitting me. She was trying to get me to nap with her on her bed, in the room at the far, far end of the house. Apparently I was just about settled finally, when in the very-distant kitchen my grandpa turned on the hot air popper.. I bounded from the bed and raced down the hall yelling “Papa Corn! Papa Corn!” He was always Papa Corn to us. 🙂 (and yes, I do recall that memory, though not the part about Grandma trying so hard to get me to sleep. I am pretty sure she gave up after that though. 🙂 ) He passed away in the fall of 1998, but now we talk of “Granny Crackers and Papa Corn.”
Today I will make a rhubarb upside-down cake, from her recipe, for bible study tonight. And I will try not to cry in it, especially if someone brings ice cream…
As of yesterday, my Granny was great-grandma to SEVEN great-granddaughters. My 3, my brother’s 1, 2 cousins each had one… until one of them had their second girl this past weekend. No boys in the bunch (although one of the cousins had had a stillborn boy some years back).
The other cousin (who’d had the stillbirth) had her baby early this morning, and IT’S A BOY!
I’m somewhat amazed, myself. I wasn’t sure it would happen. 🙂 Now, there are still no boys with the same last name as Granny (she had 2 sons, 2 grandsons, but so far they have girls), but at least there’s a Y chromosome in the lineup now!
His name is Liam Daniel.
His parents aren’t believers, in any sense, but I praise God for his safe arrival, and pray that God might draw them all to His heart in time.
One night at my folks’, my cousin brought her fancy sewing machine over to hem some work overalls for a friend. I admired the fancy, computerized Pfaff machine, and she said she’d gotten it from our Granny. Apparently Granny had bought it and was too overwhelmed by the technology to actually put it to proper use. So she gave it to my cousin. Actually, the story is longer, and involves a new Singer sewing machine (which my mom ended up with) and something about my aunt, and entails many purchases of machines (by Granny) and something like ‘musical sewing machines’ what with all the giving/trading being done. I lamented that Granny never gave *me* a sewing machine, and my cousin suggested I ask her for her old one (which is the one she attempted to replace a time or two, and eventually reclaimed as her standard), which is like her, but not at all like me, and I said I wouldn’t do that. It’s not like I’m completely sewing-machine-less. I just lack a nice one, which zig-zags, and whose bobbin does not eat the top thread when it gets the idea.
I don’t think I’ve ever been gone from home and/or Hubby so long, nor missed my bed so badly. 🙂