The Right Hand (repost)

This was a story I posted a while back, and I'm reposting today, to share again with my readers.

The Right Hand

57th in The Story Series

During the last of her years, my maternal grandmother lived with my parents. She stayed active, doing housework and going for short walks around the yard. When one of the "grands" as she called her grandchildren, would comment on her staying so busy, she would often quote "When I go, I want to go with my boots on." I'm not sure where she came up with that phrase, as she was born and lived most of her life in Pennsylvania, so she obviously did not mean cowboy boots. Perhaps she meant some sort of work boots, or simply nothing in particular, rather just liking the sense it gave her of doing anything to be useful. My grandmother had seen a lot of heartache during her lifetime, but she didn't speak about it often. She read her Bible and she kept busy.

My grandmother, or Grandmother Alice as we called her, could beat just about anyone in Scrabble, even as she entered her 90's. Scrabble is not a game I particularly like, and John even less, but every time we went for a visit to my parents one of us was expected to play with her. Usually it was me. Grandmother Alice had her own set of rules as she got older. She had once been given a Scrabble Dictionary as a Christmas gift and took to using it during the game in her last years. When one of us would say "Grammom, that's cheating!", she would look at us and say "Then why would there be a Dictionary if you weren't supposed to use it? And when do you need it? - during the game!" Her memory was starting to become less reliant, and my mother would make regular trips into the kitchen during the day because Grandmother Alice would often now put pots of food or water on the stove, turn on the burner and then forget they were there.

Then, in April 1991, she experienced a series of small strokes, which dramatically changed her, and my parent's, lives. She could not talk and she was bed bound. Mom and Dad were her primary care takers and they were able to get home health nurses to come to the house and assist. I made a few trips to West Columbia from Charleston to spend time with my grandmother so my mother could get out of the house. The first time I saw her, I remember being somewhat shocked, she was so thin and did not look at all like the Grandmother Alice I had known all my life. During my visits, she would be restless and mumbling and nothing I said or did made any difference. I felt a bit frustrated and helpless as I watched her lying there.

The bedroom was right next to the living room, and the piano was right next to the wall which separated the two rooms. I sat down with a hymnbook and looked through to find some hymns which I knew were her favorites. Now, in reality, I could not play the piano. I had taken lessons in high school, but the only part I could honestly read those many years later were the notes on the Grand Staff lines, the part played by the right hand. And that was because I sang soprano in the church choir. So I would sit and play with my right hand. Thankfully, that was where the melody was, so even if I just picked out the notes, the tune was recognizable. I would sing along if I were familiar enough with the notes, other times, it was a piano "solo". When I would do this, my grandmother would grow quieter, and her eyes would close and she rested. Sometimes, giving up in frustration with my right handed stumbling performance, I would go back into her room and sing to her. That worked almost as well, but she did love the piano.

My grandmother passed away 6 months after her first stroke, 21 Oct. 1991. She was 94 years old at her death. Often I have missed her and for quite a while I would expect to see her when I would visit my parents. I was thankful that the little bit of solace I was able to share was because I could use my right hand; even though it wasn't perfect, it gave her enjoyment and peace.

Story From Guest Author

Story Day again - yes, I know I said I may have to give it up, but so far......... and we will see.

So this one is from my sister; she is four and a half years younger than I and it is one of her memories of the trip to Pennsylvania which I wrote about on 2 Feb 2011(story). Her memories differ from mine, since we all experience things differently, especially as children. I was twelve that summer, and she was seven and a half.

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Grandmom And The Outhouse

58th in the Tuesday Story Series

Here is the story of when I first met Grandmom Alice.  

She was smart, independent, tough, resourceful, and a fun loving Grandmother.  

Her name was Alice and I loved her totally.

I finally met her when I was in grammar school.  She was my mother's mom and she lived in Pennsylvania which is where my Mom grew up.  There are 6 kids in my family, I am number 3, and each one was named after someone except me.  That used to bother me until my Mom explained that she and Pop had let Grandmom Alice pick out my name.  Now that made me special.  I was really looking forward to meeting this woman who had picked out my name.

We left our home in Charleston, South Carolina early in the morning when it was still dark.  Mom and Pop piled all 6 of us into the station wagon and tied down the luggage to the top of the car.

Off we went and it took forever, it seemed, to get there.  We played all the usual car games that we knew, count the cows and then burying them in the graveyards, the alphabet game, the license tag game, we sang, we bickered, slept and ate, and kept asking Pop how many more miles to go, and the answer was always the same; "Oh about 85 or 30".  We finally arrived in the dark at a huge farmhouse and straggled out of the car sleepy but excited.  There were more people there than I expected.  I had thought since we were going to meet Grandmom Alice then that was the only person who should be there.  Being the shy type I kinda hid behind everyone else until I finally realized which one of this crowd was my Grandmom.  She gave me a huge hug and I was ok then.

We were scattered off to bed in different rooms and I ended up being in the same room with her.  What fun, I felt so special to be the only one in the room with her.  She tucked me in and I apparently went straight to sleep, because the next thing I know is waking up in total darkness and was about to bust to get to the bathroom.  I woke her up and asked her where the bathroom was and I was slightly puzzled when she pulled this elaborately decorated pot from under the bed.  No, Grandmom, the bathroom is what I want, thinking she was not fully awake.  She said it was this, pointing to the pot (which I later found out was called a chamber pot) or a trip outside to the outhouse.  Outhouse?  What???  Outhouse?!  I think not!  I can wait until morning.  I'm not about to venture outside in the dark to an outhouse!  And no way was I using the pot!  She laughed and said well you will either go now or wait.  So I waited.  Needless to say I did not sleep another wink and finally the sun started to come up.  As soon as it was enough light she got up and took me to the dreaded outhouse.  It was not as bad as my imagination had blown it up to be while I had been waiting for the morning light.  I was relieved, in more ways than one, that I had survived the whole experience.

The rest of the visit was much calmer for me than that first night.  Except for the visit and 

stay over at my Mom's cousin's dairy farm.  But that's another story.

Judith Marie Livingston

 Thank you Judy!!

Come see my latest postcards I've received on Postcards Buffet!

Story: The Right Hand

The Right Hand
57th in The Story Series

During the last of her years, my maternal grandmother lived with my parents. She stayed active, doing housework and going for short walks around the yard. When one of the "grands" as she called her grandchildren, would comment on her staying so busy, she would often quote "When I go, I want to go with my boots on." I'm not sure where she came up with that phrase, as she was born and lived most of her life in Pennsylvania, so she obviously did not mean cowboy boots. Perhaps she meant some sort of work boots, or simply nothing in particular, rather just liking the sense it gave her of doing anything to be useful. My grandmother had seen a lot of heartache during her lifetime, but she didn't speak about it often. She read her Bible and she kept busy.

My grandmother, or Grandmother Alice as we called her, could beat just about anyone in Scrabble, even as she entered her 90's. Scrabble is not a game I particularly like, and John even less, but every time we went for a visit to my parents one of us was expected to play with her. Usually it was me. Grandmother Alice had her own set of rules as she got older. She had once been given a Scrabble Dictionary as a Christmas gift and took to using it during the game in her last years. When one of us would say "Grammom, that's cheating!", she would look at us and say "Then why would there be a Dictionary if you weren't supposed to use it? And when do you need it? - during the game!" Her memory was starting to become less reliant, and my mother would make regular trips into the kitchen during the day because Grandmother Alice would often now put pots of food or water on the stove, turn on the burner and then forget they were there.

Then, in April 1991, she experienced a series of small strokes, which dramatically changed her, and my parent's, lives. She could not talk and she was bed bound. Mom and Dad were her primary care takers and they were able to get home health nurses to come to the house and assist. I made a few trips to West Columbia from Charleston to spend time with my grandmother so my mother could get out of the house. The first time I saw her, I remember being somewhat shocked, she was so thin and did not look at all like the Grandmother Alice I had known all my life. During my visits, she would be restless and mumbling and nothing I said or did made any difference. I felt a bit frustrated and helpless as I watched her lying there.

The bedroom was right next to the living room, and the piano was right next to the wall which separated the two rooms. I sat down with a hymnbook and looked through to find some hymns which I knew were her favorites. Now, in reality, I could not play the piano. I had taken lessons in high school, but the only part I could honestly read those many years later were the notes on the Grand Staff lines, the part played by the right hand. And that was because I sang soprano in the church choir. So I would sit and play with my right hand. Thankfully, that was where the melody was, so even if I just picked out the notes, the tune was recognizable. I would sing along if I were familiar enough with the notes, other times, it was a piano "solo". When I would do this, my grandmother would grow quieter, and her eyes would close and she rested. Sometimes, giving up in frustration with my right handed stumbling performance, I would go back into her room and sing to her. That worked almost as well, but she did love the piano.

My grandmother passed away 6 months after her first stroke, 21 Oct. 1991. She was 94 years old at her death. Often I have missed her and for quite a while I would expect to see her when I would visit my parents. I was thankful that the little bit of solace I was able to share was because I could use my right hand; even though it wasn't perfect, it gave her enjoyment and peace.

(To read another story about my grandmother's love for the piano, click here.)

Come see my latest postcards I've received on Postcards Buffet!

Tag Tuesday - Surprise, and a Story: Black Hawk Waltz

Today's tag theme at Kard Krazy is to create a surprise on your tag. 

(click for detail)

(click for detail)

I created the image of a sedate old house, with a shuttered window and then when the window is opened, there is the stamped image of a Rook card on some very bright colors!

No Tag Tuesday challenge next week, but I will have another story on the Tuesday blog.

Black Hawk Waltz

11th in the Tuesday Story Series

My maternal grandmother was born in the tiny Pennsylvania village of Upton in 1897. She was one of six children and her father was the village blacksmith. As my grandmother grew up, she became very adept on the piano and would often play at the parties her contemporaries  gave. Allie, as she was called, would be invited to all the parties because she could play almost anything and at that time, get-togethers in the parlors of homes were the main social events of farming communities and towns. Music was being written just for those social events, and Allie would learn them all with ease. She was so talented on the piano that she was encouraged by others to apply to Julliard, and assured of a scholarship she began to make exciting plans. But this all came to a halt when her father William put his foot down about this "fool nonsense". Girls belonged at home, and not away at a school, especially one that only taught nothing better than music! No matter how much my grandmother wanted to go, there was no persuading him.

Grandmother was about 19 when she had this portrait made, and I have it in my home. My mother had told me how disappointed my grandmother was and that she continued to play at parties and in church, but it was like the fire had gone out inside of her, and for a long time she was very angry with William, (which had some bearing on another decision she made - but that's another story).

As a child, I remember when visiting my grandmother's house, she would often play if we asked her to. She had some favorites among the hymns and a few pieces of secular music but we never let her get up from the piano stool without playing Black Hawk Waltz at least once. I am not sure exactly why we were so taken with that piece, perhaps it was the sweeping chords and how my grandmother played it. It must have had some other memories in it for her, because when she played it, she put emotion in her fingers and it came out in the music.

Years later, our daughter began to take piano lessons and she must have inherited her grandmother's gift, because her fingers could dance over the keys and her sensitivity shone through music. I often wondered what my grandmother would have thought about her great grandchild's playing. Allie had died in 1991 when our daughter was only 8 years old. I thought too of our favorite childhood song and wished I could find that music. But songs popular in the early 1900's were not easily found at that time. There was no Google and there was barely an Internet. So if you could not find something in the library, you just had to keep looking elsewhere.

We often traveled with my husband when he had a business trip and when we could we would visit with friends who had moved out of state. One such trip took us to Boston, and we drove down to spend a few days with family friends who were living in Newport RI. Carolyn and I had decided to spend a day antiquing and so early one morning, we started our trip through several small towns and it was great fun. In the afternoon, we came to a large two story building where many antique dealers had booths on both floors. We agreed that this would be the last stop of the day, and after carefully culling out some real deals downstairs, I debated about whether or not I had the energy to go upstairs and poke through all the offerings. I finally decided to go on up, thinking that I would at least give everything a once over glance. 

At the top of the stairs, slightly to the right, I could see the second booth was small and crammed with music related paraphernalia. There were old record albums, hymnbooks, and even a couple of small instruments. But more than anything else there were boxes and boxes overflowing with sheet music and song books. I wondered once again if I could find my grandmother's song in this pile and sat down on the floor and began sorting through the dusty boxes. After almost 30 minutes, I came across a small book of music entitled "Parlour Songs" and opened it to see the index and there it was on page 8 - Black Hawk Waltz! Suddenly I could hear my grandmother playing it once again and sat there with tears on my cheeks, which is how my friend found me several minutes later.

When we returned to Charleston, I asked our 10 year old daughter if she could try to learn this piece, and play it for my parents when they came down for a visit. It was a stretch for her small hands to play all the chords, but she gamely practised it and she played it well. When my parents arrived a few weeks later, we told them we had a surprise for them, sat them down in the living room and Tabitha went in to the dining room to play. The look on my mother's face was priceless and after the surprise sunk in, she listened to the remainder of the music with a big smile, and a few tears. Black Hawk Waltz is not a great piece of music, but to our family it is a treasure piece and will always bring back many fond memories.

Here is a video of someone playing the song, after their grandmother's funeral. Obviously it was a popular piece in its time!