Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Grandma’s Legacy

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A Short Story by Elaine Ambrose

Ella was thirteen years old when she came home from school and found her mother and her Aunt Mary crying in the kitchen.

Ella rushed to her mother and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“We lost Grandma,” her mother sobbed.

“Well go find her!” Ella demanded. She started to run out the door to go search for her grandmother, but her mother gently guided her to the couch and sat beside her.

“I should have said she passed away. Grandma died today.”

Ella realized her grandmother wasn’t lost. She was dead. Ella wept.

Several nights later, Ella couldn’t sleep because she was thinking about her grandmother. Ella thought about the wonderful and happy adventures they had enjoyed. Her grandmother was funny and active, and they often sang songs and made up silly stories. It wasn’t fair they couldn’t be together.

She finally fell asleep and began to dream. In her vision, she rode her bicycle to a strange place. Her grandmother was there, and she was wearing a sparkling purple dress and had flowers in her long, white hair. Other older people were in the room with her.

“Grandma!” Ella cried. “Please come back. I miss you.”

The grandmother smiled at Ella. “It was my time to go,” she said gently. “But I won’t be far away from you. Every time you smell gingerbread and pine trees, think of our winter holidays together. Feel my touch when the warm summer breeze moves your hair. And when you hear the song of the meadowlark, know I am watching over you.”

“I want to tell stories with you again,” Ella said.

“You will, in your own way,” said her grandmother. “You can write or tell me stories and pretend I’m with you. We’ll never be completely apart because you and I share the bloodline of our ancestors. You carry the spirit and creative talents of writers, poets, musicians, and entertainers. You have compassion, goodness, and courage from your relatives who were teachers, caregivers, soldiers, and peace officers. Your pioneer heritage includes farmers, truck drivers, and community volunteers. And, you carry the spiritual faith of generations of strong people who never gave up, even when betrayed or suffering from physical and mental pain.”

Ella was amazed at her grandmother’s words and felt proud to continue the family legacy. “I won’t disappoint you, Grandma,” she said.

When Ella woke the next morning, she remembered the dream. She opened her bedroom window and saw a meadowlark in the tree next to the house. The bird had a bright yellow chest with speckled brown feathers and sang a cheerful song.

“Good morning, Grandma,” Ella said as she reached for her notebook and pencil. “Let’s write a story.”

(Illustrations are from the award-winning, children’s book Gators & Taters – A Week of Bedtime Stories.“)

A Grandmother’s Legacy

By

(Published on The Huffington Post on June 4, 2015)

My grandmothers were the quintessential matrons: they grew lush gardens, baked pies, canned peaches, crocheted doilies and then peacefully passed away in their nineties.

My life has been a bit different, and I just hope I don’t die tomorrow by getting hit by a wine truck while dancing in the street on my way to a book signing event.

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My paternal grandmother never owned a driver’s license because she never needed to go anywhere. She could walk to the grocery store and post office, and she was content to sit in her rocking chair in her tidy little house. She finished crossword puzzles every day, read her Bible and believed her life was blessed beyond measure. She was correct.

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My maternal grandmother sewed dolls and grew glorious gladiolas to enter in the Jerome County Fair. She stored the numerous winning ribbons in a shoe box because she was humble, quiet and unpretentious. Only after her death did I learn that all she wanted in life was to own a piano. I wish I could have given one to her.

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Their tough example gave me a strong foundation that sustained me during the numerous personal calamities and monstrous mistakes in my life.

They would be disappointed in my failures, but they would be proud of me for having the courage to be independent and tenacious. I can hear them saying, “You can do it. Now get to work.”

In the blink of a wrinkled eye, I also became a grandmother. Both my children have children, and I find this fact a bit disturbing, because I still think I am in my thirties. Really, now my daughter and I are about the same age. I want to pluck 30 years off the timeline and pretend the decades never happened. Denial is a powerful emotion. Though I inherited traits and skills from my parent’s mothers, my generation is tweaking the term “grandmother.”

My children married spouses who already had children, so I became an instant grandmother. And I’m not called Gramma. My daughter’s daughter was born in Hawaii, so I became Tutu, the Hawaiian name for grandmother.

I look at my granddaughters with wonder and worry.

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What will their future hold? Can they travel the world, employ their talents and be strong in relationships? Will they treasure the self-sufficient strength of their great-great-grandmothers? Will they be able to grow a garden, bake a pie, preserve peaches and crochet doilies? OK, no one needs doilies anymore, but the other skills are important.

I hope they can learn from this weathered Tutu that they also can have a job, chart their own path, own a business and challenge the boundaries. They can go beyond my grandmother’s wildest dreams, and I relish their feisty and vibrant spirit. I imagine the day when they get married and then bring me a laughing baby to rock. I think Great Tutu will be a fitting name.

I adore my little granddaughters, and we laugh together as we sing and tell great stories. I am not that adept at canning fruits and vegetables, but I can encourage them to take the path less traveled, color outside the lines and question authority. They come from a strong heritage of tough women, and I know my grandmothers are watching over them whispering, “You can do it. Now get to work.”

Midlife Cabernet: Redefining Grandmother

By

My grandmothers were the quintessential matrons: they grew lush gardens, baked pies, canned peaches, crocheted doilies, and then peacefully passed away in their nineties. My life has been a bit different, and I just hope I don’t die tomorrow by getting hit by a wine truck while dancing in the street on my way to a book signing event.

My paternal grandmother never owned a driver’s license because she never needed to go anywhere. She could walk to the grocery store and post office, and she was content to sit in her rocking chair in her tidy little house. She finished crossword puzzles every day, read her Bible, and believed her life was blessed beyond measure. She was correct.

My maternal grandmother sewed dolls and grew glorious gladiolas to enter in the Jerome County Fair. She stored the numerous winning ribbons in a shoe box because she was humble, quiet, and unpretentious. Only after her death did I learn that all she wanted in life was to own a piano. I wish I could have given one to her.

Their tough example gave me a strong foundation that sustained me during the numerous personal calamities and monstrous mistakes in my life. They would be disappointed in my failures but they would be proud of me for having the courage to be independent and tenacious. I can hear them saying, “You can do it. Now get to work.”

In the blink of a wrinkled eye, I also became a grandmother. Both my children have children, and I find this fact a bit disturbing because I still think I am in my thirties. Really, now my daughter and I are about the same age. I want to pluck thirty years off the timeline and pretend the decades never happened. Denial is a powerful emotion.

Though I inherited traits and skills from my parent’s mothers, my generation is tweaking the term grandmother. My children married spouses who already had children, so I became an instant grandmother. And I’m not called Gramma. My daughter’s daughter was born in Hawaii, so I became Tutu, the Hawaiian name for grandmother..

I look at my granddaughters with wonder and worry. What will their future hold? Can they travel the world, employ their talents, and be strong in relationships? Will they treasure the self-sufficient strength of their great-great-grandmothers? Will they be able to grow a garden, bake a pie, preserve peaches, and crochet doilies? Okay, no one needs doilies anymore, but the other skills are important.

I hope they can learn from this weathered Tutu that they also can have a job, chart their own path, own a business, and challenge the boundaries. They can go beyond my grandmother’s wildest dreams, and I relish their feisty and vibrant spirit. I imagine the day when they get married and then bring me a laughing baby to rock. I think Great Tutu will be a fitting name.

I adore my little granddaughters, and we laugh together as we sing and tell great stories. I am not that adept at canning fruits and vegetables, but I can encourage them to take the path less traveled, color outside the lines, and question authority. They come from a strong heritage of tough women, and I know my grandmothers are watching over them whispering, “You can do it. Now get to work.”

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2007 Shadowbrook Cabernet Sauvignon from Walnut Creek, California. My son and daughter-in-law shared this vibrant wine in celebration of their recent anniversary. Their children – my grandchildren – know that life must be savored.