Remembering Gramcracker

When I was little, Grandma told vivid tales about gnomes, elves and fairies that lived on Jordan Lane. I believed every word. I was constantly on the lookout for the flutter of a wing or a flash of a little red hat. I don't know when I stopped believing the stories, but I certainly never grew tired of hearing them.

Gram was a talented artist. She often sketched elaborate pictures of wildlife and English gardens on the envelopes of her letters. I was always careful to preserve the scenes while opening their contents. I treasured her correspondence. In fact, several of her cards and letters are lying in my lap as I write.

Grandma loved to sing the classics. Alice Blue Gown. Cottage for Sale. When I learned that she recorded an album, I persuaded her to let me listen. Upon realizing how much I loved her voice, she gave me a copy. As soon as word got out, my "Barbara Jordan Collection" became the hottest commodity in the family. I made at least a dozen copies for aunts, uncles and cousins in the months that followed.

About fifteen years ago, I affectionately began calling her Gramcracker...and, much to my surprise, she embraced the silly nickname. From that point on, she signed her cards and notes with drawings of little half-eaten graham crackers. I addressed her cards in the same fashion, making sure that my pictures were worthy enough to grace her coffee table.

The first time Wade met Gramcracker, she was in one of her funny late-night moods. Somehow the topic of exercise came up, and she told us that she could put her foot behind her head. We knew she must be joking. After all, she was 80 years old. Before we could utter a word, Gram reached down and pulled her leg up in front of her, wrapped it around her neck and wiggled her foot. Oh, how we laughed at her antics that night!

On other occasions, we roared about a "Love Sotry" made in China, the traveling coconut, George Bush-in-the-Box, Randy's "Pig, Hog, Sow"and the barking and sniffing dog socks she gave me. Gram delighted applauding my funny fashion shows and telling me stories of days long ago.

A couple years ago, I stayed with Gramcracker for a few days. It was just the two of us in her lovely "cottage." We stayed up late chatting and eating giant bowls of ice cream. One evening, she shared pages and pages of her private poetry. We talked about her dreams, her heartbreaks and the loves of her life. I never felt so close to her as during those precious moments.

Gram was an original. She knew something about everything, and could take anyone in a game of Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit. She loved old movies, historical figures and God's creation. Gram was graceful, humble and truly beautiful. I will miss her dearly.

A little dream castle, with every dream gone
Is lonely and silent; the shades are all drawn
And my heart is heavy as I gaze upon
A cottage for sale.

The lawn we were proud of is waving in hay;
A beautiful garden has withered away
Where you planted roses, the weeds seem to say:
A cottage for sale.

From every single window, I see your face;
But when I reach the window, there’s empty space.
The key’s in the mailbox, the same as before
But no one is waiting for me anymore
The end of our story is there on the door:
A cottage for sale.

I love you, Gram. ~Ramona