“Let’s all get up and dance to a song that was a hit before your mother was born. Though she was born a long, long time ago, your mother should know.”
Long time ago for that song by the Beatles. My favorite group, ever! For sure, you know I’m from the 60s generation. Love, peace, hippies, weed, Woodstock and all that jazz. It was the best of times, and it was the worst of times!
But, it does seems like a long, long time ago when I used to watch my maternal grandmother crochet. She was a master crocheter with that one slim needle and the tiniest of thread plies.
My mother’s parents lived in Elizabeth, NJ. Way down in what was, and probably still is, known as “the Port.” Elizabeth-port. Down around Front St. where once Bethlehem Steel had their big factory and there were lots of businesses owned by Polish and other Slavic people. Where St. Adalbert’s Catholic Church still exists, and where some of my best childhood memories reside.
You would never know from driving on the NJ Turnpike (pictured above), that lovely little streets and busy avenues are just below. Because all you see is industrial New Jersey; the image many people take away from this pretty little state.
My grandparents had a two-story, two-family house; the second house in from Front St. You could walk out the front door, make a right, walk past the first house, where the Palefchek’s lived, and there was a vacant lot there. On the corner sitting rather forlornly was a milk kiosk. For about a quarter, you could buy a quart of whole milk or, for a dime, those little chocolate milk cartons.
If you were lucky.
How many times, we would put our money in only to get nothing out. Standing there wondering why the noises within were producing nothing coming out. Dang! 🙁
So, back we would trudge, up the stairs to the second floor where my grandmother lived. My grandfather died in 1959, (yes, a VERY long time ago!) and up until 1964 my grandmother was on her own there in Elizabeth-port.
Her rooms were simple enough; there was a living room in front, a dining room where you entered from the hall and a kitchen in back. Adjacent to the kitchen was a bedroom just as there was a bedroom off the dining room. In the corner of the kitchen, there was a long, what today you would call, a walk-in closet. There were multiple rods for holding clothes and coats of all sizes and on the floor were all of my grandmother’s shoes.
Some in boxes, some not, and the further back you went there were other boxes and containers all smelling of heavy dust and mothballs. For me as a 5 or 6 year old, it was better than toys.
Out the back door from the kitchen and you were on a wooden porch which extended the width of the house. Not more than six feet wide, I’ll bet, the porch always made my mother nervous, as if we would be stupid enough to throw ourselves over its edge onto the hard macadam below. My grandmother had a swing chair out there and I loved sitting in it as I took in the entire neighborhood from the back yard.
It all had the feel of the “Rear Window” set, that second-to-none Alfred Hitchcock movie starring James Stewart and Grace Kelly. Other homes to the right and straight back looked just like the one I was in; and there was a big brick building to the left, which was one of the stores on Front St., with one little window high up and covered in wood.
My grandmother’s passion was crochet. She could sit for hours just turning and slipping that needle until what was nothing but a long string of “chains”, had miraculously been transformed into a lovely pattern.
How many times did I ask my grandmother to teach me how to crochet. (!)
Too many to remember! Patiently, she would give me a “hook” and thread (because it’s not yarn in crochet, it’s thread) and show me exactly how to turn the needle, catch the thread and create a chain stitch.
Right.
Over and over I would really try. To no avail. And in a quick ten minutes or so, I was off to something else.
Because crocheting wasn’t important to me. Because it didn’t HAVE to be learned. It wasn’t a necessity. Live or die kind of thing.
And I’m sure it had a lot to do with the fact that I was still not ten years old, and with dexterity like a cow, so handling even one needle was a sheer challenge. And the next time I decided to try again, my grandmother would oblige me.
She was special that way.
Then, suddenly, her house in Elizabeth was sold and she came to live with us.
Every night would find her up in her bedroom, sitting in her comfy barrel rocker that was upholstered in large roses, crocheting contentedly in front of her TV. Watching everything from Lawrence Welk to Bonanza (or as she liked to say, Bonzana.)
Through the years my grandmother was very good at sewing loose and missing buttons on my clothes, and hemming my skirts shorter and shorter as the Sixties got later and later.
When I got married, she still crocheted. She even made me some pretty pillowcases with lacy edges. And a beautiful tablecloth which is one of my prized possessions.
My grandmother loved her little dog, Heidi, and always took care of our dog Scottie, as well as all the cats my mother would bring into the house in later years. Her stuffed cabbage (or golabki) was heavenly and no one made cole slaw quite like her. It was salty as all get-out but absolutely perfect.
My grandmother lived to be 85 years old. Her name was Stella and she died in 1992 having lived a good life. She had her challenges and problems along the way, but don’t we all.
Looking back at all she was to me, first of all I remember her love.
It was unequivocal.
Now, that I’m a grandmother myself, I understand completely.
She was there. Always there for whatever it was you asked of her.
She would make the time, or squeeze something out of her schedule so to make the time for you.
She gave without asking. She gave with total love.
Because that is what a grandmother does.
Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
Whether that was on Franklin Street in Elizabeth-port or in Manchester, NJ. I never realized that her crocheting had any lessons attached to it. But, they did. And they do.
And just like that slim, gossamer thread
And for all of their tomorrows.
Just some “Homekeeping Solutions for Crafting Your Best Life!”
