"I never thought I'd see the end of this stuff," she said, grinning.
"Just exactly how much of it did you buy?" I asked.
"I don't know. Fifteen, twenty bolts maybe?"
I looked at her. I have always known my grandmother, Alma Evans, had a thing for a bargain, but fifteen or twenty complete bolts of fabric?
"Why so much?" It must have been one hell of a bargain to justify the outlay that would have required.
She shrugged. "It was the 70s and I bought it to help Mrs. Brown next door learn a new trade after her husband left her with six kids. She found a class and already owned a sewing machine, all she needed was fabric and practice. Besides, it was the last the manufacturer was going to make, couldn't move it and I got it for less than cost."
Less than cost. Magic words to my grandmother. Her parents had survived the Depression and raised six kids on next to nothing, by watching prices, reusing, and repurposing everything. My great-grandmother's twine ball, and who do you know who uses twine, was something my grandmother's sisters all fought over when she died. It wasn't so much that they wanted to use it, it was more a show that they respected her and how they were raised. The rag bag of repaired and mended rags was evenly divided evenly among all of the kids, another testament to their mother's frugality.
My grandmother wasn't quite so thrifty, but she did make use of everything she had, gave the surplus to charities, taught me to do the same. She even taught me to mend clothes before we donated my outgrown things to charity.
"That was sweet of you." I imagined Mrs. Brown at home with her kids playing outside, her sewing in the kitchen with dinner heating on the stove. "Did she ever get any good?"
"She ruined my sectional, recliner, and loveseat," Grandma said, sighing. "They were lovely and so comfortable before she started in on them."
"What'd you do?"
"I donated them to her class to use as practice materials," she said. "Then I bought something that was comfortable but ugly and made slipcovers myself."
Ah, the beginning of the interchangeable sofas all with the same slipcovers. Not to mention the tea towels, cafe curtains, even duffel bags.
"What'd she wind up doing?" I tugged on a corner of the sofa to get the plaid to line up and smooth the backrest.
"She married one of her classmates. He was good, she was cute. She became the face of his business."
Grandma named an upholstery and custom drapery shop that had been wildly successful until the owners retired about three years ago. The light went on and I remembered really cheesy commercials that were just like car commercials. You know the kind where people walk down aisles of cars and there are people sitting on elephants, bulls, or horses, trying to look sincere. Not credible with cars and who wants to sit on a sofa that a trained monkey with a diaper and an embroidery hoop has been sitting on? If a trained monkey is doing the work, why hire them?
"Anyway, I kept the fabric and have been using it up over the years. Waste not and all that," she said. She gave me a knowing look and said, "I think I would have liked t his stuff a lot better if it hadn't been quite so well made."
Me, too. It might have worn out before I was in grade school and been relegated to a scrap heap and I wouldn't have carried a backpack made from the stuff for years. At least she didn't try to get me to wear a prom dress made from it. I would have looked like an escapee from a Very Brady Prom or a visiting groupie on the Monkees.
"Are you ready for some tea?" I asked. "I can put the electric tea kettle on." It was raining again. Then again, this is Oregon and it quits raining for about ten weeks in the summer, so it was just a fact of life.
"No coffee?" she asked.
I shook my head.
"Why don't you drink coffee like a normal person?" she asked. "I was looking forward to something with some kick to it."
"Tea is normal. Tea comes in a lot of flavors. And green tea is supposed to be good for you. Antioxidants and all of that." I grinned. "Besides, I got a great buy on all of these flavors at the dollar store."
"That's my girl. But next time, I'll bring some instant and you can pretend I'm drinking tea."
Grady drank coffee by the pot and only the expensive stuff. I gave my coffee pot away and took all of the gourmet grounds and the grinder into work so I wouldn't have to deal with looking at it or storing it. If it would have been possible, I'd avoid every Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts in the city, but they were everywhere and there was no escape.
After the kettle boiled and I let my tea bag steep for about thirty seconds, I pulled it out and rested it on a saucer.
"Has your father talked to you about stripping the cabinets in this kitchen yet?" she asked. "And why are you only blessing the water with the tea bag?"
"I don't make the sign of the cross over the tea."
"No, but it isn't in there long enough to get any real flavor either. You would be as well drinking hot water."
"Sure it is. Besides, I don't like strong tea. Too much like coffee." I smiled.
"Has your father talked to you about rehabbing this kitchen?" she asked.
"I don't own the place," I said. Actually I barely even rented it. By the time my father got done with the punch list and my grandmother got done with the negotiation I was paying nothing in rent. Not exactly nothing, but a drastically reduced amount. "So there's nothing to rehab."
The kitchen cabinets were probably original, but had been painted so many times it was impossible to tell what kind of wood they'd been originally. Then again, another coat of paint, maybe white or a light green wouldn't be so bad and wouldn't take too long. Provided Louie would stay out of the kitchen. He decided he was going to be a good shepherd and keep me in his site at all times. Not that I minded the company, it was kind of nice, but there was nothing I owned now that didn't have a world of dog hair on it.
"Do you want French onion soup tonight?" I asked. There had been a great buy on onions the other day at the farmer's market. Cold days plus rain and planning for the future equals soup in my book. French onion is my favorite and it is always better the next day, especially with the cheesy top. I pulled out my wood cutting board, chef's knife, and cast iron pot. I checked the freezer and it was still mostly empty, so I put the biggest of the onions in the freezer. I had heard a rumor that if the onion was at least a little cold, it would create less of the stuff that always made me cry. I was done crying even over a stinking onion.
"I have plans," she said. "You know the dog can't have any of that, right?"
I nodded. I tried not to feed Louie anything but his dog food. In the end, he got the dregs of leftover meat or starch. He wasn't a veggie kind of a dog, unless there was sauce from stir fry. Onions and chocolate, the bane of a dog's existence.
A date? "Do you have a date?" I asked.
"It's the Itty Bitty Knitty Titty Committee down at Ye Old Yarn Shoppe," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"We knit knockers for breast cancer survivors every Saturday night after the store closes."
"You don't knit."
"Not very well. I give it my best and rip out more than I accomplish some nights," she sighed. "But I am trying."
"Yes, but why? You don't have cancer. do you?"
"No. But I have a cousin in Nebraska who was just diagnosed."
And it was too far for her to drive her to appointments, fill her fridge, or clean her house. Grandma was always the first there in an emergency and after everyone forgot about the problem, she'd show up out of the blue and start over.
"How bad is it?"
"It's bad. Any cancer is bad. And Becky was always so vain about those damn things," Grandma said. "Lorded over me how well endowed she was for years. Not that it matters anymore. When you're pushing 80, no one at the senior center cares about big boobs." She paused and thought about it for a minute. "Not much anyway."
"Are you going to go back and take care of her?"
"No. Just make some care packages, call regularly, and find someone to stick her on a prayer list."
"So you gonna knit her a pair of knockers?" I asked. The idea of it made me smile.
"Already had a set sent to her. She loved them and asked me to make her a couple more pairs."
"Does she have that kind of time to wait?" If Grandma was ripping out as much work as she was putting in, cancer might get the better of Becky before she got new knockers.
"Just for that, you should come with me."
"Eh. I don't do that kind of a thing," I said. I didn't want to be stuck in a room with God knew how many old women talking about their grandchildren while their needles clicked and clacked. "I'll buy some yarn to donate to the process."
"We aren't all old farts, you know. There's even a nice retired dentist who goes. Great hands."
"You kind of expect a dentist to have good hands, I mean it is part of what he did for years, right?"
Grandma was going to extol on things and I just couldn't let her. We'd been down this road before. Not that Grandma hadn't dated over the years, but I just didn't want to think about it. Bad enough that when I was a kid I caught my parents doing the nasty, but I needed brain bleach for weeks. To think of my grandmother and anyone? No. Not possible. I mean, it had to be possible because if she hadn't at least twice my father and uncle wouldn't be here, but still.
~~~
tbc
word count: 1847
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