Remember when

I remember when my grandma told me what to say at her funeral. “Don’t forget to mention my beautiful blue eyes and nice long legs,” she told me. She was 93 and battling her second round with ovarian cancer. I didn’t believe she would die. She couldn’t… she had been a cornerstone of my youth. Then I got the call early one morning. And I went to the hospital to say goodbye. That was 21 years ago!

While growing up on a family farm, going over to my grandma’s house wasn’t a long journey for me- simply cross the country road from my house, and go up the hill to her house. Usually my timing coincided with Tea Time, which happened to always be right after school ended. She drank coffee or tea and ate dry Swedish breads, and I drank hot Tang and ate dry cookies. (All food was kept in a musty pantry until eaten, even if that took weeks. The pantry smelled like bitter coffee and crusty bread, and had an antique door with a window in it.) Grandma always had a crowd of kids around, my cousins and sister and sometimes random neighborhood children. We loved to hear her stories about traveling from Sweden to Washington State, the Yacolt Burn (monstrous forest fire in the early 1900’s), defying the Nazi’s when she was visiting Sweden, becoming a welder during WWII, and various Swedish tales about trolls.

I liked to go over to Grandma’s to also help with her gardening, sewing, and cooking. She had large gardens and a greenhouse all over her rambling property, which included fields for the beef cattle. I would help weed and plant seeds and cut flowers. While we worked together, she would answer questions and give advice.

One day during college I was venting to her about my random jobs and seemingly lack of direction towards my education career. I had spent the previous summer working as a restaurant shift manager at night and baker at the grocery store during the days. Then I was cleaning a four-level furniture store in the college town I was living in. I was sick of the menial tasks and feeling like a servant. I wanted to do the work that I was meant to do, and was training to do… teach! I was feeling so low, unappreciated, and I was questioning my journey in life. Why bother training to be a teacher if I’m making minimum wage as a cleaner? I got done complaining and crying to Grandma, and she told me some valuable advice. “Sometimes you can’t see the destination while you’re on the journey. All these ‘menial’ jobs that you’re experiencing will help prepare you as a teacher one day. You can create closer relationships with some parents as you can relate to their struggle. You can be a better teacher by knowing what it’s like out there.”

And she’s right. Although it was nail-biting and frustrating at times, I eventually got to my role in education. I can proudly say that it took hard work and perseverance, but after years of feeling lost, I did find my destination.

Thanks, Grandma!