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A few weeks before Mr. and I were to be married, my Grandma Hanna passed away. I was in shock. I could not imagine that she would not be at the wedding, and obviously she was not. Life went on and thank God, it is still going on.
When the sisters and brothers went through her things, they decided to give me a small pot with a lid and her colander. The pot was panged in a few places, but the colander had ever so many bangs, dents, and loose screws. I have never to my knowledge put a dent, loosened a screw, or put a scratch on the items. For some reason these two items became sacred to me. They became the symbol of Grandma Hanna’s essence.
The colander has served me well as a fruit bowl, a drainage mechanism, and an item I take out for no reason and let it remain on the counter with only the purpose of the memories with Grandma Hanna. She made the best kreplach and matzo ball chicken soup. Her food had the taste of love, old ties from far away, a learned style that never wavered, always perfection.
She had twinkles in her eyes, both eyes rapid fire and a sweet, sweet smile. She had rosy cheeks that I was later to realize that I inherited. In the inheritance, I got the Seborrhea dermatitis and Rosacea intermittently. When one was inactive, the other takes over creating such lovely healthy looking, but itchy, flakey cheeks. After the flakes wear off, the next day the skin is so smooth and as soft as a baby’s skin. I thought the rosy cheeks were special symbols of good cheer and an excellent healthy body. Who knew it was a skin inflammation that gave her such an angelic glow and who knew that her blood would clot and lodge in her heart.
Grandma Hanna lost her husband in his early 40’s to Pemphigus an autoimmune disorder. There were six children to raise and Grandpa Samuel left enough holdings to care for the children and Hanna all of her life. With the children grown and everyone off into their own lives, Grandma Hanna became lonely. She bought two canaries that used to sing all day long. They were beautiful and melodious. So, after being married for a number of years and five children later, I was given Hanna’s canary cage. I was so proud of the little hanging white cage. After cleaning it up, I bought two canaries and waited for the melody. They were beautiful for one day and the next morning they were dead. I fed them avocado which I was told is a no, no, no. I could not repeat the experience, so no canaries to this day flutter and sing in the white hanging cage. I am a canary failure.
My grandmother lived a quiet life that I know so little about. I loved her, she loved me, but she moved to the west side of town and we lived on the east side. I feel badly that I did not give my grandmother more time to get to know many more things about her and listen to more of what she would have told me.
When I pull out the colander for use in my kitchen, all of Grandma Hanna tumbles out with this now, antique. All of her drainage for meals funneled through the holes, now mixed with all of mine. Who will be the next to use this antique?
Whoever you are, I hope some of my Grandma Hanna and some of me will trickle through the drain.
Mr. Samuel and Mrs. Hanna Sternberg;
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