I only knew one set of grandparents......my father's parents. Although they lived in the town near where I live now, we were not raised here and so my memories of them are not many and most don't involve them and any other family members as when we visited, Grandma was well past entertaining throngs of people, since she was blind. The visits usually involved her talking to my parents and I'd steal away to sit on my gramp's lap and listen to stories. He was a kind soul, and had an interesting past working in vaudeville when he was younger, did some horse racing as a sulky driver, and was a cabinet maker for awhile. He was a handsome old gent, with a goatee, and a soft voice, and my g'mother called him Poppy. He died when we were living in France, and the last memories of him I had were of tears running down his eyes, and him telling my mother that he'd never see us again. He didn't.

My g'mother was a spitfire. She was a tiny, dark complected woman who ruled her household with a snap of her black eyes and everybody bent to her beckoning. Long after her death, I ran across a newspaper article of when she went missing as a young girl. She'd orchestrated an elopement to Kentucky with gramps when she was just fifteen, and they came back married. LOL. From the newspaper articles I found in the archives, she'd come from a better situation than gramps in a society valuing your social status and her family did not bless the relationship. Their story read like something from an opera. She loved her family, no doubt, and all showed respect to her, but let's say she ruled with an iron touch. There are very few warm and fuzzies I can relate about her from my childhood. For some reason she liked me, however, because she said I had spunk.

I never knew my mother's parents, since they didn't raise her. I met my maternal grandmother once when I was twenty, and didn't even know she was alive until that day. I finally tracked down my grandfather and found his grave about three years ago in a different part of the state. It was a very moving moment for me. My mother unknowingly passed the cemetery in which he was interred often and never knew he was there. She died before I could take her to visit his grave but I did bring her pictures of it. His father had died when he was fourteen and he went to work in a stone quarry to support his mother and two younger brothers.

My mother's grandparents, who raised her, died before I was born. I grew up listening to my mother talk about them, and feel I knew them well. But, as far as precious memories of an older generation, I don't have many. My parents more than made up for it however, when I was a child. And my grandchildren had the priveledge of knowing their great-grandparents on both sides. It's a concept I can't even fathom.

My grandmother married Papa (of whom her family disapproved because he drank) at 15, too-
& they say girls today are wild & willful!

Granny had 5 children when Papa contracted rheumatic fever & the docs told him not to have any more children, because his heart was so damaged that he wouldn't be able to work & support them.

so they had 7 more...

in rural Texas, during the Depression.

My aunts have told me how hard Granny worked, & I can believe it, because she was still working like a perpetual motion machine even when I was a half-grown girl;

she gardened & cooked & scrubbed & milked the cow & canned & quilted.

&, as she had for decades, in her "spare time", she did things for other people.

For years, she taught Sunday school, & when there was an epidemic of scarlet fever in town, she took care of a family that surely would have died otherwise;
the disease was so contagious & so deadly that you couldn't get anyone to help you, but Granny walked to their house every day, cooked, cleaned, fed them by hand when they were too weak to hold a spoon, & boiled the sheets & clothes to kill the germs.

Granny taught me about colors by having me arrange quilt patterns, & she taught me how to count money by having me pay the peddler for the fresh fruit & vegetables he brought from East Texas, & she'd have me count the coins out loud as he made change.

By the time I was five, I could make coffee, & I knew how to thread needles (to help people with old eyes).

I could feed chickens & gather eggs, & I knew, oh, how I knew, how to have a tea party;
my Uncle John had sent Granny a beautiful, delicate tea service from Japan.

It was by far the nicest thing in the house, heck, in any of our houses.

& she would set the pieces on the coffee table & have me "set the table", & I'd serve sassafras tea & cookies on that beautiful tea set.

She never made us lie down for naps, but we watched Art Linkletter's Houseparty & The Millionaire, & if our eyes closed, so be it.

She's been gone since 1970, & I still miss her.

Aren't these "Memories" special? Please share yours about your Grandmother or Grandfather or other "Growing Up Memories". Did anyone else ever hear of a fry pan being called a "spider"? Never thought to ask Grandma. Was it because it was quite small? Seldom did we of the older generation have very many, if any Grandparents. Our Great-Grandchildren have at least 8 Grandparents. Must be the water!

These "Memories" are very special and lovely to read. My father's parents passed before I was old enough to know them, also my maternal grandfather. However, my mother's mother lived with us part of my growing up years. She was a very strong, opinionated woman who didn't really approve of the way my parents were raising me and my two younger sisters--but especially me. I'm sure she loved me in her own way, but as Suzie said, I don't have "precious memories" of her. She used to tell me that "if the Germans had you, you'd say 'Ma'am' and that I had "champagne ideas and beer prices"! (I think I may have shared that before, if so, sorry!) She was an "independent woman" in an era when it wasn't all that common. She came to Wash., D.C. during the First World War to work for the government and I've been told she made beer in the bathtub during Prohibition

I'm glad to say my children do have "precious memories" of their grandmother, my mother.

Well I just don't know if it is my age that makes my memories so different than your "Grands that canning, cooked, etc." or it was their station in life, so I have been reticent to write (it is so different!). My mother's mother came from a lineage that delighted in family ties, and all the aunts, uncles, and cousins all talk amongst themselves saying, "Do you remember living on so-and-so street?", as though they spent all day long every day outside on that street playing together. Sounds great. She came from a huge family and there were always kids to play with, much unlike her husband. He also came from the upper crust of society, attending the local prep school here, and was a football player. An only child, his brother having succumb to disease early on. He loved chemistry class and ultimately became a chemist (I've written about him before when he died, you may remember). They only had two kids and so were able to dote on them pretty well and did so. They'll both tell you that had it good growing up. It would seem they lacked approval on the mom's part, but dad's quiet humor made it bearable. I loved to spend the night at their house and awaken to bacon and oatmeal cooking. Sis's oldest would loved to go into Gran's pantry and get out the bananas and peanut butter, feeling quite grown up as he did. We went to their house after church every Sunday and ate supper. They entertained all of our boyfriends and our friends we hung out with. The food was good and the laughter even better. Most of us remember Grandaddy the most as he had a vocabulary of grunts and would nod his head towards the door when it was time for Gran to quit talking and them to leave.

My dad's mother never talked about her childhood. Couldn't tell you a thing about her. She had five children of her own and raised them by herself since her husband died of lung cancer by the time dad was in his midteens. Dad is the third oldest, so I imagine the little ones were really little. And I also think his dying keeps my dad from knowing just how to be a dad to older children, but I digress. She worked every job imaginable to keep them clothed, from school crossing guard, to swim instructor (she couldn't swim????!!!!), hospital dietician, etc. She worked so hard and slept so little, there is a story that ends with an unknown motorcycle in the garage. She would never drive a motorcycle. Never. Picture PeterPan collars trimmed in lace with cardigans. She loved to hold you in her arms and sweetly smile, saying, "just let me look at ya" and then would giggle her infectious giggle (my lil sis has it too) and hug you closer. She liked to have cookouts and picnics so that everyone could come to her house and hangout. Guess she had her big family later in life. But come we did. And had a great time. I guess my grand had time to spare and spent it keeping the family close to their hearts. That's the same as you guys.

My son only has my mother and father. He knew Ed's mom pretty well, but wasn't really all that close and never knew Ed, Sr. It's sad for me to think Ed has lost both parents so young, but it's even worse to know my LF will not get to know them or enjoy them like we did.

Posieh, not they weren't called spiders because they were little. It's a type of cook pan, usually cast iron. My mother called them spiders too. Many of them have little nubs of legs under them to raise the pan up off the coals of a cook fire in a hearth or bed of coals so the pan didn't lay directly in the fires or ash. There are metal strainers also called spiders, and Mama sometimes called her cast iron trivets a spider. I supposed the pans were called spiders because they had big bodies sitting above a set of legs. Must've looked like a spider to somebody.

My maternal grandmother had been a flapper. She smoked like a chimney and drank more than her share of beer. When my parents were newly married she visited them in Washington, where my father was clerking for Chief Justice Vinson. My dad gave her a tour of the Court on a Saturday, and unexpectedly, the Chief was there and she met him. Afterwards, she remarked, "Well, good thing I put my teeth in this morning."

She'd had a falling out with the Church when she was a young woman. She and my grandfather had been singing, for pay, in a Methodist choir and her priest tried to put the arm on her to sing, for free, in the French church. She dug in her heels, partly because of the money and partly because she didn't want to sing in front of people who knew her, and things escalated. Years later, when she was dying in the Catholic hospital, a priest asked her if she wanted the last rites and she cursed him out, said she knew that her sister had put him up to it and she'd die her own sweet way without help.

My paternal grandmother was the wife of a Methodist minister who wrote stories for Sunday School magazines at a penny a word. She played the piano -- hymns like "The Garden," but her actual favorite was "Indian Love Call." She wore her hair up, but would take it down at night and brush it 100 strokes. It was long enough to sit on, and the first time I saw her with it down I was terrified -- I was that young and she looked that different.

Things were always a little edgy when she and my grandfather came to visit. Pipes and cigarettes were stashed away, bottles of liquor hidden. She had an odd diet that involved a lot of cornstarch -- I suspect irritable bowel syndrome back in the days before it had a name.

She lived with us for a while after she had a stroke, up until the time she needed the full-time care of my aunt, who was a nurse. But oddly enough she was able to laugh at the times when she couldn't think of a word and just seemed in general more relaxed. There was a sparkly girl inside there someplace who had been kept pretty much under wraps for a lot of her life.

"There was a sparkly girl inside there someplace"

lovely thought there.

These memories have been so wonderful to read. Thanks for sharing.

My paternal grandparents died when I was 2 and three years old. I barely remember them, since we did not live close by. My maternal step-grandmother died when I was 3 1/2. I remember her more, but she had been sick for seveal years and I saw her mostly in bed, not talking. My maternal grandmother died when my mother was two. So the only real memory of grands are of my maternal grandfather who lived with us for 26 years.

My maternal grandmother died when I was three, but I remember her pretty well, in a kid sort of way. Mostly I remember being indulged. I know her story a little better. She came to this country when she was about 13, accompanied by her older brother, who deserted World War I. They came without their parents--they were supposedly on the unpopular side of some sort of political thing and thought it best to send the children away. I think she was a bit of a dancer and worked at the World's Fair in the early 1930s. I was recently given several huge boxes of photos of my mother and grandparents, most of which I'd never seen before. Lots of bathing-suit photos from the 1920s. She was cute! She was also maybe a little crazy. My mother claimed she had yellow eyes.

My paternal grandmother was around a lot longer. I suppose I was nearly a teenager before it occurred to me that her flaming red hair was not entirely natural. She let me beat her at checkers, baked a mean apple pie (but didn't otherwise cook well) and called me "Sweetie." She was 4'10" at her tallest, wore size 4 shoes and had a wry neck. She was nothing but nice to me, even when I was a sullen teenager.

I have grandma memories, as my grandpas died when I was young. I was very close to my paternal grandma. I spent many happy weeks at her little house in the summer. I would have moved in with her if allowed. Loved to listen to her stories about life on the farm in the early 1900's. I learned so many things from her. I was not close to my maternal grandmother. I remember the visits. She would say "oh I want to see my grandchildren ". She was quite artistic and musical and my sister, who was also musical, would have a piano piece all ready for her and all grandma did was talk thru the whole thing. My mother is exactly like this with her grandchildren. It makes me sad. I decided a long time ago I was going to be like my paternal grandma and not my maternal grandma when I have grand kids.

Fortunately my children did have a grand grandma in my m-i-l.