Grandma Clara

As a grandmother, Mother's Day has taken on new meaning for me. This year, in particular, I have been thinking a lot about my grandmother, or my step-grandmother to be more precise. I never met my father’s mother. She died many years before my parents even met. I only ever knew my grandfather’s wife, Grandma Clara, as my paternal grandmother.

My grandmother Clara never had children of her own, so she never really quite understood how to handle my siblings and me. Quiet times of chatting and reading were her style, not the jumping and shouting that we were more prone to do. We always knew that there was a certain standard for behavior when we went to Grandma’s.

Her furniture was all plastic covered, and there were definitely no feet on the sofa! Every knick-knack and doily was meticulously placed in each room of her house. Many times visits were held outside on her front porch. She didn’t trust three wild little ones very much!

But as I grew older, I learned to appreciate my grandmother. She shared her stories of being a working woman in the 1950s, something that my mother and maternal grandmother knew nothing of. Grandma had been completely independent her entire life and she was immensely proud of that. She loved my grandfather dearly, but she was also confident that she could manage on her own if needed.

When I was pregnant with Tiffany, my grandmother and I shared another bond. She lived the pregnancy that she never had with me. When Tiffany was born, she presented me with some beautiful silk that she had purchased in Asia many years before. She had bought it to make a christening gown for the child she hoped to have someday. Together we planned the dress that would be made for my daughter, her great-granddaughter.

My grandmother loved watching Tiffany grow up. I would frequently send pictures and we would talk on the phone. We would have luncheon outings, and she would share with me her regrets about not being able to have children. I would share my concerns about how to raise Tiffany, and she would give me her advice, what she would have done.

Grandma Clara passed away a few years ago. She was ninety-two when she died. Although she never truly experienced motherhood, she helped me to appreciate it. I will forever be grateful for her support and her confidence in me. She was a grandmother in every sense of the word to me. I just wish that she could have met my granddaughter, Chloe. I’d love to share with her how I hope to be like her in many ways.

My "Mare"

As a grandmother, Mother's Day has taken on new meaning for me. This year, in particular, I have been thinking a lot about my grandmother, my “Mare.” I don’t know why but for some reason, as I young child, I began referring to her as Mare, and her name was Leona! Not even close to Mary or even Marian. My grandfather used to sing that she was the old gray mare!

Growing up I spent a great deal of time at Mare’s house. During the summer, I would sleepover frequently after having spent the day playing with my aunts. My two aunts were more like older sisters. Fran was five years older, and Donna, two. They had their own bedroom, but at night, I would snuggle in the cot that was set up next to my grandparents’ bed in their room. There was a loud ticking clock in their bedroom, and I remember falling asleep to the tick-tock of that clock. It was soothing, and I always felt safe.

There was also a bookshelf in Mare and Pop’s room. A shelf full of books-we didn’t have such a thing at our house. I remember sitting in her room and pulling books from the shelf, turning the pages slowly and carefully to look at the words and the pictures that appeared on each page. I remember thumbing through those books long before I was ever able to read them. The pages and the stories they told were the source of many daydreams for me. I would travel to far off places in my imagination. I felt empowered sitting near her bookshelf.

My grandmother’s house was always filled with wonderful smells. She was a great cook. I remember sitting at the kitchen table watching her prepare my favorite foods for me. I felt like a princess having someone take such good care of me. Breakfast was particularly nice because I could watch her while everyone else was still asleep. My grandfather would sit on the rocking chair in the corner reading his newspaper, and I would watch my grandmother carefully fix the morning meal for her beloved family. I always felt loved with her.

My grandmother’s house was one of my favorite places on earth. It was a good place to be. As I make preparations for visits from my own granddaughter, I want my home to be that special place for her. I want her to feel safe, empowered, and loved. Grandmothers touch our lives in so many very special ways. I’m so excited to be in this place in life, loving my granddaughter and feeling the love of my grandmother forever in my life.

My Baseball Son

As I sit here in sunny Arizona watching the Dodgers at their morning practice and receive text messages about the predicted snow back home, I am reminded that spring is here! Baseball has begun and Maryland weather is whacky! Welcome to spring.

Baseball has been a part of our lives for as long as I can remember. When we moved to Frederick years ago, we got caught up in the idea of a minor league team coming to play in our new “hometown.”

One chilly spring evening, we packed up the kids and headed to McCurdy field to watch the Frederick Keys play ball. My son, Timmy, was more interested in playing in the dirt underneath the bleachers than he was in the sport. It was after all his first game, he would prove to be a much better fan of the sport as he grew up.

Once the Frederick Keys moved to their new home at Harry Grove stadium, Timmy was almost five. By the time he reached the age of seven, he had developed into a real baseball fan. We became regulars at the stadium, joined the Keys fan club, and began housing players. Each spring Timmy anxiously awaited the arrival of his “summer brother.” We housed players for ten years, and one, Darnell McDonald, has remained a life-long brother to my son. In fact, Darnell is with the Cubs this season and that’s why this year our spring training trip brought us to Arizona and not Florida. The Cubs hold camp in the Phoenix area.

My son spent three seasons as a bat boy for the Keys, working each summer under the guidance of clubhouse manager George Bell. He learned a lot about baseball, but the lessons on character were what I believe have stuck with him the most.

Timmy knows every statistic about ball players and the sport. He’s always ready for a discussion about a particular World Series or a record-breaking game. But his heart has been and always will be with the minor leagues.

When we go to training camps, he heads directly for the minor league fields. It’s there that he chats with developing players and coaches. He talks to young men who are struggling or some who are playing on a high. They toss comments back and forth about pitching and hitting, about batting stance and curve balls.

My son has such deep respect for many of these young men who will never make it to the major leagues but who give their hearts day in and day out for a game they love. We’ll be at a lot of minor league games this season, cheering these players on. This is the baseball my son loves. Head to a minor league game this season and see the game played with real heart!

This blogpost appeared as my April 2013 monthly column in the Frederick News Post.