Over and Out

Photo by Foto Blitz Color

I'm off to bury my grandmother this weekend; she would have been 98 next week. No sadness, just peace and gratitude.

House in Progress: My Grandmother's Dresser

After my grandmother passed away last year, this petite chest of drawers was the only piece of furniture I took from her house (my mom, aunts, and cousins, of course, divvied up the rest). It had sat in her entryway for as long as I can remember, and of everything she had, it somehow symbolized her home -- where I'd always felt loved and welcomed -- the most for me.

The little dresser dates from 1939, not long after my grandma and my long-deceased grandfather were married, and it followed her through their many turbulent years together and their many cross-country moves -- from Chicago to New Jersey to Boston to Pittsburgh, back to Chicago, then to sunny post-war Los Angeles, and finally, to the Bay Area. It's not a particularly fine piece, but it's solid and useful, has a bit of 1930s-'40s flair with its chunky Asian-style brass pulls, and just reminds me of my grandmother in a fond way.

Its olive-green paint job had seen better days, though, and I wanted to update the chest with a splashy new color. I totally could have stripped, sanded, and repainted the thing myself, but I knew it would take me five years to get around to it and, truth be told, I'm just not all that meticulous about these sorts of projects. This is a special piece for me, and I didn't want to mess it up. So when I heard that Johnelle Mancha, the proprietress of Old Oakland's Mignonne, was offering a new furniture-refinishing service, I was all over it.

After consulting with me about the look I was after, Johnelle carefully stripped and refinished the dresser in a happy, glossy apple green that's a nod to the original hue but that gives the piece a more modern and surprising feel. (We literally matched the paint to a Granny Smith apple I'd brought from home.) I couldn't be more pleased with the results.

The cheerful chest now sits in my own entryway, where I've topped it was some of my favorite little treasures (like a vintage globe and wooden spool from eBay, a porcelain skeleton key from the Curiosity Shoppe, a ceramic-and-wooden apple from Relish at Home, and an Aida Dirse candy bowl from Rare Device), and where it reminds me of my beloved and dearly missed grandma every time I pass by. Thanks so much, Johnelle!

Goodbye, Grandma

My beloved grandmother died early Saturday morning. I didn't write about it yesterday because, truth be told, the reality hadn't yet sunk in. And even though I was there with her, holding her hand when she slipped away, I still can't quite believe she's gone.

She was 93 years old and, for a 93-year-old, strong as an ox. In fact, she was out working in her garden -- probably her greatest source of joy, aside from the library books that she devoured like chocolates -- two days before she died. It was the first time in her life that she'd ever been in the hospital for anything other than giving birth.

She was one of a brood of kids born to Swedish parents and raised, somewhat inexplicably, in an Irish neighborhood on the south side of Chicago. She was stuck for too many years in an awful marriage and raised four children, less than perfectly by her own admission and theirs. I think she was just trying to get by herself. But once she was finally free of her miserable marriage, she was able to take off her emotional armor and open up. It was thrilling to hear her find her voice at last.

She had six grandkids and six great-grandkids who she doted on. She adored her roses, made better use of a library card than anyone I have ever known (her love of reading was probably the greatest gift that she passed down to the three generations of women that followed her), and gobbled candy like a child.

Her mind was sharp until the very end, and she was the only 93-year-old I know who could comfortably surf the internet and pepper her loved ones with email. In fact, she sent me a message a week or two ago, gently teasing me for featuring a $15 wax apple on this blog, when she had a whole bowl of wax fruit that had been purchased for a dollar. She loved Frank Sinatra and she always served lima beans with dinner, and I always think of her when I eat them, or hear him. I miss her terribly already.

I felt incredibly loved by her. I hope with all my heart that she knew how very much she was loved, too.