This post will be a bit of a bummer, sorry, but I lost my grandmother last weekend. Her name was June Taylor, but to me, my sister, and my cousin, she was Nana. Nana was ninety-three years old when she died, which made her five years older than I am right now when I was born.
Go for it, math nerds. How old am I now?*
Nana had the best laugh, one that made for the perfect complement to my grandfather’s tall tales about Texas. Of course, Nana had stories of her own, and the phrase “I just got so tickled” factored into most, if not all, of them.
I like that she called my grandfather (Harve) by his last name, Taylor. She said it like “Taylah” because she was from Semmes, AL (just outside Mobile).
For the first seven years of my life, Nana and Papa, lived on a ranch in Hillsboro, TX, with a herd of polled Hereford cattle and an Australian sheepdog named Tildy (short for Matilda).
Nana always managed to find crisp, red delicious apples back in the 80s, and I’m not sure anyone I’ve ever met sliced them as fine as she did. I think she was the first person I met that didn’t use JIF or Peter Pan peanut butter, but whatever she used sure did taste great as a dipping sauce for those apple slices.
I have plenty of memories curled up on their couch in Hillsboro, hair wet from the shower, wrapped in a hand-knitted blanket watching Charlie’s Angels or Dallas on television. But a couple spring to mind, like the time a field mouse scrambled through the house (Papa ushered it out the door with a broom) or when we found the curious faces of a couple heads of cattle staring at us through the window because they’d somehow managed to get the gate open.
The mouse bit sticks with me in particular, because it required a team effort to usher it out of the house. And by team, I mean me, my cousin, and my sister cracking up as Nana leaped from one piece of furniture to the next as she tried to avoid the furry little invader.
She’d often re-tell the story through many visits to Alabama for Chrismas (they moved away in 1985 or 86, I think), ending it with her trademark, “I just get so tickled every time I think about that.”
And by often, I’m pretty sure, I mean all, but that was fine by me. I always kind of got a kick out of how much it cracked her up.
But in sorting through a lifetime of memories, I think my favorite one happened a few years ago.
I was in a hotel room in New Orleans when my grandfather phoned me up and told me he wanted to see me one more time before he died. So, I said, “How about today?”
(It wasn’t a threat on his life; I was just letting him know I was within driving distance and could be there in a couple of hours)
So, I canceled my meetings for the day and made the two-hour drive to Semmes to visit my grandfather in an assisted living facility.
I enjoyed the visit with Papa. He was in good spirits, knew all his nurses’ names, asked me about work, and shared a few stories with me. He’d been in sales too, worked at IBM from the 60s through the 80s, and had some good ones.
But this post isn’t about Papa.
At some point the nurses needed to come in and do something (I don’t remember what), and Nana asked if I wanted to go to lunch.
Of course, I did.
So, we packed up and drove around the neighborhood looking for a place to eat. She talked about Papa some, pointed out a few landmarks, and made a few anecdotes about buildings and what they were a long time ago (she’d grown up in the area), until finally, she spotted a place that looked good to her.
It was at that point that I realized that I’d never had lunch with just her. There was always someone else around: Papa, my sister, my mom—or a whole a mixed bunch of Corleys, Taylors, and Tates. But now, it was just us, and she seemed different. Our conversation had a looser feel to it.
The restaurant she chose was apparently known for their hot dogs, which was funny, I’d never seen my grandmother eat a hot dog in my life. Pizza yes, hamburgers, sure, but not a hot dog.
There’s no punchline here. It’s just my favorite memory. It’s the best conversation I’d ever had with her, although I don’t remember any of the particular topics. Maybe it’s the only time she’d set aside the mantle of Nana and was just June with me; I don’t know.
But I’m glad I canceled my meetings that day.
I get so tickled every time I think of it.
I love you, Nana. You will be missed.
*Did you get 44? Good job.