Now I am talking about Grandmas and stains!! Well, I keep saying, between my Grandmas and my Mom, there is not much in my life that is not tied to “their way.” Even ridding clothes of stubborn stains! And I have found “their way” to be a good way and proven way.
A stain, in my world, is a challenge, not something to be overlooked. I can spend days and sometimes, even spending weeks working on a stubborn stain. Why not give up? Well, one good reason is that my Grandmas taught me by example to appreciate all you had and value what you worked hard for. They lived with challenges I will never know, so having the determination to prevail over a stain is nothing compared to washing loads of laundry on a washboard! You have heard the saying, “I am grateful to do laundry because that means I have clothes”. It is valid and effective in keeping us in conscious gratitude for all that we have.
If you grew up during The Great Depression, a shirt, a pair of pants, and maybe your only dress, were precious assets. Discarding your clothes wasn’t an option. They worked hard for whatever they had and that certainly was not much. But my Grandparents would usually say, “We had what we needed”. Gratitude for their meager belongings not only impelled my grandparent’s generation to take care of their possessions but inspired respect for the hard work that was behind buying or sewing those clothes. And, of course, hand-me-downs were a way of life. And hand-me-downs or not, they still wanted their children to look their best.
So pearls of wisdom from my Grandmas follow me to the Laundry Room. Like my Grandma Helen, I rarely let a stain get the best of me. I can still see her handwashing clothes in her kitchen sink. Working those suds gently through those clothes, was an art form for her! Aquilaun and Degreaser were mainstays in her home because she was a Stanley Home Products saleslady while she was raising her children. My Mom’s cleaning cabinets were always full of Stanley and mine when I got married and our whole family! We all used and loved Stanley products because Grandma Helen did. And, wow, you can get out some stains with Degreaser! (Shhh! And you can’t beat BIZ either! Sorry Grandma)
These hand-me-down pearls of loving wisdom, lessons learned on the washboard of life constantly remind me to work hard, to be grateful for even the stains in life, and to take care of and respect all that I have!
Jennifer đ
Your WONDERFUL stories parallel my life in so many ways. I wish I could write and share them as you have, however, I havenât the talent for written and/or oral expression, but I am not at all surprised, that you do. You are a marvel, and I thank you for reminding me through The Oklahoma Clothesline of the many, many blessings in my life.
Many describe me, some even unkindly, as old fashioned, one who refuses to âmove on.â I unashamedly plead guilty, though in some ways, I have âmoved on.â I now have a self-propelled walk-behind lawnmower. I pump my own gasoline. I check and bag my own groceries. I no longer use a wringer washing machine and three rinse tubs. I use a gas clothes dryer, since my clotheslines are practically hidden by trees, and in my old age having shrunk nearly three inches, I cannot reach the clotheslines anyway. Above my washer, I have a bar of Fels-Naptha soap, two bottles of Mrs. Stewartâs Bluing, a box of Rinso laundry detergent, and can still hear the call of a quail in the Rinso White radio commercial. I have a cell phone, and a computer, and though not proficient with either, letâs just say, weâre on semi-friendly terms. I now sleep in the same bed that my grandma did, and then when mother was older, it was passed on to her, then to me. I also have the matching dressing table and chest of drawers (or as some of us Okies say, âchester drawersâ). The set probably wouldnât bring much in an antique shop, but each piece is a priceless treasure to me. I, too sleep under a quilt made by my great grandma, and have other heirloom quilts which I treasure. My mother and grandma were marvelous seamstresses. When I was four years old, my mother patiently taught me to embroider, and I still have some of motherâs and grandmaâs embroidered sheets and matching pillow cases (not embroidered by me of course), and I use them, and yes, they are one hundred percent cotton, so they must be ironed. The pillow cases have to be starched, sprinkled, and ironed. Ugh! So, am I old fashioned and have I âmoved onâ? Well, maybe a little.
I have my grandmaâs treadle Singer Sewing machine, on which she taught me to sew, and it works and has a prettier stitch than my Bernina. But do I sew? No. I have never enjoyed sewing. In truth, I absolutely detest sewing, but I have sewn, crocheted, and embroidered many things, and when we look at old pictures, I am reminded and surprised at the many things I have made. My kiddos remember, and brag about me. Bless their innocent, sweet and loyal hearts.
Along with millions of others, grandma and my parents lived through the horrors of WWII. Grandma was hired at the Douglas Air Craft Plant, and though she loved it, grandpa was of the old school, and insisted that she resign when the war ended. My daddy served in the U.S. Navy and left waiting at home my mother, three children, all under the ages of four, and a baby on the way. My mother, only twenty-two years old, was rock solid through it all. Twenty-two! My very goodness, I was just learning to wave bye-bye when I was twenty-two! She remained stalwart, positive, cheerful, resourceful, and never doubted for an instant that daddy would come back home, and oh, thank goodness, he did. At last, my daddy was home. As did so many others, he served our country with bravery and loyalty and would have done so again. He saw horrors that I cannot fathom, yet he never talked about them. Only after his passing did some of his Navy buddies relate the horrors that my daddy suffered and endured. I was less than two years old when Pearl Harbor was bombed, so thankfully, I cannot remember that, but when I was a little older, my young daddy was drafted, and I do remember watching him at the train station lined up in military formation when he was on his way to navy boot camp. It was frightening, and I couldnât understand what was happening.
I remember food rationing, yet thanks to my mother and my grandma, we never were hungry. When mother managed to save an extra dollar, she prepared a delicious salad made with a small can of tuna, a head of lettuce, sweet pickles, onions, tomatoes, and Mayo, and it was like a feast. Pinto beans, fried potatoes, cornbread, and biscuits and gravy were our mainstay, and eighty plus years later, they remain among my favorite foods. My parents and grandma were marvelous cooks, and they instilled in me a joy of cooking. I remember mother and grandma trusting me with the job of mashing that little orange tablet in lard or some other disgusting substance to make pretend butter. Eww! I also remember SPAM, which to this day, I cannot stand, so I wonât dwell on that.
If there might be anything good at all in me, it was because of the love and nurturing from my parents and my grandma. What a blessing to have been taught and loved by these precious, wonderful and courageous angels who lived bravely and in circumstances we cannot begin to imagine.
Jennifer, shame on me for rambling, but even in my library of memories, which are with me every single day, I have a bazillion more. Thank you for sharing parts of your happy life and allowing me to share mine. Between todayâs chores and laundry (not with my wringer washer and clotheslines) I have read your inspiring posts in The Oklahoma Clothesline, and enjoyed every single one. Please keep them coming, and again, thank you for sharing.
Sharon