Somewhere in the mists of time, in the childhood literature of Dick and Jane and The Golden Books, a vision of a Visit from Grandma took form.
Mother dries her hands on her gingham apron as she opens the front door to welcome Grandmother. Grandmother emerges from the taxi, in her best suit with her arms filled with wrapped presents for everyone. The taxi driver carries her leather suitcase. Perhaps there will be a new hand knit sweater for little Susie.
Within moments Grandmother is in the kitchen, wearing an apron over her housedress. Her sensible shoes shine. A perfectly baked apple pie is being lifted from the oven. Father will soon be home from the office carrying the newspaper and his brown briefcase.
I have left the mists of the Bay of Fundy, to find myself, a grandma, visiting in the heart of a very large city. Not surprisingly, the scene has changed a bit.
I do not own a dress, let alone a house dress. I left my Frenchy 's collection of aprons, behind in the attic. I am bearing gifts, with some specially bagged presents for a little birthday girl.
This visit from grandma is stripped of preciousness. The little birthday girl lies languidly on the living room couch, disturbed by intermittent coughing spells. She takes up residence in her mother's room, as I takeover her lower bunk in the room she shares with her sister. My life is inundated with Monster High dolls and unidentified tiny objects.
The Birthday Party with friends is postponed, but the family party takes place. Decorations are limited to May Day flowers and a few party pretties. The "cake mix" cake has been imaginatively decorated by the birthday girl. A grand celebration is had by all.
But the unseen viruses and bacteria begin to expand their territory. The sickee becomes sicker. As her body conquers the invaders, her sister's health begins to wane. This is not a happy situation. Little people like older people are not at their best when sick.
Mummy reluctantly sets off to work. Grandma strives to bring comfort, support and a little fun to the sickees, sometimes with success, sometimes not. Weary momma arrives to a home without a sweet smelling pie baking in the oven, but a credit card waits by the door to take care of supper.
This may sound like a sad story, but it is not. I get to be a real grandma to my faraway grand daughters and get a chance to know them on their own territory, in ways not as possible on summer vacations and Christmas visits. For a short time, I get to be a real grandma. The impossible happens and I find myself loving them even more.
