When I hear Amazing Grace or Rock of Ages, I burst into tears. The memory of her standing in her kitchen, in our church, or riding in her car as she boomed these hymns is palpable. I miss her so.
Alice was envelopes filled with cash on branches of the Christmas tree. She was a beauty salon on the side of her trailer and several bad hair cuts which I proclaimed to love. Gramma Alice was a poofy square dance skirt and bunions on toes. She was country fair concerts and too much ice cream.
Summers were spent with her. Endless days of sun and chats. Nights when thunderstorms rolled in, she rolled me out of bed and into the car, where we would be "safe". Regardless of the hour, we drove around until that storm ended. I found out, years later, that Alice had lost her home to a bolt of lightening when she was a small child, and thus the summer eve outings. Often, she found someplace (miraculously) where they made us 2 butterscotch sundaes with a cherry on top. I still love butterscotch.
Gramma Alice Did Things. She joined groups and took classes. She had parties and made new friends. Alice was a force to be dealt with. To this day, my father will shake his head and tell me that I am "just like Alice". I thank him- that is a tremendous compliment. One of the things I recall that Gram Alice did was take off to Alaska. She just decided she should go because she "always wanted to"- and so, she did. She came home after a month with photos we could spin and watch on a screen and stories of black bears and salmon "as big as your imagination". She talked about the weather and the scenery so vividly, I believed I had been there, too. Alice could weave a story from truth to make life as lovely as you wished.
My Gram had read the bible cover to cover twice and still listened to Bible On Tape as a leisure activity. She was a Real Christian. The kind of woman who lived on a dime and shared what was left with someone else. She had been widowed when I was a baby, and my mother never recovered. Mom was a Daddy's Girl. I was a Gram's Girl. Alice remarried. Twice. First to a pipe smoking man who smelled like timber and alcohol. He was nice to us, but not so nice to Gram when drinking. He wasn't around for long.
Next came Walt. Shiny Walt-the-car-salesman in suits and with a Manhattan in hand. He taught my little brother just how much vermouth was needed in his drinks and he adored my Gram. My cousins and I spent summer weeks in a camper in their yard and they took us to the amusement park every night to play skeet ball and ride the Ferris wheel. We planted flowers, ate bar-b-que and had many scoops of ice cream.
In college, Gram visited to tell me she was having heart surgery. She was always honest and told me that she feared she wouldn't see me again. We didn't cry. We just sat. She survived that surgery. And many more. I still laugh about the time she ate an entire bag of forbidden coconut and admitted herself to the hospital, saying she was having "an attack". The family rushed to our local hospital to say our good-byes. She was taken into surgery and we all held hands and waited. Soon, her surgeon stood before us, shaking his head and smiling. They had removed a huge ball of coconut from her stomach. She would be fine. My mother was fuming. How could she have not told us? Gram was sheepish, "I didn't want you all to be upset with me". I can still recall her looking so small in that huge bed. I couldn't wait to take her home.
I have photos of Gram holding my daughter the day she was born. More on her first birthday. She is always the same in these pictures- unaware of the camera and smitten with my sweet baby. Madi faced physical struggles, and we were not sure she would walk. She did. And when she was just two, we took her to visit my Gram, who was in the hospital and "just not herself". Madi toddled into the room yelling "Grammy" and Alice cried tears of joy. We talked as long as the self-propelled Madi allowed, and then I went home.
I awoke the next day to repeated ringing of my phone. It was my mom, and she was angry. Angry that I hadn't picked up sooner. Angry that her mother had died. Angry that she had died alone. The nurses told us that she was whispering her favorite bible verses as she passed, and I have no doubt that she was. I'm sure she is up there, square dancing, giving free hair cuts, and belting Rock of Ages. Thanks to Alice, I dream of pink houses and Alaska's sunrise. I can make pie crust and know a great deal about country music. I recall bible verses I didn't even know I knew and I am able to roll with life's punches. Alice, I will follow you- anywhere.
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