Cocktails, Klondike Bars, and Music Boxes

My great grandmother was born in the nineteenth century. August 28, 1898. The last time I saw her was for her 100th birthday party. Her birthday always doubled as our annual family reunion. Generations, gads of people, all related, all there to celebrate the life of our beloved matriarch, Agnes Howard Holt. I never knew who most of these people were, just my immediate aunts and uncles and cousins, but that didn't stop me from appreciating just how Great Grandma was. What an amazing legacy. She passed away just a few weeks shy of her 101st birthday, but I know she'll live on through all of us.

The first thing that comes to mind with I think of Great Grandma is her apartment. I'll always remember that first day of our family vacation - every year - the rolling hills with brilliantly green grass that we just didn't see in Tucson as we drove in our rental car into her apartment complex. I never quite knew which building was hers because they all looked the same, but once Mom and Dad parked the car and pointed it out, it was a race between my sisters and I who could get to the door first to ring the buzzer for Great Grandma to let us in. Such a novelty that was for us kids. Then, when we heard the buzzer go off, it was like the starting shot at the races - who could make it down the hall the fastest to hug Great Grandma first. Mom and Dad always slowed us down; there were other people that lived there, too, and it wasn't nice to make so much noise with our stampeding. After being forced to reduce to a torturously slow walk down the halls, we'd arrive at the door. Apartment number 811.

We'd all get our hugs from Great Grandma and the "my how you've growns" right there in the hallway before Mom and Dad even had a chance to walk through the door. She always had presents waiting for us - silly things like paddle balls and kaleidoscopes - but they kept us and our cousins amused long enough. After we were all settled in the living room around that circular coffee table, we'd have cocktails. Yeah, cocktails are supposed to be alcoholic beverages, but us kids didn't know any better. One lucky kid (sometimes two) got to help Great Grandma in the kitchen pouring sodas from cans, getting out the Nuts and Bolts (like Chex Mix, only better), arranging crackers on a plate around the little container of cheese spread, getting out the fun mini-knives that were just for the cheese... It was a whole affair in and of itself.

When everyone was settled on those old, yellow couches around the coffee table, the adults would chat and catch up while everyone snacked. Great Grandma, Grandma Joan, Mom, Aunt Marcy, Aunt Ann... they'd all be in and out, helping get dinner ready. The grown ups would look at photo albums, and the kids would play with their new toys as well as the basket of older ones that Great Grandma kept just for us.

Dinner was a grand affair... at least from my young eyes. Everyone around the long table, passing food and chatting happily. I remember the spaghetti dinners the most, the ones where we got to spoon out parmesan cheese out of a little dish and eat all the French bread we could manage. Most of us kids didn't like to eat the crusts, just the buttery, soft middle. We'd always get a big kick out of the fact that Great Grandma would eat them all for us. She liked the way they crunched softly.

After cleaning up from dinner and resetting the table for dessert, it was time for Klondike Bars! The only time I'd ever eat them with a spoon was at Great Grandma's place.

What came after dessert was always one of my favorite parts of our time at Great Grandma's. The music boxes. Great Grandma had a huge collection of them, some new, most quite old. When we were old enough to be careful with them, she would let one of us pick the first music box to listen to. One of my favorites was the one that played "Singin' in the Rain" and had a guy and a gal twirling around a lamppost with their umbrellas. Some of the music boxes were very old and fragile, but each one was so unique and creative. I think each of us had our own favorite.

When we tired of the music boxes, we'd ask Great Grandma to show us her pitchers. Sometimes we'd have to wait while she showed us pictures because we didn't want her to think she'd heard us wrong. She had a pitcher collection - all different sizes, shapes, and colors - each had it's own story of when and where she'd gotten it; she'd tell us as we unwrapped them from the tissue they were stored in. The best part of the pitchers was the organizing... smallest to largest on the windowsill. It was always a group effort, and we had to be sure of the order, being careful if one was just a fraction bigger than another.

Funny how the simplest things became the best memories. I have a lifetime worth of memories of Great Grandma, some I didn't even realize were there, but all of them are a treasured part of my childhood. And I hope someday someone can say the same of me.