Lessons from Grandma

This week, I’m sharing a column written by Jeff Tolman, a Greybull native, retired Washington lawyer and judge and very talented writer. He sent one that was similar to me a year ago and I loved it, but didn’t find the right time to use it.  It will resonate with longtime Greybull residents.

“Lessons From Grandma”
I just finished a disappointing book, “If I live to be 100,” a series of interviews with men and women more than a century old. I had high expectations and anxiously waited for some gems of wisdom about life and happiness. To what do they attribute their longevity? What lessons would they like to pass to the next generation? Unfortunately, few gems appeared.
My Grandma, Anna Mae Simonson, came to mind as I read the interviews. She died in 2008, at the age of 99, just short of reaching the century mark. She is one of my favorite people in the world, a kindred spirit. Grandma outlived three of her five daughters, including my mom. Though Grandma became legally blind, she played in three Bridge clubs a week into her 90’s. She is the senior member of her church and can warm any room with her smile and gentle laugh.
Grandma would have good stories and lessons to tell.
I remember calling Grandma on her 80th birthday and asking, “Grandma, what did you buy yourself for your birthday?”
“A 20-year bond,” she replied with a mischievous chuckle. “What do you think of that, Jeff?”
“I hope optimism is genetic,” I responded. And do.
Grandma was the local night telephone operator, back in the days of live people assisting a caller on the phone. My kids would have no idea how to dial “0” and say, “Information please.” I thought the information operator knew everything. What time it was. The weight of the average elephant. When to plant petunias. How to verbally comfort a frightened child. That was Grandma, passing out information, and sometimes comfort, on request.
She was the community alarm clock, waking the local railroaders at 5 a.m. by calling each of them. Grandma was as dependable as the sunrise, jump-starting her community each morning through her wake-up calls. For years, without fanfare.
Grandma was an old-fashioned baker who never measured anything. She would throw in some of this and a pinch or two of that, then taste her creation. Sometimes she would add a little more spice before she placed the dish in the oven. Never a timer to tell her time was up. She could smell it when dinner or dessert was done. Always to perfection. Always wonderful. Always without any apparent effort. Decades later, I can shut my eyes and still smell her apple pie coming out of the oven.
Perhaps Grandma’s greatest gift, though, was her ability to make each of her grandchildren feel loved and special. No doubt my sister and each of my cousins feels, as I do, they were Grandma’s favorite. When you were with her, it always seemed that you had her full attention; like there are only two people in the world: her and you.
I recall vividly sitting on the bank of Shell Creek with Grandma a few years ago, our fishing poles not near the water, spending the afternoon chatting. About my Grandpa Gould, who died when I was 10. About the oddity I was as the first male in two generations of her family. (As the story goes, someone asked my grandfather, “Fred, who does he look like, the Goulds or the Tolmans?” “I don’t know,” my grandfather allegedly answered, “I haven’t looked at his face yet.” Grandma? She said, “At four pounds you looked like a plucked chicken – but I loved you immediately and still do.”) About her life during the Depression and World War II. How the fishing on the stream was 50 years ago. Just her and me on the bank of Shell Creek sharing family history.
At 100, if interviewed, I predict Grandma would have many life lessons to share. How activity and optimism can keep you younger than your chronological age. That often, good work goes unnoticed when you make it look easy. How the smell of a freshly baked pie can be recalled for decades. How by listening and caring you can make many people feel like they are the most important person in the world. Even a plucked chicken