On August 23rd, 2006, Wednesday at 6:35pm, Clara Isbell, my gramma, passed away. It was three months ago, to the day, after her oldest child, my dad, Elvin Isbell Sr., died.
Gramma's passing has put many of you at the top of your family tree. She was the thread that tied us together. Now it is up to us to remember where we came from.
When I was a kid dad and I would drop in at gramma's and dad would say, "Hey mama! Hey pop! How 'bout a cup of mud?" And dad and grampa would have a cup of coffee and talk about this and that while I went off to explore.
I can't talk about gramma without talking about her house. I remember the front screen door that had the letter 'I' on it, and that enormous piece of furniture gramma claimed was a radio. I remember the candy dish on the coffee table near the front door, and how around Christmas time, the normal one was replaced with a ceramic box that looked like a Christmas gift. That tool she had for dialing her old rotary telephone. The picture of Jesus on the wall above the t.v. How the floor in the back part of the house tilted down toward the kitchen. How the back screen door would slap shut when it was flung open.
The trees in her yard; paupau, walnut, persimmon. I remember how a green persimmon made me pucker, and how slippery it was under that tree when the fruit got ripe and fell on the ground. How gramma would point out places in the yard that I should avoid while cutting her grass because those things were good to eat.
I remember how gramma would putter around the house, doing her chores singing "bringing in the sheaves." How she would lean against washing machine on the spin cycle and laugh.
Because grampa died when I was young I would ask gramma to tell me about him. She told me about one time when they were on the sidewalk in front of her house, and she said, "oh look, my flowers haven't bloomed yet".
Grampa said, "ya want me to kick 'em in the buds?"
My gramma was the best christian that I ever knew. I can't imagine a better christian than her. She lived her whole life for the day she would pass on and be with Jesus.
When my gramma gets to heaven, before the big family reunion, Saint Peter will usher her through the pearly gates, and take her back to the kitchen of the heavenly mansion, where her husband and son will be having a cup of 'mud', talking about old times, while they wait for her to get there.
Aw! Very sweet and relatable. My Grandma had a strawberry patch and a tiny cast iron stove with little pots and pans, that I played with as a child. She gave it to me before she passed, 25 years or so later. I still recall how her house smelled, how her "crazy cake" tasted and how her wooden screen door slammed. I miss her still.
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