Today my family is honoring and remembering my grandmother, Norma Alice Ricks Durfey, who passed away last spring.
Grandma, we invite your warmth and presence to be with us today and
My grandma was the original minimalist in our family. Very unattached to material things and unphased by passing trends, she was a great example to me of someone who could make do with simply being comfortable.
I spent a few weeks with my grandparents the summer I was 12 or 13. This was when hippie vintage reigned, and more than anything else in the world I desperately desired a pair of frayed shorts with psychedelic patches glued on them. My grandma tried to appease me. We went to the store to pick out patches. The patches I wanted were too expensive, she explained. I conceded. We made the more practical, but unstylish, purchase of patches used to actually patch up jeans. Plain squares were glued onto my shorts. Instead of letting me fray my shorts, my grandmother simply sewed some yellowed lace onto the bottom. We made a lot of compromises that day, and despite my disappointment that they hadn't turned out exactly like I'd wanted I still wore the shorts with pride. She even took pictures of me modeling them in a very saucy manner. She must have been laughing on the inside.
Grandma, we invite your warmth and presence to be with us today and
always as we take this moment to recognize and honor you.
Growing up I didn't always feel that my Grandma Norma and I had a lot in common. I think that was partially an age thing, but also we were, like everyone else, unique individuals in a common family. As I've gotten older, and especially with the sharp contrast of having her no longer here with us, I see echoes of my grandmother in myself.
My grandma was the original minimalist in our family. Very unattached to material things and unphased by passing trends, she was a great example to me of someone who could make do with simply being comfortable.
I spent a few weeks with my grandparents the summer I was 12 or 13. This was when hippie vintage reigned, and more than anything else in the world I desperately desired a pair of frayed shorts with psychedelic patches glued on them. My grandma tried to appease me. We went to the store to pick out patches. The patches I wanted were too expensive, she explained. I conceded. We made the more practical, but unstylish, purchase of patches used to actually patch up jeans. Plain squares were glued onto my shorts. Instead of letting me fray my shorts, my grandmother simply sewed some yellowed lace onto the bottom. We made a lot of compromises that day, and despite my disappointment that they hadn't turned out exactly like I'd wanted I still wore the shorts with pride. She even took pictures of me modeling them in a very saucy manner. She must have been laughing on the inside.
Our food offering for Norma tonight consists of her own Dixie Salad. In the era of Mormon 1950's infamous and horrid fruit salads comprised of canned fruit, jello and marshmallows, my grandma somehow invented or chanced upon this creation, which kept the spirit of the Mormon 1950's salad but violated the horrendousness. No canned fruit. No jello. And no marshmallows. But still thoroughly Southern Utah. It even depends on some St. George local fare (pomegranates and pecans).
Just make some whipped cream. Add some chopped apples (we prefer sweet, not tart), chopped pecans and pomegranate seeds.
This was my absolute favorite dish at every Thanksgiving dinner, and my grandma Norma took pride in making it for everyone to enjoy. Making it tonight I smelled the cream and apples and was enveloped by memories of family get-togethers. It would have made her very happy.
2 comments:
Very sweet post. I loved the story about the shorts, especially because I remember well how you were into the hippy style and I thought you looked so cool.
Great post, Jen. It wasn't until I was going through pictures for the funeral that I feel I really got to know Grandma. There is something wrong with that! She was always so sweet and quiet. I miss her, and I want to tell her sorry for how badly I led the closing song at her funeral. Not that she would care.
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