Sounds, Tastes and Smells: Distinctly Grandmother Territory

The squawking was short lived, but it lingers still in my memories of Grandmother's house. I don't think she raised chickens, because I don't remember any coops or feathers. But on that day, she had a live one, at least it was alive long enough for Grandmother to wring its neck and get it ready to be our supper. And fried chicken was the one thing that I always asked for when I went to Grandmother's. So, the squawking, neck breaking uproar was just the price that foul had to pay to get my chicken! Other than that one time, all of Grandmother's chicken came from the A & P.

We lived in a big city, and my two grandmothers lived just a short few blocks from one another. I loved being with my grandmothers, but I lived with my parents a few miles away. But when I was able to be in the neighborhood of Grandmother and Grandma, (a subtle difference in names but each beautifully individual women) it felt like a different city entirely.

The house where I lived was full of much newer houses, modest, 50s style little boxes, with tidy chain link fences around every backyard, and smooth, level sidewalks connecting all the little boxes to the school, the park and the Minute Market. That was my world of home; young families with too many loud, boisterous children, freshly planted flower beds and freshly painted dog houses.

But the world of my grandmothers was different: older, alot older. The sidewalks were lumpy, bumpy, broken and not at all even! Some sections had broken slabs that jutted up like outcroppings of the Rockies. The houses had wonderful squeaky, creaky wooden porches and equally squeaky and creaky screen doors that were never latched, unless you were keeping out creepy brothers and cousins! The trees were all big, unlike the saplings growing in our neighborhood. Rose bushes, irises, day lilies, peach trees, honeysuckle, crab apple trees, sweet potato vines. The old neighborhood was more green, more fragrant, earthy.

And there was no "laundry house" directly across the street from my house. But Grandmother lived across from a "laundry house". The smell of Ivory Flakes and bleach would make the air smell so clean and fresh. The old washers with wringers attached were contraptions that I envied for my mother! They were, after all, much more "fun" than Momma's automatic model! And the people walking down the streets were older, some stooped, and mostly women that pulled their little folding shopping baskets behind them as the made their way to "town".

"Town" was a commercial, three or four block district adjacent to my grandmothers' neighborhood. We simply called it "East Grand", the street's name where they were. It was a delightful mix of J.C. Penny's Department Store, Mott's 5 & 10, Lindop's Hardware Store, and a myriad of other storefronts that held the goods that my grandmothers needed. The trip to "town" was just a two block walk, holding tightly to Grandmother's hand. In order to get to "town", Grandmother and I would have to walk directly across the street from the most mysterious place I had ever passed by. We would be sure to cross Fairview Street's west side to Fairview Street's east side before we got to the block where the mysterious place was situated. But, unmistakable by the sounds and smells emanating from the mysterious place, I knew when we were getting close!

Click, click, clickety click! The unique clattering and clicking could be heard through the ever-open door. The pungent smell of cigar and pipe tobacco wafted into the air above the street and straight onto "our side" of the sidewalk! Grandmother would walk on the curb side of the walk, shielding me from the very vision of it! But the sounds of male laughter, clicking and clattering was so curious and I tried my best to look. But the open door only yielded a view the dark, smoky shadows inside. "Don't look over there! There's nothing but lazy men playing dominoes all day when they oughtta be working!" Oh, so very sinister was the idea of it!

It was a "domino parlor". The one and only one I've ever seen with my own two eyes, even though there have been a few I've seen in old movies. Oh, the mystery of it was made greater by Grandmother's clearly disdainful attitude about it! I was sure that it was a den of evil and wicked men who, apparently, were the only ones in the neighborhood that didn't work at the Ford Plant a few blocks to the west. Truth be told, they were probably all retirees of the very place! Yet, there they were, still within earshot of the loud steam whistle that blasted the air at the appropriate times to call the men back to work!

Now, on the occasions that I visited Grandma, instead of Grandmother, there was quite another treat that I anticipated. Apricot fried pies. Oh, I can still remember that crunchy bite into the delectable crust on the way to that sweet-tart delightful filling of the delicious apricots. Sometimes there, on the kitchen table, was an incredible entire bowl full of the fruit, stewed and tender and ready for a hot biscuit or slice of toast. And more exotic than anything I had ever had anywhere, to this day, was Grandma's amazing pot of stewed beef tongue! For years I thought we were the only ones who knew of this savory, aromatic (albeit tremendously gross-sounding) dish! When it was hot, with that wonderful, bubbling pot liquor gravy ready, there was never a better open-faced sandwich ever concocted by a living soul! Too bad for all those other folk of the world who had no idea of this delicacy!

I was so happy at the homes of my two grandmothers that I would never have been convinced that they were low-income "widow ladies" who had to pinch every penny and stretch every dollar. It never occurred to me that neither of them had ever driven or owned a car, gone on a vacation, or had a credit card! But rich? They shared a wealth with me that money or credit cards could never provide. They lavished me with jewels that put diamonds and pearls to shame. A legacy, true and miraculous.