Grandma Van Meter

 

Grandma Van Meter

 

I loved to have Grandma Van Meter rub my back while she visited with Mom and Dad.  She would slide her cool hand under my shirt and stroke my back as I sat on cross-legged on the floor by her chair.  Her laugh sounded like a yelping seal and always delighted me.  Each of her hands had a blue-green pattern of veins down its back.  How did those veins stay popped up when they were so soft as I traced them with my finger?  Her hair was stiff grey perfection – “done” at the beauty salon once a week.  Her eyes were big, now small depending on whether I looked at them through the upper lens or bifocal portion of her cat-eyed spectacles.  How could she see clearly with drooping eyelids pressing down on her lashes?

Grandma Van wasn’t like other grandmothers I knew.  Other grandmothers only did things like baking cookies or sewing.  My Grandma Van was exciting, exotic and many would say eccentric.  Among other things she was a religious adventurer.  At various times she explored Buddhism, numerology, and Yoga in addition to several denominations of Christianity.  Mom did not understand at all when my brother decided to be a Buddhist with Grandma.  I didn’t understand why the food sacrifices were sacred one day and Grandma’s lunch the next.  But no matter!  Wonderfully smoky-sweet incense seemed to accompany the religions she explored – and if I could not understand all the details, I could glimpse bits of an enticing world where meatloaf was never served.

She was remarkably knowledgeable about things that made life healthier and better.  Drinking water from the faucet was the sensible thing to do, why dirty a glass?  Great Uncle Cliff said this was rude.  Grandma shrugged him off with a blithe reply while I silently cheered her.  (Of course, drinking out of the faucet or defending drinking out of the faucet was out of the question from someone as powerless as myself.)  Proper elimination of fecal matter was best achieved the natural way, squatting.  Grandma said this was the healthiest.  She promised me that maintaining my footing while squatting on the toilet seat would take a short time to learn but was a small sacrifice to prevent constipation.  Unfortunately, my mother was unhappy with this new method, so I was unable to join Grandma in the search for excellence in excretion.

Grandma spent hours reading to me while we sat close on my chenille pink-striped bedspread.  I was Heidi and Snow White and a host of others as each character came alive through Grandma’s voice.  She gave readings worthy of critical acclaim to her audience of one. I knew she could have been a great actress if she had wanted.  Instead, she chose to be my Grandma Van.