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| Nell at 18 |
Last week, my husband's grandmother's egg timer was inadvertently broken. Do you remember the kind? Wooden with a glass hourglass filled with sand. Just enough sand for a three minute egg. Which to be honest, I have never made. Still, I have harbored this non-electronic device, for over thirty years. My four children played with it often.
It bit the dust in the hands of my grandchildren. Sigh.
It wasn't till it was broken, I began to think about how every morning Grandma Nellie would make eggs with the timer. First for her husband, then her son Walter Jr., and a few years later her daughter Rosemary was added to the mix (who was my spouses mother).
If Nellie's mornings were anything like mine, it must have been rushed. Then again, she was a force to be reckoned with, so maybe, they came to the table dressed, co-operative and ready to eat. Never to be late for the nuns who waited for them at school.
I'll never know for sure.
Still, I can see her hand, as she dropped the egg in the boiling water, flipping the timer over, glancing over at the children, while capturing the toast as it catapulted into the air from the toaster, with the butter ready to be spread, glancing over as the last sands slipping through the glass, grabbing the metal "egg spoon" (as she called it) lifting the eggs, slipping the oval protein into egg cups (which I also possess). With a quick slice of the knife, giving the egg the equivalent of a haircut, ready to be serve.
This was her way. Neat, tidy, efficient. I aspire to her standards, while never quite reaching the flag.
Upon marring my husband, I began visiting her once a month. In between visits we wrote letters to one another. Her's always signed off with the phrase, love and prayers.
As my children arrive, I brought them with to visit. Over the years it became more frequent. For the last three years of her life I spent every Monday with her, toddlers in toe.
Nell was an original. Her stories fascinated me. She would tell me the tales of her seven sisters, her two brothers,(she would rather not speak of them, she could forgive, but she couldn't forget. Why, I'll never know).
She would tell of how she bleached the bottom of her shoes after returning from her daily forays into Chicago, until she no longer felt up to her trips on the "L"*. Visiting Marshall Fields, Holy Name Cathedral, and Lutz's on her way back home. Then her shoes stayed home, along with herself.
My favorite will always be her response when asked if she would be coming for a visit. Nell would say "with the help of God and six policemen, I'll be there."
I have always thought this was most likely her escort as she ascended into heaven.
*The Chicago "L" (short for "elevated" as the train is elevated above the streets) is the rapid transit system serving the city of Chicago
