My gramma

Madigan has been noodling around on Ancestry.com trying to build her family tree. And just the mention of my grandmother makes me want to cook. She was the mother of 9 kids, married to my grandfather till her last day and she never learned to drive. I would visit her alot, she was a great woman, I loved her so much. I was never to busy to come over and play rummy with her. She always had an unabridged oxford dictionary on the table, so she could work the crossword puzzles. She would tell us stories about when she was younger and played baseball when all the men were off fighting the war. She would always mention getting cracked in the head with a bat and how she didn’t have a glove one time and caught a hard ball going to fast that tore the skin between her fingers. I loved hearing her stories, she talked about when they owned a restaurant in Steator, she would cook the food at home and would walk it to the restaurant in a kiddie wagon. If you were family she loved you unconditionally, if you hurt one of her kids, it was over. She had 6 boys, some who were more wild than the others, if any of them challenged her she would say “You’ll never be bigger than me with a baseball bat in my hand.” She cooked all the time. I doubt my grandfather ever had a cold breakfast ever. We would go over there and have dinner on sunday. She was never lazy about it. I would stop by whenever, and while we were playing double solitaire or watching the Price is Right she would ask me if I wanted a piece of pie. The answer was always yes, she would pop into the kitchen, then a few minutes later she would come back and say it’ll be ready in 20 minutes. Where in the world could you go, right now and have that? She had a couple dozen grandkids, and she would always remember what your favorite food was. If I was coming over it would be haluski. Her life was her family, and when we were all around she was happiest. I have been saying that I was going to learn to make lokshe, something my grandmother would make, a HUGE batch, we would have it on special occasions, holiday’s and stuff, then she would save the leftovers for Shelley or Aunt Dee for when they came over cause it was their favorite. Every night when I am cooking and the water to too hot to do the dishes or I say ouch when I pull the garlic bread out of the oven without using a mitt I think about my gramma. That woman could reach into a pot of boiling water and pull out a penny and not a peep out of her. She was one tough lady with very tough hands.