My grandparents, Roscoe and Lizzie Holdaway, a few months after her stroke. She was about 4″8″ tall. Note the large, black purse on her left arm.
Grandma had a stroke when she was fifty-eight. The doctor came out to see her and said she’d never walk again. Ignoring him, she scooted around in an old desk chair for about three months because she wasn’t about to waste money on a wheelchair she’d never use again. After that, she put up with a cane for a few days till she was sick of it, then it was business as usual. Ever afterwards, she was a little weak on the right side and her gait was off a little, but she didn’t let it hold her back. She just carried her gigantic old-lady black purse on the left side to balance herself. She crawled in every time the car started, and made every trip anyone else did, be it the hardware store, grocery store, or vacation. Her stroke just made it a little easier for us to keep up with her.
She lived far enough away that she always stayed a couple of weeks when she visited. Upon her arrival, she insisted on taking over the family laundry, washing, hanging out on the line, and folding. We always had mountains of laundry with five kids, including two babies in diapers, so Mother was glad to have the help. Always afraid the neighbors would talk about her for letting Grandma toddle back and forth with the laundry, she always sent one of us to help. I always volunteered, since Grandma was known to hand out nickels when she was pleased. I endeavored to make sure the other kids didn’t stumble into this gold mine.
The whole time I was growing up, we had a sequence of gentle black dogs, usually named Blackie. I have no idea how many we may have had, but we always had one. Numerous though they had to have been over the eighteen years I lived at home, they all merged into one in my memory. One hot summer afternoon, as Grandma tottered back from the clothesline to the back door, the poor dog must have awakened from his nap in the shade only to see a short-legged, top-heavy voluminous load of fluffy, white diapers advancing toward him, lurching from side to side.
Terrified, he leapt up barking and lunged at the terrifying diaper monster, pushing her over backwards, the diapers landing atop her. Mother had seen the whole thing and rushed out to rescue Grandma from the jaws of the slavering beast. As soon as the dog heard Mother coming for him, he took off. We were all sure Grandma was dead. Mother tore at the pile of diapers only to find Grandma laughing so hard she couldn’t get up. She had to get her laughing fit over before we could pull her to her feet. She was totally unhurt, except for the indignity of wet pants. I can’t speak to the poor dog’s shocked condition.
There is a strong family resemblance 🙂 Love this story !
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Thanks.
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That photo is priceless. You come from strong stuff.
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Thanks. I love it, too.
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What a wonderful story and so well told. You just have to admire a woman that lets nothing keep her down. Including an old black dog. Delightful. I’m still smiling. :))
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So glad.
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Fabulous! You have the most amazing family!
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You just can’t conquer that pioneer spirit. Your grandma was made of strong stuff. One of my grandmothers had a crushed hip from a car running over it. She made the doctor tell her when she could walk again. He gave her a date just to satisfy her, thinking she wouldn’t walk. On the day, she got up and started pushing a chair around. She walked with a limp after that, but a fast limp. Those ladies were something. A good and amusing story, Beth. 😀 — Suzanne
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Weren’t they something!
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She reminds me of my paternal grandmother who was as strong as they came as a pioneer woman in South Texas. I try to be as strong in my old age as she was in hers. A well-told story!
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Thanks. I hope I am half the woman she was.
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Wonderful story Linda…sadly I was too young to have many memories of my grandparents but I’m hoping to make a few for my grandkids….hope your Christmas was good and my best wishes for 2016. Michael
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Thanks. Grandparents mean so much.
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Boy, they don’t make them like that anymore. I hope my grandkids think I’m that tough.
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Bet they will.
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Reblogged this on Nutsrok.
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The picture and the story are wonderful! You are so fortunate to have such wonderful memories of her. Thank you for sharing them!
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She was a wonder!
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She used a desk chair instead of a wheelchair ? That says it all. Tough lady. Good genes, you are fortunate !! ☺
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Indeed!
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What a priceless photo! I bet I would have like your Grandma!
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I know you would
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Love the symbolism of the purse! You can tell she’s a tough Nut(srok)!
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I adored her.
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Isn’t it amazing to reflect back and the fabulous stories that are rekindled by an old photo. 🙂
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I love old pics.
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Dang she was a tough one! Good for her!
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What a great story. Both of my grandmothers were also feisty and I’m glad of that. I’m convinced my life has been a lot easier after having them as my role models.
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They kept it honest, didn’t they.
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They sure did, pioneer women at their best.
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LOL Grandmas are awesome. I love mine.
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