Nana

Interesting.

Last night I had a dream. About my grandmother. Who has been dead almost thirty years.

If you know me, you've probably heard me make reference to her, as my 'saintly white-haired grandmother.' As in, "My saintly white-haired grandmother used to say, "And people in hell want ice water." Or, "As my saintly white-haired grandmother used to say, "If you want to make a sale, put the goods in the window." Or, "As my saintly white-haired grandmother used to say, "Fortune favors the bold."

Sarah Eleanor Kramer was quite the lady. She was the pilar of her church, St. Gabriel's Episcopal in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. While staying up here, she was invited to take part in a Bible study conducted by some local Mennonite women, and would wow them with her ability to quote just about any passage of the Scriptures--King James version--that they chose to look at. (And they say Episcopalians don't know the Bible.) She also had the odd habit, to which I'll probably succumb one day, of weeping during services.

You probably have the impression of someone pretty retiring and perhaps a bit sanctimonious, huh?

Once, during a family game of Scrabble, my grandmother announced, "Well, I have a U, an N, and a T, but no letters that would make a word. Well, I do have one letter that would work, but I can't use it with Drew here." And my dad gave an exasperated "Mom!" My grandfather, whom I called "Pop," told me about the early days of their marriage. I interrupted when he was describing how his wife would make gin in the bathtub and asked, "So, you were a bootlegger and Nana was a flapper, is that it?" And he told me that he guessed you could call it that. My brother once made the mistake of inviting her to join in the game when she was staying with him on a friday night, when he would play poker with the boys. She cleaned them all out. And gave me the proceeds and told me to buy myself "something nice."

She doted on me. Spoiled me rotten. Letting me know I was her pride and joy. Possibly the root of my problems in managing my money stemmed from my relationship with her.

We were sitting at the kitchen table here in this house when she told me that she felt strange. She went to lie down. Later, the doctor told her she had had a stroke. Not long afterwards, she was visiting her lifelong friend down the street, Hazel Lamont, to deliver some new bit of neighborhood news. When Hazel answered the door, Nana said she was dizzy. She sat down on the rocker on Hazel's porch and died then and there. I don't remember her funeral. Possibly it was thought that with two deceased mothers, I didn't need to experience that.

In my dream, Nana and I were on some sort of campus. There was a religious retreat going on. Held by Quakers, I think. (For people who refer to their services as "Silent Worship," they sure are a chatty bunch, huh?) At one point, we were in a car, a big late model '70s thing. She was behind the wheel. (My grandmother didn't drive.) It was a pretty Lucy and Ethel thing, plowing through flower gardens and over shrubbery and such.

I woke up as the dream concluded, feeling warm and wonderful. And full of gratitude. Grateful for her visit.

Why now?

I have no idea.

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