Joycie Mae: 101

My maternal grandma, Joycie Mae was a spitfire. She was probably bi-polar by today's standards. You never knew which Joycie Mae you were gonna get. Sometimes she was sweet as pie, and other times? Run for cover. She could be moody and cranky and downright nasty. 

I know the bad was bad. I know she could be harsh and even selfish. But I don't care. I don't even think about that. I choose to remember the good in my grandma. She taught me much. Okay, I learned from the bad, too. 

Lesson One. Don't let a man talk down to you. I would often stop by my grandma and grandpa's house after dinner just to chat. If it was summer, we would sit outside on the wonderful swing that my grandpa had made by hand. We would talk about whatever was in the paper, people my grandparents went to church with and what was going on in my life. My grandpa was extremely gruff most of the time. The "Children are to be seen and not heard" type. If I said anything he didn't like, he would chastise me. I would shrink because he scared me. My grandma would look right at him and say, "Oh, Roy. Just shut up." It amazed me that she wasn't afraid of him. Now, I understand, because while Jim is not gruff and stern like my grandpa, he is a little rough around the edges. Believe it or not, not everyone likes Jim. He is, let's say, intimidating. And I have no problem going toe to toe with him. Every. Damn. Day. 

Lesson Two. Get the last word. My grandpa was a very controlling man. My grandma worked part-time outside the home, but I think my grandpa may have been a bit of a chauvinist. While he did help clear the table and do the dishes, that was where his contribution to the household duties ended. He never did laundry. He never cleaned. He never cooked. That was my grandma's job. And he was a stickler about it. That house had to be clean. No excuses. After my grandpa died, I was over visiting with my grandma. I noticed some popcorn had been spilled between the couch and the coffee table. I got up to grab it. My grandma stopped me, "Don't you dare pick that up. Leave it." And there it stayed until she died. 

Lesson Three. Full fat. Milk, creamer, butter and ground beef. 

Lesson Four. Love the Chicago Cubs. My grandma ironed 75 shirts a week. Seventy-five shirts. I ironed five shirts a week for Jim when he was in the car business. (Insert a "Bitch, please" in Joycie's voice here.) She made it bearable by listening to the Chicago Cub broadcast. She listened every day the year they last made it to the World Series. That was 1945. The year my mother was born. I bet Joycie Mae is loving this season. 

Lesson Five. Don't talk bad about people, and always help someone in need if you can. My grandma wasn't perfect. But I never heard her badmouth anyone. Ever. Her philosophy was that you never know what someone is struggling with. If you can help them, do so. If you can't, at least don't be an asshole. 

Lesson Six. Prepare ahead. When lunchtime rolled around, my grandma already knew what she was making for dinner. If it needed to be prepped, she did that in the early afternoon. When canning season came, she had all of her supplies well ahead of time. Christmas presents? Can you say September?

Lesson Seven. Eat what you love. My grandma loved sweets. I think she and my grandpa had dessert every night. She made cakes and cookies and pies. All sinful and loaded with sugar. All delicious. 

Lesson Eight. Take pride in the food you make. My grandma cooked with love. From her chicken salad; which she brought me when I was mourning my first husband and oldest daughter; I hadn't eaten in a while and she insisted I eat something. "I will make whatever you want." Chicken salad. I want your chicken salad. To which she replied, "You know that means I have to thaw the chicken and then cook it. I can't just throw it together. Isn't there something else I could make you?" The next day, she and my grandpa showed up at my house with a big tupperware container of chicken salad; to her pickled beets; spinach lasagne; cream cheese patties; baked beans; cucumber salad; and of course, her three bean salad; her food was a work of art. 

Lesson Nine. No regrets. I don't think my grandma learned this one until after my grandpa died. But once she was alone, she started doing things she couldn't dream of doing when he was alive. Lunch dates with friends. Sleeping in. Curse words. Eating in the living room *gasp*. 

Lesson Ten. Laugh at yourself. After her double mastectomy, I was at the clinic with my grandma and Emerson, who was about seven at the time. When my grandma took off her shirt so the doctor could check the incisions, Emerson looked at her and said, "Oh my God, Grandma. What happened to your boobs (boobs was said with an extreme lisp, which made it even funnier). My grandma laughed so hard, she cried. We all did. Emerson got away with saying things that would have earned other people a horrible cross look from my grandma; perhaps even some ugly words. 

Lesson Eleven. Be tenacious. When you set your mind to something, put your head down, plow straight ahead, don't give up, and get there. Incidentally, this is also how she walked. 

Lesson Twelve. Leave a legacy. My grandma had a high school education. She and my grandpa got married when she was only 19. She was a very simple woman. They never really had much. Their house was modest. They never had a new car. My grandpa was a bus driver. They raised two boys and always made sure the boys had what they needed. She wasn't a mover and a shaker. She wasn't a high roller. She didn't have a successful career or an education. I don't think anyone would ever have looked at Joycie Mae and said, "Wow. I bet she is going to have an immeasurable impact on someone's life."  But she had one on mine. 

I think about my grandma almost every day. Wether it is when I wring my hands, which Jim says is exactly how she used to do it, or I say something out of spite (Joycie Mae could have a wicked tongue; but she always felt immediate remorse for speaking before she thought), or I waddle after sitting too long, there are occasions to remember her at every turn. 

I used her Tupperware measuring cup to fill the first jars of salsa I ever made.

I often wonder what she would think of this business that Jim and I have built; with her salsa recipe, her tenacity, and her Tupperware measuring cup.