My Grandma Daisy had ten children, eight boys and two girls. Her oldest son died at age twenty-one of uremic poisoning, one baby boy died just after it was born. She was a big strong woman raised in Georgia, cotton picker and farmer. She ruled with an iron fist. She was a rock. She told it like it was. No bull, no games. She never wore pants, never said bad words, never said the Lords name in vain, never said the word goodbye to family and friends. She always wore dresses that she made herself with an apron on top, always went to church every Sunday morning, always cooked Sunday dinner, always demanded respect, and always took care and loved her family. That's her sitting at the right end of the table.
On weekdays she started cooking at six o'clock in the morning, had all her chores done by noon and then she'd take a nap. She washed clothes on Monday, heavily starched and ironed them on Tuesday, and I'm talking about ironing everything which included all the linens, sheets, pillowcases, tableclothes.
Wash on Monday
Iron on Tuesday
Mend on Wednesday
Market on Thursday
Clean on Friday
Bake on Saturday
Rest on Sunday
Women used to follow this routine years ago. I remember she had dishtowels like these.
She had my dad or my uncles take the mattresses outside a few times a year to air them out and let the sun shine on them all day long. She used to use a wringer washer like this and didn't want to give it up when the new washers came along. And she never liked using a dryer. She loved hanging the clothes outside on the clothesline.
Imagine combining the two and what it looked like. All I can say is that was like swallowing a big spoonful of mud. I must say, me and my cousins are a healthy bunch.
Here she is in the middle of her four sons and two daughters.
Her birthday was the 18th, and I was remembering the good old days.
I Wish You Love and Grandma Memories,