Lamb and Frog

“Amber, your lunch is ready…Amber, come eat your Spaghetti-O’s…Amber Jean Gray I said come in here and eat your lunch!”

“My name is not Amber Jean Gray, my name is Sam Bowler.”

And from then on, I was ‘Sam’. Anyone who knew my Granny heard that story at least once (probably much more than that). And heard how I must have rocked a thousand miles in my little wooden rocker. And how I could read when I was two. Me & my Granny, we go WAY back.

When I would stay overnight at her house when I was little, she let me stay up and watch Johnny Carson. When I was in elementary school on summer break, I would stay at her crochet shop and we would watch Star Trek, The Price is Right, Wheel of Fortune (the old version, where you had to shop for your prizes), and (our favorite) Get Smart. When I was a teenager I would stop by her house when school let out and we would watch MTV. She just “loved that Sting” and the way his hair was cut to stick straight up.

Granny was cool. She kept up with current events—she was a news junkie before CNN. She used to roller skate to the laundry room. She loved UNLV Runnin’ Rebel Basketball. Once, when I was at my doctor’s office, I saw UNLV Star Sydney Green and asked him to sign an autograph “To Granny.” He looked at me like I was nuts and I told him, “She loves you…she has to turn your games off at the end if they’re too close so she doesn’t get upset.” He smiled and signed the paper just the way I asked him.

Granny taught me how to crochet and how to decorate cakes. I visited her in the hospital about a month ago now…I showed her the poncho I was crocheting from wine-colored yarn (Granny loved dark red) and let her feel how soft it was. I told her that I had made a “SpongeBob SquarePants” cake for the neighbor kid’s birthday. I knew she would know who SpongeBob is because, like I said, Granny was cool. I told her that I used a whole bottle of blue paste food coloring for the background (because SpongeBob “lives in a pineapple under the sea”), and that the buttercream frosting turned everyone’s teeth blue. I told her how, even as I was working on the cake and taking a taste (or two, or three) of the frosting, I could hear her telling me, “Sam, you’ll get fat as a butterball if you keep eating that,” which was her warning whenever I would accompany her to the cake decorating classes she taught. I told her how much everyone loved the cake and how I had told everyone at the party that “my Granny” had taught me to decorate cakes when I was a little girl.

Granny was more than my grandmother; Granny is a state of mind. Granny is with me

·        When I have friends over and use her stainless steel mixing bowls to hold the food—I show people the one that’s 24-inches in diameter and tell them “I remember my Granny used to fill that thing with potato salad.”

·        When I curl my hair—Granny never used a curling iron on my hair, she made ringlets around her fingers.

·        When I don a piece of turquoise jewelry or slide into a pair of moccasins—I wear Minnetonka because my feet are narrow, Taos brand for Granny because they’re made wider.

·        When I hear Sting singing an old Police song on the radio.

·        When I watch Get Smart, but especially when I watch the news.

·        And when I file my nails…even more when I put on dark red polish, and even more when I decide I need to add glitter polish as a topcoat.

As I left her hospital room that night last month I said “Granny, Sam’s gotta go now. I love you. Good-bye.” But now, as I’m hunched over my laptop writing this, I can hear Granny telling me, “Sam, get the hump out of your back.” I straighten up, roll my shoulders and neck a little and continue to type…just like I’ve done every time I’ve touched a keyboard for the last 20 years. So today I’m not going to say goodbye to my Granny. Today I’m going to say, “Granny, I love you…see you around.”