My Grandma Esther

My Grandma Esther

A couple of weeks ago, my daughter Arianna was cleaning my parents’ family room and she found this photo:

My first thought was, ‘When did my Grandma meet Weird Al Yankovic? My second thought was, “Holy cow, what was I wearing? That is the most awful sweater, and the pants are not much better.

After I recovered from the shock of seeing my awkward teenaged self—and congratulated myself on being one of the rare people who look better at 49 than they did at 16—I looked at the photo again. This time I saw someone much more important than ugly sweaters and hair styles.

I saw my Grandma Esther. 

Oct 11th is my Grandma Esther’s birthday. She died Oct 21, 2002, having lived for 100 year and nine days. Growing up in Provo, Utah and with Grandma Esther only lived forty minutes away in Salt Lake City, I got to know her fairly well. She was an amazing woman, someone I have learned a lot from during my life.

Scrabble Champion

From my earliest memories of Grandma Esther, she was always reading and studying. Before marriage she had been a kindergarten teacher. Back in those days, once you got married you were forced to retire. She left teaching to raise her family. By the time her youngest (my mother) left for college, she decided she wanted to go back to teaching, only she was not qualified any more. She would need a bachelor’s degree.

No problem.

My grandma went to the University of Utah at the same time as my mother and graduated with straight A’s. She taught elementary school until she retired at age 65. This story, of my Grandma Esther going back to college and getting her English degree was told time and again. It sunk in deep to my being. It became one of the foundational expectations I had for myself—that I would go to college and graduate with a degree. I even got my degree in English. 

Grandma Esther was a continual learner. She was always reading. And she was also very competitive. Her games of choice: Scrabble and Boggle. Whenever she would come down to Provo, or we would go up to her little bungalow in Sugar House, she would break out Scrabble or Boggle. And let me tell you, there was no taking it easy on the grandkids. She beat us time and time again. I cannot remember ever beating her. Even when she was in her late eighties and early nineties. Thankfully, she was a gracious winner, never making us feel badly when she pulled out a triple word play at the end of the game and won going away. We would do better next time. I learned from her to do my best at all times, to strive for excellence.

Model T

Grandma Esther was fiercely independent. Before she married she saved up her money and bought a Model T Ford. She was one of the first people to own a Model T in Salt Lake City. She loved having a car as it gave her the freedom to travel. While her health was still good she traveled. She went to Israel and Egypt, and she returned many times to Switzerland, her parents’ birthplace.

She was very proud to be Swiss German and we heard all about her parents and their emigration to the United States. She lived at home until the day she died, accepting live-in help only for the last few years of her life. And she still read the newspaper every day. As she got older, one of the great sorrows was the loss of her driver’s license.

When I think of Grandma Esther, I think of someone who valued freedom. She was very patriotic and very active politically. Though she was of modest means, she was a lifelong Republican and was active in her party. She served as a delegate to the state convention on multiple occasions. She was not shy about sharing her political opinions, especially her scorn for politicians she felt fell short—and they were mostly Democratic politicians. Bill Clinton was high on her list. She even had Clinton toilet paper. I don't think she used it.

The Turquoise Rebellion

Grandma loved colors, especially the color turquoise. She had many turquoise rings and bracelets. I asked her once why she liked turquoise so much. She told me that there was a time in her marriage when her husband had insisted she only wear black clothes. It was a different time, and though it chaffed, she complied with his wishes. But after he died, she never wore black again.

Wearing turquoise became her way of saying that she could decide for herself what color she would wear. I cannot see the color turquoise without thinking of her and her insistence on being her own person. Sometimes as a wife and mother we can get lost in meeting everyone else’s needs. Grandma Esther reminds me that it is okay to have things that I like—just for myself. I think of her and her turquoise rebellion every time I get dressed up in my Aeryn Sun costume. 

Cinnamon Knots

Grandma Esther was not a great cook. She was not even a good cook. Okay, she was a terrible cook. And she only ever made one meal for us: chicken, rice and broccoli casserole, made from rotisserie chicken bought from the supermarket, white rice, frozen broccoli, a can of cream of mushroom soup and cheddar cheese. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas she would make a cranberry and walnut relish that involved a bit of chopping. And she would make banana cream pie, using instant banana pudding. Honestly, I do not think she knew how to make a custard from scratch.

Cooking was not her thing.

Which is great, because every holiday Grandma would go the local bakery and buy a huge bag of cinnamon knots. Think a long strip of chewy sweetbread, dipped in butter and rolled in cinnamon sugar, twisted into a knot and baked until the sugar caramelized on the outside.

There were never any left over. Because she did not like to cook, we also got to go out to eat whenever we would visit. We would alternate between visits to the Lion House Pantry restaurant or the Sugar House Chuck-A-Rama. I especially liked going to the Sugar House Chuck-A-Rama because of the enlarged photos of early LDS church leaders in their black and white prison uniforms smiling for the camera (apparently the restaurant is located at the site of the old Sugar House jail where these leaders were imprisoned for the practice of polygamy). I would stare at these people and wonder what brought them to the prison, why did they seem so unfazed by it all.

Grandma Esther was a woman of faith. Her parents had given up everything for their newfound faith and emigrated to Utah. She was a committed Christian and active in her church community and neighborhood—always giving service to others, not just members of her own church. Her best friend was a Catholic next door neighbor. For years, she drove her blue Ford sedan slowly around town delivering dinners for the Meals on Wheels program. She also working as an ordinance worker at the Salt Lake City Temple.

She did all these things—but she did not cook.

What I have learned from this is to know your own limitations, and to know what you love doing and what you really would rather not do. Grandma Esther was not a cuddly grandmother. She was not the person you would go to for a hug or a shoulder to cry on—that was not in her Swiss German constitution. But she is the person you would go to with a problem. She was the person who would help you figure it out. She was the person who would give you the confidence and space and love to figure it out for yourself.

Here is to you Grandma Esther!

Thank you for the cinnamon knots, and the Scrabble games. Thanks for teaching me by your example how it was okay for me to value education and independence as well as faith and family; that it was okay not to be the best homemaker as long as I did my best in whatever field I chose for myself. Thank you for your life of service to your family and church and community, though I do not have your stomach for politics.

Until we meet again!