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For the past couple of weeks, I've been thinking a lot about Nanny. Trying to remember specific things, conversations, etc.
What I've discovered is that I keep returning to generalities rather than specifics.
It was Nanny that taught me most of what I know about cooking, for instance. Without my really knowing that she was doing it. Everything she cooked was simply delicious. And that makes perfect sense. She'd been doing it for nearly 40 years by the time I was born, and if you cook that long, you're bound to get good at it. She taught me that a good cook tastes the food while s/he's cooking. Otherwise, you can't know what it'll taste like when you're done. (Ironically, my mother, who is also an excellent cook, doesn't ever taste what she's cooking.) If you taste it, you'll know it needs pepper or a little salt or a dash of oregano. At her side, I learned that measurements are all about "a smidge" and "a little" and "'til you feel good about it." And that recipes are merely guidelines; if you want to get truly good at cooking, you deviate and experiment and learn what tastes good together by trial and error. Sure, sometimes, you end up in a whole other place than you set out towards, but it's still good. I wish I'd paid more attention when she was making a few of her signature dishes1, but I think I have the gist of them, and I'll come up with my own versions of the ones I haven't already played with as soon as I can. No comfort food beats a grandmother's comfort food.
Nanny was a sweet, gentle, soft-spoken lady. And I mean "lady" in the truest sense of that word. She had a way of defusing arguments. "Vernon!" she'd say; she didn't have to yell or shout. She just raised her voice a little to get through to him, and it was usually enough to get him to stop doing whatever it was he was doing. Even after she was in her wheelchair, she still had it. The only argument I ever got into with Granddaddy was over Nanny's medication. We were having a shouting match and then we both heard, "You two cut it out!" from the direction of her bed. That was the end of that. You knew that when Nanny—who was always so calm and soft-spoken, as I said before—raised her voice, you'd better listen. I'm told I take after her quite a bit. I'm glad. I'm quiet and soft-spoken, laid-back, calm...and if there's anyone to thank for my demeanor, it's her. Because my mother and my grandfather...well, aren't.2 :) (But my uncle also is.) So those of you who know me and are getting ready to hit "reply" and comment that I'm far from calm and laid-back at times...well, you're seeing the Branch temper and the Henderson temper fighting its way through the Guthrie calm. :)
Of course, I found out from my mother and uncle that Nanny has always been able to put her foot down and get Granddaddy to do exactly what she wants. He had a high fever and some unknown malady once and he was practically raving and wouldn't listen to a thing anyone said. Finally, she yelled "God damn it, Vernon! You sit down!" He turned and looked at her, very confused. "You're mad at me!" was all he said. But he also let her lead him to the chair and he sat down. She knew which battles to pick, see, and it's something I hope that I've learned from her, as well. Sometimes, it's just not worth raising your blood pressure.
On the other hand, sometimes it is. My mother always said that the sweet little white-haired woman I've always known as Nanny could—and I quote—"say 'shit' 'til you could smell it!" And I've heard her do it, too. And you almost could. She apparently believed in putting everything she had into the one curse word I ever heard her use with that kind of vehemence.
I recently watched the movie "Weird Science" with Anthony Michael Hall and...that other kid whose name I never remember. He played Wyatt. At one point in the movie, while the guys are "hosting" a wild party at Wyatt's house, the movie switches to Wyatt's grandparents eating in a restaurant. The grandmother suggests that they drop in to visit Wyatt since he's home all alone for the weekend while his parents are out of town. The grandfather agrees. The grandmother then says, "After all, there's nothing more important to a teenage boy...than his grandparents!"
It was meant to be funny. But in a way, that was true for me. I loved going over there to visit. When I was in high school, I'd go over and granddaddy would be sitting six feet from the TV with some sport blaring loudly while Nanny and I sat on the couch across the room and talked. About what? I don't remember. But the same thing went on until I was well into my 30s. The visits became less frequent, but one of the highlights of my visits was sitting and talking to Nanny.
And you know, I can't think of a single conversation we had. Not one. Because what was said wasn't important. I've been kicking myself for not being able to remember any specifics for the last several weeks. Until something occurred to me. What was important was that she listened to what I had to say. She'd ask me how school was and I'd actually tell her how it was going instead of saying "fine." I'm sure she had no clue what FORTRAN was or calculus or matrix theory, or who Rob or Tom or Ken were, but I'd tell her all about the stuff I was learning, my friends and their problems, and she asked questions and just let me talk. It wasn't about what I said. It was about the way she made me feel. For the time I was talking to her about school or, later, work, I was the center of the universe. I was the most important person in the world. What I said mattered. And whether she understood half of it or not, she got the gist of it. And when I think of Nanny, that feeling is what I remember. Sitting on the couch with her while Granddaddy ignored us and watched whatever sport was on is what comes to my mind the strongest when I think of Nanny. I've been told that I'm a good listener. I credit her for that, if it's true. The value of simply listening to someone...well, it's priceless.
I do remember one very specific night, though. I was still in high school, and I was over at their house late, so it must have been the weekend. Granddaddy had either gone to bed early or he was at work late (he was a security guard at the dog track in the early 80s), so Nanny and I were by ourselves. The TV volume was at a normal level (so we could actually talk instead of shouting), and she was cooking pinto beans on the stove. When you cook pinto beans, the longer you cook them, the better they get, and the thicker the "soup" gets.
This particular night, we were looking for something to watch on TV, and Nanny ran across the movie "My Fair Lady." She stopped and I saw that movie for the first time. About halfway through, we got hungry, so we got cups and siphoned off some of the "bean soup" and drank it while we watched.
Whenever I see that movie or hear the music, I smell and taste pinto beans, and I remember Nanny. It's something that only we shared.
When I was very little, I'd spend whole weeks with Nanny and Granddaddy. He worked all day, so I spent most of the time with Nanny. She kept me entertained in various ways, but at the end of the day, when it was time to go to bed, I'd sleep either with Nanny or Granddaddy. It was Tradition. :) Granddaddy had his points. He told the funniest bedtime stories ever. "Fractured" doesn't even begin to describe the stories he told that had Goldilocks and the seven dwarves running around with the three little pigs and Rapunzel. Nanny told the stories right, but we'd also lie there and talk, and I can remember getting tickled sometimes and we'd both lie there and just giggle insanely, causing the bed to shake. She had the most wonderful laugh, although at the time I didn't realize it because we were both trying to be quiet so we didn't wake up Granddaddy in the next room. (They lived in a trailer, so the walls were paper thin.)
When I was older and they lived in Columbus, Mississippi, I would spend whole weeks with them during the summer. Columbus had a wonderful book store and—my favorite—an old-fashioned soda shoppe. Part of my visits was to go with Nanny to the soda shoppe and get a soda, then run over to the little book store and get me a couple or three Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew books. I was absolutely hooked on the things, and she never said a word when I wanted two or three of them, although thinking back on it, it was probably a lot of money for a couple in their 60s getting ready to retire. Whereas Granddaddy can't let a reading person just be quiet and read, I could sit in the same room with Nanny for hours, reading, and we'd never say a word. She'd knit or crochet or cook dinner or clean or do whatever it was, and we'd just be companionably quiet together.
When I was very young, Nanny and Granddaddy lived in Monroeville, Alabama. We'd drive from Eutaw down to Monroeville, and I had the towns along the way memorized, so I always knew when we were getting close. I must have been around 4 or 5. Now, I vividly remember this incident. There are people who will say that there is no way my memory is real after nearly 40 years of my revising it in my head, but I will say that I don't believe I've revised it all that much. But it shows that even at age 4 or 5, I knew who I could trust; who would always be on my side, no matter what. I had a terrible nightmare while my parents and I were staying with Nanny and Granddaddy at their trailer. In the nightmare, everyone in the whole world were vampires, and they were all out to get me because I wasn't a vampire. Even my own mother would turn to me and show her fangs and say "Want a bite?" But even in the dream, Nanny was my protector. She would say "Carlene!" in that tone she used, and my mother would stop. I woke up and the only one that could console me was Nanny. :)
When I was very young and Santa was still important, we spent almost every Christmas with my grandparents if it was feasible. Even when they lived in West Virginia, either we went up or they came down most years.3 At any rate, while my mother and father and Granddaddy had the "fun" of assembling my toys, Nanny's assigned task was to take me to bed and keep me there "by whatever means necessary." See, I had this "thing" about Santa. I mean, think about it: he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows when you've been bad or good, he comes into your house at night and wanders around eating cookies and milk...how does this not freak out more kids than it does? Honestly! So I was about half afraid of Santa. And Nanny was the one who never got in on the fun of assembling the toys because she was the one who stayed with me until we both fell asleep.
I'm going to miss her. Already do. Part of me still hasn't really let it sink in. Her bed is gone, as are her wheelchairs and walker, all her medicines...they came and took it all while we were out making arrangements for the funeral. But there's a place in my heart—and my mother's, uncle's, and Granddaddy's hearts—where she'll always be. A calm place full of comfort and love where you always know you can go when you've had a long day and just need someone to listen to you. Where you know that someone cares about you and a big hug and a kiss can make it all better, no matter what it is.
That was the essence of LaVerne Branch. Nanny.
What I've discovered is that I keep returning to generalities rather than specifics.
It was Nanny that taught me most of what I know about cooking, for instance. Without my really knowing that she was doing it. Everything she cooked was simply delicious. And that makes perfect sense. She'd been doing it for nearly 40 years by the time I was born, and if you cook that long, you're bound to get good at it. She taught me that a good cook tastes the food while s/he's cooking. Otherwise, you can't know what it'll taste like when you're done. (Ironically, my mother, who is also an excellent cook, doesn't ever taste what she's cooking.) If you taste it, you'll know it needs pepper or a little salt or a dash of oregano. At her side, I learned that measurements are all about "a smidge" and "a little" and "'til you feel good about it." And that recipes are merely guidelines; if you want to get truly good at cooking, you deviate and experiment and learn what tastes good together by trial and error. Sure, sometimes, you end up in a whole other place than you set out towards, but it's still good. I wish I'd paid more attention when she was making a few of her signature dishes1, but I think I have the gist of them, and I'll come up with my own versions of the ones I haven't already played with as soon as I can. No comfort food beats a grandmother's comfort food.
Nanny was a sweet, gentle, soft-spoken lady. And I mean "lady" in the truest sense of that word. She had a way of defusing arguments. "Vernon!" she'd say; she didn't have to yell or shout. She just raised her voice a little to get through to him, and it was usually enough to get him to stop doing whatever it was he was doing. Even after she was in her wheelchair, she still had it. The only argument I ever got into with Granddaddy was over Nanny's medication. We were having a shouting match and then we both heard, "You two cut it out!" from the direction of her bed. That was the end of that. You knew that when Nanny—who was always so calm and soft-spoken, as I said before—raised her voice, you'd better listen. I'm told I take after her quite a bit. I'm glad. I'm quiet and soft-spoken, laid-back, calm...and if there's anyone to thank for my demeanor, it's her. Because my mother and my grandfather...well, aren't.2 :) (But my uncle also is.) So those of you who know me and are getting ready to hit "reply" and comment that I'm far from calm and laid-back at times...well, you're seeing the Branch temper and the Henderson temper fighting its way through the Guthrie calm. :)
Of course, I found out from my mother and uncle that Nanny has always been able to put her foot down and get Granddaddy to do exactly what she wants. He had a high fever and some unknown malady once and he was practically raving and wouldn't listen to a thing anyone said. Finally, she yelled "God damn it, Vernon! You sit down!" He turned and looked at her, very confused. "You're mad at me!" was all he said. But he also let her lead him to the chair and he sat down. She knew which battles to pick, see, and it's something I hope that I've learned from her, as well. Sometimes, it's just not worth raising your blood pressure.
On the other hand, sometimes it is. My mother always said that the sweet little white-haired woman I've always known as Nanny could—and I quote—"say 'shit' 'til you could smell it!" And I've heard her do it, too. And you almost could. She apparently believed in putting everything she had into the one curse word I ever heard her use with that kind of vehemence.
I recently watched the movie "Weird Science" with Anthony Michael Hall and...that other kid whose name I never remember. He played Wyatt. At one point in the movie, while the guys are "hosting" a wild party at Wyatt's house, the movie switches to Wyatt's grandparents eating in a restaurant. The grandmother suggests that they drop in to visit Wyatt since he's home all alone for the weekend while his parents are out of town. The grandfather agrees. The grandmother then says, "After all, there's nothing more important to a teenage boy...than his grandparents!"
It was meant to be funny. But in a way, that was true for me. I loved going over there to visit. When I was in high school, I'd go over and granddaddy would be sitting six feet from the TV with some sport blaring loudly while Nanny and I sat on the couch across the room and talked. About what? I don't remember. But the same thing went on until I was well into my 30s. The visits became less frequent, but one of the highlights of my visits was sitting and talking to Nanny.
And you know, I can't think of a single conversation we had. Not one. Because what was said wasn't important. I've been kicking myself for not being able to remember any specifics for the last several weeks. Until something occurred to me. What was important was that she listened to what I had to say. She'd ask me how school was and I'd actually tell her how it was going instead of saying "fine." I'm sure she had no clue what FORTRAN was or calculus or matrix theory, or who Rob or Tom or Ken were, but I'd tell her all about the stuff I was learning, my friends and their problems, and she asked questions and just let me talk. It wasn't about what I said. It was about the way she made me feel. For the time I was talking to her about school or, later, work, I was the center of the universe. I was the most important person in the world. What I said mattered. And whether she understood half of it or not, she got the gist of it. And when I think of Nanny, that feeling is what I remember. Sitting on the couch with her while Granddaddy ignored us and watched whatever sport was on is what comes to my mind the strongest when I think of Nanny. I've been told that I'm a good listener. I credit her for that, if it's true. The value of simply listening to someone...well, it's priceless.
I do remember one very specific night, though. I was still in high school, and I was over at their house late, so it must have been the weekend. Granddaddy had either gone to bed early or he was at work late (he was a security guard at the dog track in the early 80s), so Nanny and I were by ourselves. The TV volume was at a normal level (so we could actually talk instead of shouting), and she was cooking pinto beans on the stove. When you cook pinto beans, the longer you cook them, the better they get, and the thicker the "soup" gets.
This particular night, we were looking for something to watch on TV, and Nanny ran across the movie "My Fair Lady." She stopped and I saw that movie for the first time. About halfway through, we got hungry, so we got cups and siphoned off some of the "bean soup" and drank it while we watched.
Whenever I see that movie or hear the music, I smell and taste pinto beans, and I remember Nanny. It's something that only we shared.
When I was very little, I'd spend whole weeks with Nanny and Granddaddy. He worked all day, so I spent most of the time with Nanny. She kept me entertained in various ways, but at the end of the day, when it was time to go to bed, I'd sleep either with Nanny or Granddaddy. It was Tradition. :) Granddaddy had his points. He told the funniest bedtime stories ever. "Fractured" doesn't even begin to describe the stories he told that had Goldilocks and the seven dwarves running around with the three little pigs and Rapunzel. Nanny told the stories right, but we'd also lie there and talk, and I can remember getting tickled sometimes and we'd both lie there and just giggle insanely, causing the bed to shake. She had the most wonderful laugh, although at the time I didn't realize it because we were both trying to be quiet so we didn't wake up Granddaddy in the next room. (They lived in a trailer, so the walls were paper thin.)
When I was older and they lived in Columbus, Mississippi, I would spend whole weeks with them during the summer. Columbus had a wonderful book store and—my favorite—an old-fashioned soda shoppe. Part of my visits was to go with Nanny to the soda shoppe and get a soda, then run over to the little book store and get me a couple or three Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew books. I was absolutely hooked on the things, and she never said a word when I wanted two or three of them, although thinking back on it, it was probably a lot of money for a couple in their 60s getting ready to retire. Whereas Granddaddy can't let a reading person just be quiet and read, I could sit in the same room with Nanny for hours, reading, and we'd never say a word. She'd knit or crochet or cook dinner or clean or do whatever it was, and we'd just be companionably quiet together.
When I was very young, Nanny and Granddaddy lived in Monroeville, Alabama. We'd drive from Eutaw down to Monroeville, and I had the towns along the way memorized, so I always knew when we were getting close. I must have been around 4 or 5. Now, I vividly remember this incident. There are people who will say that there is no way my memory is real after nearly 40 years of my revising it in my head, but I will say that I don't believe I've revised it all that much. But it shows that even at age 4 or 5, I knew who I could trust; who would always be on my side, no matter what. I had a terrible nightmare while my parents and I were staying with Nanny and Granddaddy at their trailer. In the nightmare, everyone in the whole world were vampires, and they were all out to get me because I wasn't a vampire. Even my own mother would turn to me and show her fangs and say "Want a bite?" But even in the dream, Nanny was my protector. She would say "Carlene!" in that tone she used, and my mother would stop. I woke up and the only one that could console me was Nanny. :)
When I was very young and Santa was still important, we spent almost every Christmas with my grandparents if it was feasible. Even when they lived in West Virginia, either we went up or they came down most years.3 At any rate, while my mother and father and Granddaddy had the "fun" of assembling my toys, Nanny's assigned task was to take me to bed and keep me there "by whatever means necessary." See, I had this "thing" about Santa. I mean, think about it: he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows when you've been bad or good, he comes into your house at night and wanders around eating cookies and milk...how does this not freak out more kids than it does? Honestly! So I was about half afraid of Santa. And Nanny was the one who never got in on the fun of assembling the toys because she was the one who stayed with me until we both fell asleep.
I'm going to miss her. Already do. Part of me still hasn't really let it sink in. Her bed is gone, as are her wheelchairs and walker, all her medicines...they came and took it all while we were out making arrangements for the funeral. But there's a place in my heart—and my mother's, uncle's, and Granddaddy's hearts—where she'll always be. A calm place full of comfort and love where you always know you can go when you've had a long day and just need someone to listen to you. Where you know that someone cares about you and a big hug and a kiss can make it all better, no matter what it is.
That was the essence of LaVerne Branch. Nanny.
- For my money, her signature dishes were fried apple or peach pies, sausage pinwheels, chicken noodle soup (she made the soup and the noodles from scratch), creamed corn (hers was simply the best I've ever put in my mouth), cream of tomato soup, pinto beans, strawberry shortcake (homemade shortbread), stovetop macaroni and cheese, field peas...I could go on. :) My mouth is watering as I type this just thinking about how good a cook she was. I've got my own versions of a few of those, and I think she liked my mac & cheese better than hers, so I did good. Oh. Her cornbread dressing at Thanksgiving was to die for. I've never had better, nor do I expect to.
- My father was also very soft-spoken, calm, and even-tempered. Mostly. So to be honest, I have to credit him and Nanny. :)
- Christmas, 2008, will be the first Christmas holiday I will not see Nanny in as long as I can remember.
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