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| Louise Wright Guidry |
There is something about losing a child that lives in your soul. It becomes a part of you. It shapes you. Adds a wrinkle and bends your branches. It stays on the back burner of your life. Rosalind was here for a short time, but forever in my heart. Other things also live in my soul. Louise Mable Wright Guidry. My Grandmother Guidry resides permanently there. Many people have reasons to hold fondly, the memories of their grandparents. Mine are the things that make me who I am today. Mama Guidry lived next door to us. There was a field between our houses, but they were connected by a well worn path. The garden that my grandfather made was right behind our house. We picked strawberries every day in the summer. We used to run over for coffee-milk and toast bread, "plain toast" and butter. It could be at the drop of a hat and or every day after school. Anytime we were hungry, bored or just needed some comfort, she was there. She toasted loaves at a time. Grandchildren, neighbors, relatives of all kinds, knew about her coffee milk and toast bread. She cooked lunch every day. She taught me how to set the table and she served the food from dishes, never the pots. She was also known for her homemade bread, gingerbread, canned figs and just all around good food. I remember a blackberry picking adventure that ended with the best blackberry pies ever made! She used to bring me with her to the store, post office and any other errands she may have had. When we went to the post office, she would get us an ice cream cone from Frosto. She hung out her laundry. She didn't own a dryer. She lived through the "Great Depression". Her home was as neat as a pin. She saved everything, but it all had a place and everything was in its place. She had a beautiful multi colored rosary along with other ones on her dresser. We said the rosary at Mrs. Savoie's house every day in May. I would run over and borrow it for the service, when I couldn't find mine. It was always there, in its place, just like her. I would return it right away, as she asked. It sits in my dresser now. When I come upon it, it revives memories and feelings that there are no names for.
Mama was such a lady. She was calm and peaceful. Whenever we were sick, we would stay with her. We rested on her sofa and watched television. On weekend mornings we would wake up and after breakfast, play with simple things. We would color, swing on the "big swing", make mud pies, roam the woods and clean the cow trough with the goldfish in it. We would pick figs and berries and grapes. She taught me how to sew, crochet, draw, cook and bake. I would ask her to let me "help" cut up a chicken and she would simply say "just watch", I did. She milked the cows and made butter. She made the best strawberry shortcake using dried bread, slow baked at a very low heat, all day. She whipped the cream and sugared up the berries. She shared everything she had with anyone who was around. She would talk to me about our family history, about all the men and women who came before us. Men and women who molded and shaped who I am today, without knowing it or me. They were newspaper men, teachers and housewives of Swiss descent. Recently I came across some letters from her mother, my great-grandmother. Her name was Mable Louise Sandoz Wright. She was a beautiful lady. After her husband died of TB, at an early age, she opened a boarding house on Third Street in Crowley. She finished raising her children there. She had five. She was a survivor. From those letters, I got to know her a little better. In a strange way, I feel as if it brought her back to life. She mentioned the bedspread that she was crocheting and said that she felt that she crocheted too slowly. That was so long ago. I grew up sleeping in the antique bed that it graced. I have her wedding slip, complete with handmade lace, that she created. It is one of my most precious possessions. I hope one day to pass it on to Samarah for Lilli. Not that she could wear it. It would probably shred apart but I hope that she treasures it as I do. I also have the giant scrapbook that "Aunt Gertie and Aunt Lelia" made for my grandmother when she was a small child. It is a remarkable thing. They were Mable's sisters and were both school teachers. They lived in Opelousas, where the Sandoz family lived, after settling from Switzerland. Neither ever married.
The scents of my grandmother and childhood bring me back to a happy place. Whenever I smell the familiar scents I am transported to a wonderful time. She used Coty face powder and lipstick. Her rouge was in little compact. She didn't wear much. She wore a kerchief on her head in winter and windy days. It was a scarf folded in half and worn like a Russian babushka. She used Arrid cream deodorant. She wore minimal jewelry, diamond earrings, wedding and engagement ring and a delicate watch. The sheets were stored in an armoire in her bedroom. When you took them out to put them on the bed, they smelled so good. It was the scent of outdoors, Tide, and antique wood, mingled with the smell of her house. A smell that has never been duplicated, try as I might.
Every week I have Sam's two munchkins. I love them like nothing else in this world. I try to be the best grandmother that I can be. I struggled for a couple of years, not even realizing that I was trying to figure out what my identity would be, as a grandmother. Would I be a grandmother like mine? You know, the blue/grey haired one, baking gingerbread cookies. Would I be the Harley kind, dressing like a teenager, trying to stay young? I wanted to be a grandmother that they would remember, as I did mine.
Recently, I learned a hard lesson. I had been rushing around trying to prove myself. This world does not reward simplicity. It only honors success. It doesn't honor homemaking, so neither did I, although I love it! Yes, cleaning,"piddling" as she called it, picking up, tidying up the house, laundry, hanging out sheets, washing my dishes. Being a homebody. I wasn't satisfied being me because I judged myself against the yardstick of others. I was always trying to accomplish that list of "shoulds" even those things disguised as "fun" things. Proving and proving again that I was worth something. Seduced into the world's competitive route. Seduced by those that are caught up in the same way, trying to prove their worth. All the while knowing the truth, that was hanging by a thread, inside. The one that says to me, "Give it up. Go with the flow. Be yourself. Stop explaining. Do what you want, when you want, the way you want. Live by your own soul's guidance". And it all became so clear, so simple. You are just fine, if you do nothing else in this world but live and love my Woody, my daughter, my grandbabies and keep house. Anything else is a bonus! I could trust my life. I could trust myself. My life, at its simplest, most boring, most plain, was OK. Because it is mine. Thank you God for "My Life". My most beautiful life. I would be like my grandmother, because I would be happy to just be me. Thanks, Mama for the example you set, and for just being you. Thanks for the "plain toast".
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