The majority of grandmother's are called "Grandma" but the really special ones get the title of "Nana." I am one of the lucky ones to have a Nana.
My Nana is everything a child wants in a grandmother. When I conjure her up in my mind, I see her standing in the same kitchen she has stood in longer than I've been alive, baking something sweet while I sit at the dining table, waiting in anticipation for her to let me sample her creation. Usually it was something sweet, like her famous Texas sheet cake or maybe some cut-out cookies. If it was the latter, it meant that the fun was just starting because once the cookies cooled, it was time to start decorating. And decorate we did! That table would be covered with small bowls of colored frosting and jars of tantalizing sprinkles, a little girl's version of Heaven. If I got to vigorous with my frosting application (read: two inches thick) or accidentally spread it on the wrong side, Nana would gently remind me to go easy on the icing or point out how the sugary concoction would stay on better if I applied it to the flat side of the cookie.
Other times I picture her sitting at a card table in the family room, Rummikub tiles laid out in front of her as she patiently taught my 7 year old self a game that I still love to play today, 20 years later. Other times that card table would hold an array of beads that we would thread onto pipe cleaners and fashion into Christmas ornaments, which would then be wrapped into tissue paper and sent home with me to place on my tree. I collected several dozen of those ornaments throughout the years until one year, after returning home for my first Christmas break from college, I discovered that all of my ornaments were gone. Somehow in all the confusion of moving, they disappeared. I was heartbroken to tell my Nana this sad news. Imagine my delight when the following year I opened a package from her filled with homemade ornaments, just like the ones she and I had made together. She has continued to replenish my collection throughout the years and I proudly display them on my tree every Christmas. Never again will I be so careless as to lose something so precious.
There are many memories that come at me when I think of my Nana. Too many to list here, but let it suffice to say that when I talk about her, I instantly feel warm, protected, and loved. She helped instill into me a love of baking, sewing, and crafting. I still seek her advice when I have a baking dilemma and go to her when I need my pants hemmed or a baby bath towel crochet by her loving hands. When I describe my Nana to others, there is something that I never leave out. The most special thing about my Nana is that she is the Nana that didn't have to be.
You see, technically Nana isn't really my grandmother. I was kind of unofficially adopted into her family. There are no ties by blood or by marriage, but nonetheless, she has accepted me as her granddaughter and I am forever grateful for her love. She is the only grandparent I have ever had a relationship with and I couldn't have asked for a better one. Every little girl should have a grandma...the lucky ones get a Nana.
My Nana is everything a child wants in a grandmother. When I conjure her up in my mind, I see her standing in the same kitchen she has stood in longer than I've been alive, baking something sweet while I sit at the dining table, waiting in anticipation for her to let me sample her creation. Usually it was something sweet, like her famous Texas sheet cake or maybe some cut-out cookies. If it was the latter, it meant that the fun was just starting because once the cookies cooled, it was time to start decorating. And decorate we did! That table would be covered with small bowls of colored frosting and jars of tantalizing sprinkles, a little girl's version of Heaven. If I got to vigorous with my frosting application (read: two inches thick) or accidentally spread it on the wrong side, Nana would gently remind me to go easy on the icing or point out how the sugary concoction would stay on better if I applied it to the flat side of the cookie.
Other times I picture her sitting at a card table in the family room, Rummikub tiles laid out in front of her as she patiently taught my 7 year old self a game that I still love to play today, 20 years later. Other times that card table would hold an array of beads that we would thread onto pipe cleaners and fashion into Christmas ornaments, which would then be wrapped into tissue paper and sent home with me to place on my tree. I collected several dozen of those ornaments throughout the years until one year, after returning home for my first Christmas break from college, I discovered that all of my ornaments were gone. Somehow in all the confusion of moving, they disappeared. I was heartbroken to tell my Nana this sad news. Imagine my delight when the following year I opened a package from her filled with homemade ornaments, just like the ones she and I had made together. She has continued to replenish my collection throughout the years and I proudly display them on my tree every Christmas. Never again will I be so careless as to lose something so precious.
There are many memories that come at me when I think of my Nana. Too many to list here, but let it suffice to say that when I talk about her, I instantly feel warm, protected, and loved. She helped instill into me a love of baking, sewing, and crafting. I still seek her advice when I have a baking dilemma and go to her when I need my pants hemmed or a baby bath towel crochet by her loving hands. When I describe my Nana to others, there is something that I never leave out. The most special thing about my Nana is that she is the Nana that didn't have to be.
You see, technically Nana isn't really my grandmother. I was kind of unofficially adopted into her family. There are no ties by blood or by marriage, but nonetheless, she has accepted me as her granddaughter and I am forever grateful for her love. She is the only grandparent I have ever had a relationship with and I couldn't have asked for a better one. Every little girl should have a grandma...the lucky ones get a Nana.
My Nana with my sons...now their Nana, too. Precious.
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