~ Family Tales ~
Grandma Loved the Hummingbirds
I'm sitting here in front of my computer, the rain is coming down, the wind is blowing. It's nasty outside.
From here, I can see the hummingbird feeder. The hummers have been eating and fussing all day, chasing each other away from the feeder, perching for a minute, then flitting away again. I've seen them in Oregon in a snowstorm, huddling at the feeders, all fluffed up and sipping the warm nectar my Mom put out for them.
Grandma always loved the hummers. She lived with my parents before she went to the home. The feeders hang outside the breakfast nook, where Grandma could watch them every morning while she was having coffee with my Dad, her son.
The morning sun glinted through the red nectar and the hummers would be busy as bees. Swooping in and out, sipping and then slipping away when a more aggressive hummer would zoom in. Brave little creatures, I've stood out there next to the feeder and they've buzzed me, too busy defending their territory to pay attention to a mere human.
Grandma loved those little hummingbirds. I think it was because she could relate to them, being tiny herself.
She was also a speedy little thing. In her younger days, a good trip from Los Angeles to Washington meant that she didn't get any speeding tickets.
She always flew, whether it was in her car or her little airplane. I didn't know until her wake that my dad hadn't ridden in any kind of a vehicle with her since 1953 -- at least as a passenger. LOL, that was the year she took him up in her airplane and that was the end of that for Dad!
I think she loved those hummers because they reminded her of her freedom, when she was younger and could pack up and go at a moment's notice. Like the hummers, she was always ferociously independent. She could and would cuss you out like a mule-skinner if you got on her bad side.
Grandma always did exactly what SHE wanted to do. No matter what anyone else said or thought. In fact, I suspect that's why she became a pilot. My birth Grandpa wanted to learn to fly. Supposedly, Grandma said she didn't want to learn, but then she changed her mind.
Knowing my Grandma like I do, what really happened it that Grandpa said "Women can't fly!"
Then Grandma raised herself up, said something unprintable, and proceeded to get her pilot's license.
Ironically, Grandpa never did get his pilot's license.
Yes, Grandma used to go and sit in the breakfast nook every morning, her sharp little eyes seeking the hummingbirds out, watching them flit here and there, chirping and whirring.
I think they watched her too. They knew that kindred spirit that lived in her.
Today I watched the little hummingbirds, in the middle of a California winter, raining and blowing, still hovering at the feeder. I bite my lips, tear up a little.
I miss her feisty little self.
And I'm sure when I get to the other side, she's going to meet me there and tell me all about me writing this. In unprintable words.
Then she's going to point out the hummingbirds feeding on the flowers that twine around those Heavenly Gates and take me to see the rest of the family.
And knowing my family, Jesus will be having a piece of homemade apple pie with Grandpa Jack (Grandma's fourth husband and her soulmate) and playing cribbage -- the cheating way...
I wrote this for my blog, Razzberry Jam, in February 2008 ~ © Ruth de Jauregui
I'm sitting here in front of my computer, the rain is coming down, the wind is blowing. It's nasty outside.
From here, I can see the hummingbird feeder. The hummers have been eating and fussing all day, chasing each other away from the feeder, perching for a minute, then flitting away again. I've seen them in Oregon in a snowstorm, huddling at the feeders, all fluffed up and sipping the warm nectar my Mom put out for them.
Grandma always loved the hummers. She lived with my parents before she went to the home. The feeders hang outside the breakfast nook, where Grandma could watch them every morning while she was having coffee with my Dad, her son.
The morning sun glinted through the red nectar and the hummers would be busy as bees. Swooping in and out, sipping and then slipping away when a more aggressive hummer would zoom in. Brave little creatures, I've stood out there next to the feeder and they've buzzed me, too busy defending their territory to pay attention to a mere human.
Grandma loved those little hummingbirds. I think it was because she could relate to them, being tiny herself.
She was also a speedy little thing. In her younger days, a good trip from Los Angeles to Washington meant that she didn't get any speeding tickets.
She always flew, whether it was in her car or her little airplane. I didn't know until her wake that my dad hadn't ridden in any kind of a vehicle with her since 1953 -- at least as a passenger. LOL, that was the year she took him up in her airplane and that was the end of that for Dad!
I think she loved those hummers because they reminded her of her freedom, when she was younger and could pack up and go at a moment's notice. Like the hummers, she was always ferociously independent. She could and would cuss you out like a mule-skinner if you got on her bad side.
Grandma always did exactly what SHE wanted to do. No matter what anyone else said or thought. In fact, I suspect that's why she became a pilot. My birth Grandpa wanted to learn to fly. Supposedly, Grandma said she didn't want to learn, but then she changed her mind.
Knowing my Grandma like I do, what really happened it that Grandpa said "Women can't fly!"
Then Grandma raised herself up, said something unprintable, and proceeded to get her pilot's license.
Ironically, Grandpa never did get his pilot's license.
Yes, Grandma used to go and sit in the breakfast nook every morning, her sharp little eyes seeking the hummingbirds out, watching them flit here and there, chirping and whirring.
I think they watched her too. They knew that kindred spirit that lived in her.
Today I watched the little hummingbirds, in the middle of a California winter, raining and blowing, still hovering at the feeder. I bite my lips, tear up a little.
I miss her feisty little self.
And I'm sure when I get to the other side, she's going to meet me there and tell me all about me writing this. In unprintable words.
Then she's going to point out the hummingbirds feeding on the flowers that twine around those Heavenly Gates and take me to see the rest of the family.
And knowing my family, Jesus will be having a piece of homemade apple pie with Grandpa Jack (Grandma's fourth husband and her soulmate) and playing cribbage -- the cheating way...
I wrote this for my blog, Razzberry Jam, in February 2008 ~ © Ruth de Jauregui
Highlights of Clara Griffiths Blanchard's Golfing Days
(After Her Flying Days)
Beginning in her late 60’s Clara Griffiths Blanchard was an avid golfer, as she put it, “If I spend another Sunday in this damn apartment watching some stupid program on TV, I’ll go crazy.” She, her husband Jack, her son, Don, along with a few colorful part time players would meet in Los Angeles at the Big Tee, or in San Diego playing for fun and exercise early Saturday or Sunday mornings. In San Diego, they would hit balls up in the brush. They took the stroke because of the rattlesnakes that lived on those slopes.
When she felt comfortable with the game, she joined the 9 holes circuit, many times playing two rounds for their 18 holes for that day, with the Women’s Golfing Association in Southern California. She held many offices in the group, knew the rules word for word and wasn’t afraid to tell fellow golfers IF they were NOT following those official rules.
According to the scoring pencils and score sheets, these are a few of the Clubs where she played, Riverside Country Club, Brea, Big Tee, Lakeside Golf Club, Birch Hills, Westridge Golf Club, Vicwood Golf Links, Kah-Nee-Ta Resort & Golf, Lake Elizabeth Golf & Ranch Club, Green River, Newaukum Valley Golf Course, Norwalk, and Meriwood Golf Course
In 1986 when she moved to Washington State, she joined and played golf in the Chehalis-Centralia area for 15 years. Newaukum Valley Golf Course was her home Club there. She acted as tournament chair for several years plus held other offices.
In 2001 she moved to the Illinois Valley in Southern Oregon and continued to play for 2 more years. She could no longer drive, SO Don or Hazel would take her twice a week, when weather permitted, to play golf at the Illinois Valley Golf Course. Eventually, after clearance with the Course Manager, we drove the cart and assisted her with loading her clubs in or out of the vehicles. In other words, we became her caddies, but NEVER told her how to play, which club to use nor the lay of the course. We did keep score; some of those women couldn’t count or add worth a darn.
One cold April morning at the Illinois Valley Golf Club as she was golfing (I, Hazel, was driving the cart for her), there were 5 beautiful Canadian geese on the fairway. I asked if she would hit the geese. She replied, “No, they're safe.” She stepped up, hit the ball and when the ball landed; it bounced twice and hit the one goose in the rear. With flair, that goose honked, cursing her out, then made several turns above us and they all flew away.
Later after the game was finished, we were on our way home, she started giggling. I asked, “Grandma, what's so funny?”
Her reply, “In my golfing career I've had two Hole-in-Ones, but this is my first Goosey!”
After that, those geese knew her; they flew off when we arrived for her to play golf!!
She played 9 holes of golf on her 90th birthday and 4 1/2 holes on the last day of her 90th year, March 4, 2003. The game was cut short because -- her golfing partner got cold!
All of this by a lady who was about 4 foot 8 inches and weighed about 120 pounds.
Clara passed on February 4, 2006, 30 days short of her 94th birthday.
© 2014 Hazel Pate Griffith
(After Her Flying Days)
Beginning in her late 60’s Clara Griffiths Blanchard was an avid golfer, as she put it, “If I spend another Sunday in this damn apartment watching some stupid program on TV, I’ll go crazy.” She, her husband Jack, her son, Don, along with a few colorful part time players would meet in Los Angeles at the Big Tee, or in San Diego playing for fun and exercise early Saturday or Sunday mornings. In San Diego, they would hit balls up in the brush. They took the stroke because of the rattlesnakes that lived on those slopes.
When she felt comfortable with the game, she joined the 9 holes circuit, many times playing two rounds for their 18 holes for that day, with the Women’s Golfing Association in Southern California. She held many offices in the group, knew the rules word for word and wasn’t afraid to tell fellow golfers IF they were NOT following those official rules.
According to the scoring pencils and score sheets, these are a few of the Clubs where she played, Riverside Country Club, Brea, Big Tee, Lakeside Golf Club, Birch Hills, Westridge Golf Club, Vicwood Golf Links, Kah-Nee-Ta Resort & Golf, Lake Elizabeth Golf & Ranch Club, Green River, Newaukum Valley Golf Course, Norwalk, and Meriwood Golf Course
In 1986 when she moved to Washington State, she joined and played golf in the Chehalis-Centralia area for 15 years. Newaukum Valley Golf Course was her home Club there. She acted as tournament chair for several years plus held other offices.
In 2001 she moved to the Illinois Valley in Southern Oregon and continued to play for 2 more years. She could no longer drive, SO Don or Hazel would take her twice a week, when weather permitted, to play golf at the Illinois Valley Golf Course. Eventually, after clearance with the Course Manager, we drove the cart and assisted her with loading her clubs in or out of the vehicles. In other words, we became her caddies, but NEVER told her how to play, which club to use nor the lay of the course. We did keep score; some of those women couldn’t count or add worth a darn.
One cold April morning at the Illinois Valley Golf Club as she was golfing (I, Hazel, was driving the cart for her), there were 5 beautiful Canadian geese on the fairway. I asked if she would hit the geese. She replied, “No, they're safe.” She stepped up, hit the ball and when the ball landed; it bounced twice and hit the one goose in the rear. With flair, that goose honked, cursing her out, then made several turns above us and they all flew away.
Later after the game was finished, we were on our way home, she started giggling. I asked, “Grandma, what's so funny?”
Her reply, “In my golfing career I've had two Hole-in-Ones, but this is my first Goosey!”
After that, those geese knew her; they flew off when we arrived for her to play golf!!
She played 9 holes of golf on her 90th birthday and 4 1/2 holes on the last day of her 90th year, March 4, 2003. The game was cut short because -- her golfing partner got cold!
All of this by a lady who was about 4 foot 8 inches and weighed about 120 pounds.
Clara passed on February 4, 2006, 30 days short of her 94th birthday.
© 2014 Hazel Pate Griffith