The essence of Nan, Part 2.
I was reminded today by a friend that I had missed one of the traits that my Nan, in her later years was known by. So, to do that memory justice, I’m adding to the essence of Nan.
Nan was for want of a better word, a tad bit hard of hearing, as she got older, and the years rolled into the twilight's, her hearing did also fade. But this was something, although extremely frustrating, was also comical, now looking back on it.
I can recall many times trying to convince her over the phone of who I was and why I so desperately needed to talk to Mum.
Trying to introduce yourself was the first mistake, because, she would only catch the name, and then say “oh sorry dear, Sandz is out, you’ll have to call back”
If you then went with the “can I speak to Sandz mum” tack, she would ask “who, mum, she’s....who, I’m here talking to you dear,”
The final play was asking for Mum by name, that usually worked, but there was no guarantee you would get to that point.
She tried her hardest, and her frustration only was at herself most of the time, for I think deep down she knew she was deaf, and that age was catching her.
Since reminiscing about these things one of my favourite memories has came flooding back, and when I think about it, it always makes me smile.
Nan was in the kitchen making lunch, as she did most days, it was a weekend, I remember, and I must have been in my late teens. My brother and I were sitting in the kitchen talking about trivialities as siblings do. Watching Nan move around the kitchen preparing to make us something yummy as she always did.
I also had a friend over this day; she was a school mate, who spent a fair amount of time at number 13. I asked Nan, “What are you making,”
Nan talked to me as she buttered the bread, cut off the crusts as she knew I liked that. We talked about trivial things, nothing of importance. And I watched as she placed the sliced cheese upon the bread and subsequently under the grill. BUT that’s when it dawned on me that something was not quite right. I looked at my Bro, who had also begun to watch in disbelief, a smirk starting to play upon his lips. My friend was on the veranda, and I ushered my brother off to keep her entertained. Nan smiled at me, and said to get the plates, quickly I agreed, and gave her a hug, saying thank you for the snack, and if she wanted she could go sit down and id bring her a cuppa and a toastie, my way of thanking her for her efforts. She smiled again, touched my cheek and went inside to the lounge to fetch her glasses.
As soon as she was safely out of eyeshot, I ran to the grill and pulled it open.
The toasties were bubbling along, looking a tad strange, and my fear was then realized as the aroma reached my nostrils.
She hadn’t removed the plastic covering from the cheese slices. Now I’m not fond of cheese slices anyways, I’ve always referred to them as plastic, But my Nan, that darling woman with the heart of gold, re invented toasties are la plastique...