Sitting in my modest collection of assorted cookie cutters is one that is unique from the rest. It is old, worn and you can tell it is of a different generation then the shinier, flimsier shapes that it passes time with as neighbors in the ziplock bag in the back of my kitchen cupboard.
It’s a cross that belonged to my grandmother.
I inherited a handful of things from my grandmother when she passed, including a rhinestone pin that says, “TRY GOD!”, and this cross cookie cutter.
This may seem like an odd thing to find in my house.
Many of you know that I am an inactive member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or as most people know it, a Mormon. (I stress the inactive because in no way should I be held up as any kind of representative of this religion.) Mormons don’t really “do” crosses. They are not worn on necklaces or on steeples or on the covers of bibles or hymnals. The thought, in a nut shell, is that they do not want to focus on Christ’s death and the way it happened as much as his resurrection, so…crosses are out.
My grandmother’s name was Bernice (like “furnace”) and the name fit her like the term “grandma” NEVER would.
When I try to describe her to people, the best description I can come up with is that she was a cross (no pun intended) between The Church Lady on Saturday Night Live and one of those women with the cat glasses in The Far Side cartoons.
See?
I don’t know if you can tell but she was not a very visibly happy or pleasant individual. She had a hugely difficult life that I appreciate more and more as I get older. Her mother passed away when she was 6-years-old, the day before Christmas Eve, in the great influenza epidemic of 1918 and she lost her father at 18 and was an orphan. Her husband, my grandfather, died the year my parents married when he was only 50.
She did not often smile, and heaven forbid that she laugh. She was devout and pious and when she did not like something it came off in waves off of her.
Which was fairly often.
She was an extremely hard worker, efficient, organized and ran a very tight ship. When she died there were boxes of things still in their original wrappers and EVERYTHING was labeled.
Once I came home and her Bible study group was gathered in our house and I almost did not recognize my grandmother. She was laughing and really…she was delightful. It was quite a shock to me. I was used to just seeing her the one way and it made me feel confused and a little bitter that she could be this way for this group of ladies that shared her faith but to her grandchildren she was very reserved and unpleaseable.
She was a life-long a Southern Baptist from Iowa. This wouldn’t have made a fig of difference to me at all. The thing that DID matter is that she was quite anti-Mormon. She never got over my father’s decision to join a different religion or that his wife and grandchildren were also of the same faith.
It really sucks when your grandmother thinks you are going to burn in hell, even as an innocent little child.
For those that may point it out, I find it JUST as distasteful when this attitude is displayed by the Mormons or any religion, so let’s not make this post about this aspect. I explain because it touched and tainted everything. I know in her own way she did it out of love and concern, I just find it a huge pity that in all that worry about my salvation she utterly destroyed a chance to have a loving, kindly relationship with so many of her progeny.
I am also sad for the scars it left me with from a tiny age.
I have felt unacceptable to someone in one form or another as long as I can remember.
She did not like me.
Kids can tell when an adult likes them or they don’t.
It wasn’t for lack of trying. I was a charming, lovely little girl and I tried my best to twirl, laugh, sing, tell funny stories and smile to get her affection.
It didn’t work.
She probably loved me in a perfunctory sort of manner, but that isn’t at all the same thing. Every Christmas and birthday I got a card in the mail, usually with a crisp $2 bill enclosed in it.
Still…from all her conversations and comments and gushing (well, as much as she could gush) about her other grandchildren, I could tell that my brothers and sisters and I didn’t quite measure up to her very rigid standards.
Except once.
One day during the holidays, a big shirt box showed up at our house.
It was from my Grandmother Bernice and it was CHOCK FULL of ALL different kinds of cookies!
I about passed out from excitement.
It was wonderful.
I felt the giddy rush of approval that somehow only comes from a token or gift from someone you’ve long sought favor and approval from. It remains one of my favorite Christmas gifts.
Bernice passed away when I was 22 and she got to see my first born as a baby. I find the irony that she died in Utah amongst the heathen an interesting twist to the story, but I am glad that my devoted father was able to care for her.
I will not say that the one box of cookies really changed anything between us, but it was a token of love and approval that I got once in my life and I love that memory.
As I finished cutting all the cookies for Christmas Eve decorating I noticed I had enough dough for one more.
I hope it made my grandmother smile, wherever she may be.
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Lovely, darling.
xo
I would venture to guess that yes, she cracked a smile, even if it was a little one.
My grandparents were never much for showing emotion and they passed it down to my dad, who never liked me as a kid (kids can definitely tell when adults don’t like them!). He’s gotten better with age and is much better with my kids, but I know that feeling; that inability to please someone and trying so hard.
The cookies are a lovely memory and I’m sure she’s smiling about that cross cookie.
I love this post. I can really feel the emotion that is behind it…all through it really. What a lovely memory that one box of cookies has made.
I’m glad you have that good memory associated with your grandmother. And I think it’s fitting that it’s in the form of a cross cookie-cutter, since the cross is a symbol of forgiveness and reconciliation to Christians. :-)
I hope you’re feeling better!
Sounds like there was not a lot of joy in her life.
My grandmother had a hard life, my grandad was an alcoholic – lots of rejection in his life, and she bottled it up and took Bex powders (headache powders in the 50’s/60’s) which in turn destroyed her kidneys, and so on (really, it’s amazing my mother is as normal as she is, though she is getting more confidence as she ages).
But when Grandma SMILED – you could drill for oil in her dimples, it really lit her up. Unfortunately, I think those smiles are only in my memory, I don’t think there are any photos of that joy. But I know it was there sometimes. I saw it.
Sorry, I don’t mean to hijack your blog. You just brought back memories that were not that far below the surface. I’ll have to go look for photos now.
I’m glad you’ve got your cookie cutter and memories.
I love this post! It doesn’t matter what religion you are as long as you are a good person; I think you are a very good person, a real person, a person that has chosen to write and post of very real things (no matter how difficult or horrible they might be) and I thank you for that!
My grandmother was very much like yours, except she tended to be vocal about her dislikes; sometimes it was too much to bare!
I’m sure there was a great smile somewhere out there of a grandmother looking down on her grand-daughter as the cross cookie appeared out of the oven! I hope it was delicious!
Oh, she was, um…plenty vocal, too.
:)
Wow. It says a lot about YOU, my dear, that you still do things to try to get a smile from Bernice. :)
This was a lovely post, Loralee. My paternal grandmother was like yours, but my maternal grandmother was SO full of love and caring for me it made up for the other one. Then as a teenager, I found out that my paternal grandmother had been married at FIFTEEN to a man 20 years older… well, that put things into perspective for me. She bore 10 children (a set of twins died during that flu epidemic). Only one child was a girl, the oldest.
But when I was in college, this strict, never smiling grandmother wrote to me every single week. She would tell me news from our hometown, encourage me in my studies, and always include several stamps wrapped in waxed paper so I would have stamps to use when writing home. That small gesture meant a lot to me. I was her first grandchild(of 24) to attend college, and she was SO proud!
WOW…that pictures looks just like my Nana. I’m going to have to find a picture of her. She was a devout Catholic and hated the fact that my mother had the nerve to divorce her son. I don’t think the woman ever said a kind word to me but luckily my Grandpy made up for it. I think it’s sad that some grandparents take out their anger and frustrations with their kids on the innocent grandchildren.
I have no doubt she is sucking down a Manhattan while looking down with disdain on her granddaughter living in sin all these years. It’s a good thing that I just don’t care what she thinks.
I hope you enjoyed eating that cross cookie and knowing it wasn’t your fault that your grandmother felt the way she did. She missed out on the amazing love of a grandchild.
Such a beautiful post….
This was lovely.
Isn’t it sad how religion, and the different ‘brands’ thereof lead to so many issues? And isn’t it rather ironic that this is the opposite to what God would want?
i had a grandma (really 2 of them) that were like that. their hurtful words and actions still have an affect. I am so thankful that i had surrogate grandparents who loved me like i was theirs. throughout my childhood, that couple was always there to love and comfort me. i miss them terribly.
my mom raised us to love everyone no matter what they look like or what their religion. i can’t even start to think how my life would be if i started basing my friendships on minor stuff like that. i’d miss out on the best people! especially ones that have the CUTEST babies!!
What a thoughtful, loving, bittersweet post. Although I didn’t have a Bernice (never heard it pronounced like furnace), I do have complex relationships with most of my family members, so I definitely get the gist of it. You are a wonderful woman, Loralee. For the record, I love you unconditionally, and there’s nothing unacceptable about you….except that you live too damn far away, so I suppose there’s that.
I don’t know if you ever heard the story, but I found out from Patty that all during their childhood they heard nothing but how wonderful we were and how they all thought we were her favorites. Go figure.
I don’t have many fond memories, either, but man that woman could make some seriously delicious divinity with black walnuts…
What THE hell????
SERIOUSLY????
Dude.
And I never had her divinity. Dammit.
:)
(MISS YOU, SIS! Hope you had a fab holiday. Will drop you a line.)
Now that was beautiful. Just beautiful.
Such a bitter-sweet post. Hope you had a wonderful holiday!!!!
Growing up in a Mormon family, but not one myself as an adult, I chuckled about the cross. I remember a rebelling teenage friend into the heavy metal scene in the 80’s wore several crosses to church and oh, my the gasps. Heh!
Also had non-religious grandparents of Presbyterian background, but luckily they never said a word about their son converting and having six children…maybe because another uncle also converted and had 12! Either way, they were always so good about making us all feel loved.
I am so glad you had a break through, however so small, with your grandmother. I am sure she loved you in her own way.
~Scout
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Loralee, Loralee. Loralee said: My favorite Christmas gift was from the one woman that did not like me (but SHOULD have). http://loraleeslooneytunes.com/2009/12/28/a-gift/ [...]
My Dad’s Mom was like that. I have very few memories of her since she never wanted to see us. One year she had dolls made to look like all of the girl cousins…well, all of them except for my sister and me. We had money donated in our behalf to a child in the Philippines or something. Yeah, it was grand…exactly what you want when you’re a little kid.
Kind of like decorative soap.
Thankfully we never had any visible exclusion like that, so it was better. (And dude, that sucks)
I love this story, it reminds me of my Big Mama (great gran) I know it sounds funny but its what we always called her and it fit. I lost her when I was ten but I remember so much more about her than anyone else. I remember her bribing me with candy to get me to brush her hair when she rocked in her chair and how she was insistant that by 8 yrs old I knew how to make the perfect pie crust. Thanks for sharing and bring back some of my most favorite memories.
My grandmother was mean, and not likable at all, so whenever we went to their house for the holidays I would hide in my room with a bunch of books. Figured it was easier than trying to please her and feeling like a constant disappointment. Turns out, my lack of social interaction convinced her I was deficient. She told my mom she thought there was something seriously wrong with me – either I was “retarded, or a serial killer in the making.”
I never got a cookie cutter.
Love, love, LOVE this post.
Love this post. I think it hits home with many people because we’ve all had a person whose approval we could never get no matter what we did, or how well we twirled or sang or whatever.
Having experienced a lot of what you’re saying (but as the child breaking away from the religion), I understand the feeling of never quite measuring up. That’s probably why I’m so protective of Jake when it comes to my own family.
It’s painful when parents choose their religion over a relationship with their child. Even if attempts are later made at repairing things, the damage is done. The trust is gone.
Oh, I could say SO much Loralee. You can e-mail me if you wish.
This post really struck a nerve with me. It reminds me of my Grandma, my dad’s mother. After she died my I started hearing all these stories from my cousins about how loving and affectionate she was, how many wonderful things she had done for them. My brother and I were confused because that didn’t sound at all like the woman we knew. To this day I still don’t know why she treated my brother and I so different from her other grandchildren. It’s hurtful when I think about it but I try to remind myself that it was her issue and there was nothing my brother and I could have done as small children to have caused it. Still, ouch. Ya know?
I so wish you were able to have a Grandmother like mine. I was her favorite mainly because I was the only Grandchild who paid attention to her. Just seeing these cookies makes me miss her even more as she would bake 15 kinds of cookies for me and everyone else to enjoy. She was such a giving Grandmother.
You definitely know what kind of Grandmother you will be one day, won’t you.:)
Wonderful story! I have a great-Aunt that I was always trying to please growing up. Getting good grades, being a good girl and not getting pregnant at 16 like my mother did. I never felt like it was good enough, but I really loved her. I don’t know why the bond was like that. Most of the time she was always telling me how smart this boy was that was in a family she was very close with at her home that was 4 hours away from where we lived (I usually only saw Aunt Joan on holidays and some weekends when she would come to visit). This boy Dean Peter was all she ever talked about. He was the top of his class (just like me), went to an engineering school (just like me) and was a nuclear physicist (I was an electrical engineer – close enough). After her passing at her funeral I got to meet Dean Peter and his wife. I found out all she ever talked about to him was me! Isn’t that sweet! She was always telling him and his family how wonderfully smart and talented I was. I was truly touched and it makes my memories of her that much fonder.
I think I know how you feel, and it sucks. My grandfather had a wonderful nickname for me: “Monster”. Never once did he call me by my real name. When I played piano to entertain or impress him, he’d tell me to quit playing with my toes. “Use your fingers!” he’d yell. He LOVED my friend Julie but for some reason he never hugged me or wanted to spend time with me. My parents told me “He’s old. He’s sick. He’s of a different generation where kids were to be seen and not heard.” But my older sister got the younger version of him. He (and my gram) took her to museums, the zoo, etc. She spent the night at their house and had long dinners with them. I got his second-hand smoke and “go play outside!” sentiments. When he died, I wasn’t even sad. I wasn’t GLAD, but I didn’t feel sad either. I felt like I was betraying my family for not being sad, but how could I miss him, I mean really? I’m glad I had my gram (his wife) because she was a bright light in that gloomy house.
Thanks for sharing your story. Sounds like your gram at least had a bright spot in her heart for you. I still wonder if my Gramps ever did for me.
Lovely post. Lovely you.
I loved this post! I had a friend convert to the Mormon Church a few years back and when she did, the hardest thing for her to deal with was the lack of the cross. She had a gold cross that hung around her neck, it was a gift from her mother. And I might add, the only thing she had from her mother. The state had removed her from her parents home when she was only nine and she grew up in foster care in the state of Texas.
At 24, she joined the Mormon church and the bishop told her that she may want to remove that cross so she didn’t offend any of the members!
I thought for sure it would be over, that she would walk out, but she didn’t. She was baptized and continued to wear the cross on the inside of her clothes. :)
I am proud of you for making that cookie. It looked perfect!
And the picture of Grandma, OMG, It is priceless!!
I’m “new” here (if you will) but I keep coming back because there are a few things about us (political, religious…and now a difficult grandmother) that are very similar.
Thanks for sharing. :-)
My Mom was and is what apostates might call a bible thumper. In 1971 we moved to the wilds of Wells, NV. and my Mom immediately went to work on her grand vision of converting all the Mormons to the truth. At times it was embarrassing, but she was my Mom and I loved her. One of the daggers in her arsenal was the “what’s up with no cross thing?” tool. She was never rude, or pushy, and opened our home to all colors and creeds, and later in life I have learned to appreciate her love and concern for others. But, I too never got the no crosses thing. When “ex-teenage food processor” number 1 turned 18 he got a cross tatooed on his bicep. My irritation with my son getting a “Tattoo!, are you F..ing kidding me!” was tempered by the fact that it was a cross. But, my first thought was, “You will never go on a Mormon mission.” I smiled.
Beautiful post! My grandmother is also very…stolid…in a different sort of way. I love that you got that cookie cutter, and what a touching tribute!!
That one cross looks so lonely, among the trees and snowmen. But I bet it still tasted good.
What a treasure. Somewhere she is smiling….
I have missed your posts..I will be visiting more often.
Great photo! Ah, Bernice.
Lovely post. I have a similar grandmother. I almost wrote “had” but she is still alive, but doesn’t often remember to say the mean things she used to say.
I hope you have a lovely new year! From your post on your Aaron’s birth, I see that our sons were born only a few hours apart, enjoy the rest of infanthood, as you stare toddlerhood in the eye! Blessings, Megan
My mother is like that–she doesn’t like me, and she never liked my daughters, but poured love abundantly on my son. When my son was 7, I told my mother not to buy him any more gifts unless she could do the same for my girls.
It was very noticable by everyone in the family. The Christmas that my oldest daughter was 10 years old, my mother gave all the girl grandchildren several gifts, including a doll for each one, except for my daughter, who received one gift, a dress. I could have kissed my sister in law, who left all the gifts my mother gave her kids at my mother’s house, and told her in no uncertain terms that until she could do the same thing for all of her grandchildren, she would not accept gifts from her for her children. She told my mother it was unacceptable to leave my daughter out like that.
My children are now in their 30’s and never visit their grandmother. And I dread when I have to go. She is critical of everything I say and do, never has a kind word for any of my children or grandchildren, and is just plain mean. And then she asks me why I don’t visit more often. Not everyone gets a loving mother. And I try so hard not to be like that.