I Remember Grandma

(I read an article today about cultural appropriation of Dia de los Muertos.  The author was passionately angry – and I get it, I truly do.  Yet many of many of my Mexican American friends have invited us to share in remembering our families along with theirs, so…)

My Grandmother died on October 31, 1957, less than a month before my own birthday.  So I never actually knew the amazing woman named Mamie Sala Bollman except through the story telling of my own mother.  Fortunately, I come from a long line of story tellers. 

So, it is natural for me to think about her this time of year, and to celebrate her life in an “All Saints Day” fashion.  As my friends post pictures to Facebook of their family ofrenda, I realize that while my Grandmother would be appalled at the idea of appearing on an altar, the idea of being remembered would appeal to the historian in her.  

I am fortunate to have many small heirlooms – some still in regular use – by which to remember Grandma.

Mamie Sala was an accomplished needle worker.  She monetized this talent by opening her own “fancywork” shop in her hometown of Gridley California.  The picture is of her taken in front of her store. (Sometimes I wear my hair the same way she did in the photo.) The small book is her copy of “The Encyclopedia of Needlework” by Th. de Dillmont.  I learned how to embroider out of that book – but if I need to refer to it today, I use a paperback reprint that is less fragile and has larger print.  The scissors she bought when a little girl as a present to her mother.  The white-worked tablecloth is an example of her work.

In 1918 she closed the shop when she left California for Minnesota to marry my grandfather, William Bollman.  Hence the “B” monogram on the tablecloth.  She had a watch fob made for him from her own red hair, with the locket attached.  

Eventually, they came back to California.  The brown bear incense holder may have been hers – but it may have been my mom’s – but it is here because she was a proud native Californian.   

An ofrenda usually has orange marigolds – paper or natural – but I had neither to hand.  After some thought, I added the orange juice fresh squeezed from my own tree (Grandma would have liked that), in a pitcher that belonged to her, but also to her mother and grandmother before her (that would be my great-great-grandmother).  The cookbook is turned to the page for her orange pie recipe – a recipe I have never been able to successfully duplicate, but maybe now I’ll try again.  Also is the page of her handwritten scaled-up recipe for my mother’s wedding cake.  

So, in true Californian fashion, today I remember my grandmother, and I share her with you, because we know that as long as someone remembers her, she is still with us.