My Nana, me at 4 and baby
This photo was on my Nana’s dresser when she died. I was there too – in the room, holding her hand not on the dresser. It was a moment I’ll never forget. About 8 months before that moment I’d decided to leave. Move away and call a “do over” on my life. Clearly, things were not going my way.
Then I found out she was dying and I knew I’d regret leaving her to die without knowing how much I loved her. I’d made mistakes before and she always forgave me but this was a for keeps. This was the end. The whole enchilada or in her case, the whole blueberry pie. So I decided to stay and see her through.
I rented an apartment on Vaughan Rd. and visited her as often as I could. I wasn’t working so I went over a lot. Her nurse told me I was her favourite visitor. It was an awful time for all concerned. It’s hard to see a grand lady wither and die before your eyes. Of course it’s easy to exaggerate someone’s virtues and flaws after they’re gone but my Nana was one of a kind. ”Your Nana always tells it like it is,” she’d say and she was right. She was always (usually) right.
Smart, funny, strong, beautiful, opinionated, sophisticated, wise and a great cook. Thelma Goodman was a dominant figure in many of our lives and she remains with us in many ways. And I honour her by naming the Delimobile after her? Yes. Yes. and Yes. Nana was a force of Nature. Tomorrow the photo above will hold a place of honour in the deli too.
Why am I waxing poetic about my Nana? The nice people who produce “Eat St.” asked for a pic of the original Thundering Thelma to work into their feature on the Delimobile to air in the Spring on FoodTV. Now that I see it on my computer screen it just makes me want to connect the dots. For me and for you, dear reader.
Nana loved to cook for her children and grandchildren. My parents, my aunt and uncle and my Nana and Papa owned three cottages in Huntsville. My grandparents’ place was by far the most modest. In fact, my Nana heated her place and cooked on an old wood stove.
Every morning when she was ready to ‘open for business’ my Nana would raise the west-facing blind in her window. This was our signal that we were welcome to come and be served scambled eggs, bagels, cream cottage cheese, lox, ripe red tomatoes, red onions, herring, orange juice, coffee, porridge, you get the idea. All of us would assemble there with friends, guests, and eventually with her great-grandchildren. Kind of like a flash mob now that I think about it.
She worked hard to please us but you’d never know it the way she talked and laughed while filling and re-filling plates and cups. What a woman she was. Sometimes I’d stay and help her wash up. It was a magical time. Yet, for me there was an even more special time with her. When I was 26 or 27 and working as a bartender in London, my Nana came and spent a week with me. 74 years old and partying it up in England with her grandson.
She even baked a suitcase full of mini blueberry pies (my favourite thing in the world was my Nana’s Blueberry Pie). Nana froze them raw before departure and triple wrapped them then shlepped them across the Atlantic and through customs. We walked and talked for days. Laughed and cried too.
On Christmas Eve she did something very funny. Nana called the Dorchester Hotel one of the grandest old hotels in London. She called to make a reservation for us for Christmas Eve. Of course she was told that was impossible. It was Dec 23 and they’d been booked for ages. Using a voice I’d never heard she told the person on the phone the following lie: “50 years ago, my husband and I had Christmas with you and now that he’s gone I wanted to bring my grandson and pass on the tradition to him.” While she sounded old and frail she was anything but. She was hilarious. It worked. We high five’d and did a little dance around my living room.
Did she love me? Come on now. Of course she did.
Now this photo and the awful pink, grey and white frame I inherited with it (“made in Italy for Creeds”) sits on my dresser. I look at it every day and remember what a remarkable woman she was. Can’t say I miss her because she’s such a huge part of me but what I wouldn’t do for one more bite of Nana’s Blueberry Pie.
