Today is the Feast of All Souls. It’s also the anniversary of the death of my Grandmother, Rose Hurney. She died nine years ago today and I miss her. She was one of my best friends as well as my grandmother and she was pretty special.

My beautiful Grandmother
I spent an awful lot of time with my grandmother when I was a kid. I lived with her on occasion, and even when I didn’t, I was at her house a lot. She lived in a big house in Baldwin, NY – which is on Long Island, about 25 minutes from NYC. My grandparents had about an acre of property which is a lot for the area and my grandmother’s gardens were legendary. She made rock gardens and flower gardens and she had statues and stones and throughout the yard were Catholic iconic symbols, Jesus, Mary, and the angels. There was also a statue of Benjamin Franklin, but that’s more about Poppy and we’re talking about Grandma today.

(Here’s one of the angels with what appears to be a pet duck)
She ruled the roost and she was definitely “in charge”, my cousin Steven called her Sarge and it fit. Sunday dinners were always an event and you wouldn’t even think about going anywhere else on Thanksgiving. That was her day. She would start two days before and if you lived close enough to come over and help, you’d be assigned to polishing the silver, or ripping the Arnold’s bread into pieces for the tons of stuffing that she made. Her stuffing was the kind that dreams are made of and not one of my family can bear the thought of Thanksgiving without “Grandma’s Stuffing”. She would get up while it was still dark and start the bird – which was always the biggest you’d ever seen – and she would make dish after dish. Mashed potatoes, stuffing, turnips, creamed onions, each dish more delicious than the next, and the gravy was beyond compare (Wondra flour – she swore by it and I still use it) and then people would start to descend upon Grand Ave. (that’s what we called her house – we called everyone’s house by its street name). It didn’t matter how many people showed up, she would feed each and everyone of them until they were stuffed. And people showed up. Invited, uninvited, surprise guests, it didn’t matter. There were always left overs and I don’t know how she did it, but she did. Without much help, I might add.

(The kids’ table at Thanksgiving circa 1973?
That’s me in the red jumper)
She was the glue that held our family together. My family fights, a.l.o.t – but everyone would put aside their differences and come together to make her happy. We all loved her so much and we all thought that each of us were her favorite. That’s just how she made you feel. The years that I lived too far away to come to dinner, I would call her as I put the stuffing in the oven, we’d go over what I was making and who was coming to her dinner and have a cup of coffee together, long distance. I cherish the memory of those conversations.
Sometimes, even now, I’ll think to call her and there’s a moment when I forget that I can’t. So, I say a little prayer instead and send her love wherever she may be.

My grandmother, me and Nana (Grandma’s mother and
another of my best friends 1989?)
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