One of my dreams in life is to be a Memere, the FrenchCanadian version of Grandmother, like my two grandmothers, mes deux grandmeres.  Not the soft and fuzzy types, by any means;both of them might have been nicknamed “The General”, and likely they couldhave commanded troops, had they been men. Hardworking, to say the least;managers of large households where the men were often away on business.Cleanliness pretty close to Godliness, and very devoted to their relationshipswith God, as they saw Him. My own mother is now Mimi, a modern, more fun andworldly version, but no less seasoned by life and its vicissitudes. Betweenthem, these women have lived lives rich in experience, encompassing theDepression, wars, illnesses, untimely deaths, alcoholism and suicide – as wellas the great progress and inventions of the twentieth century.

This was not always something to aspire to.  My mother’s mother, born Philomena Alma MarieLaFlamme, lived with us after my father passed away, from 1964 to 1972. At 70,she cooked and cared for six more children after having raised eleven of herown; it was not easy, I’m sure, and she was sometimes cranky. Short, round,with an eighth grade education and imperfect grammar, she had never learned todrive. Her birthdate was uncertain, perhaps 1895 or 1896, she was either 15 or16 when she wed, a French girl to an Irish boy, a teen-aged mother with acouple years of work at the mill behind her. Almost constant pregnancies - andeight teen-aged boys home during the Depression, before five of them enlistedfor WWII.  Yikes! Living with her was likehaving one foot in the previous century, the time before electricity, indoortoilets, cars or televisions. She was born before women’s suffrage, and in mymind, her opportunities seemed so limited. 

The end of November holds a lot of significance for myfamily, for reasons good and bad, but one is that it is my wedding anniversaryand also Memere’s. Just before my wedding, she gave me her wedding band, herfinger to mine, when I visited her in the nursing home. I don’t know why shegave it to me, of all 35 grandchildren. I wondered if it was supposed to be alegacy, that of big families and tough matriachs. Most likely, it was timing orcoincidence.