Me and the Babushki

Older women likewise are to be reverent in their behavior, not malicious gossips nor enslaved to much wine, teaching what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored. Titus 2:3-5

Titus 2 has a special place in my heart, because I have benefited over the years from the advice and wise counsel of older women. Of course, now I’m in the unenviable position of being one of the older women, but that’s another blog for another time. What is increasingly clear to me lately is that while other women are turning into their mothers, I am actually turning into my grandmothers.

Over the last few weeks, I have had to come to terms with the fact that several of the things I do are definite throw-backs to my grandmothers. Now please understand that many of the things I do are of complete necessity…not because I just love to do things the “old-fashioned way,” but because I can’t always do things the way I would in the States. For instance, they do not sell applesauce here, and so I make applesauce the way my Mimsey did (of course, she called them fried apples, but for our purposes, it’s applesauce). Both of my grandmothers were great cooks, and I often think of them while I’m in the kitchen. One of the things I make fairly often is baking powder biscuits, which greeted me every morning I stayed at my Granny’s house while growing up. I even cut them with a small bottle, because that’s the way she did it. Both of my grandmothers were workers, and I definitely get the “busy bee” gene from both sides of the family. These are all nice things, moments when I recall with great love and affection these two women who had such a profound impact on my life.

Then there was this morning. Things were humming along—Marc was in his lesson, John was finished with his, Hannah was working with me in the kitchen on her math. So I decided I would multitask and get some ironing done. Now, one of the things I was very excited about when I came here was that I had a clothes dryer, which is quite unusual for missionaries in Eastern Europe. However, I have quickly discovered that the dryer is very hard on clothes, and should be avoided for those things that will shrink—jeans, t-shirts, and especially underwear, which is very expensive here, so we don’t want to replace it until necessary. So I hang those things to dry, reserving the dryer for things like towels and socks and pajamas, which don’t cause problems if they shrink. But things that are hung to dry get very, very brittle…seriously—the jeans can stand on their own. So I have taken to ironing most mornings those things that I have hung to dry overnight. No big deal, right? Well, this morning I was ironing the things that had dried overnight when Sarah Beth came into the kitchen and started laughing. And I don’t mean a chuckle…I mean hysterical, fall on the floor kind of laughing. When I asked her what was so funny, she simply pointed to the ironing board. I was ironing Marc’s underwear. In that flash, I saw myself at Hannah’s age, asking my Granny why she ironed Papa’s underwear. It was not a good moment. Not at all. So unlike most women, I’m not turning into my mother, but my grandmothers.

Actually, I could do worse than turning into my grandmothers. Women of faith, both of whom raised families successfully, families they loved…great cooks who valued their time in the kitchen, who had great friends they adored…I could do worse than turning out like Agnes and Pearl. But I’m hoping that I’ll take on their good character traits, and not just the ironing thing. :o)

It’s funny…Sarah Beth asked me the other day why I am always helping the Babushki (grandmothers) on the bus or the metro. My reply was that in every little old lady I see my grandmothers, who lived in a much gentler place than Russia. In every sweet, wrinkled face, I see the precious lines of these faces that have meant so much to who I am. I cannot help myself. And interestingly, the old ladies love me. I often find myself chatting with them on the bus. Of course, it could be that they’re looking at my un-dyed roots and seeing one of their own!

By the way, we received our first packages from the States yesterday. What fun! We had such a ball going through and seeing all the stuff that my parents had sent. The things we were most excited about? Marshmallows and American powdered sugar. Very, very exciting stuff. You know what was really great, though? Seeing my Mama’s handwriting. Okay, it’s Christmas and I miss my Mommy. Give me a break.

Well, I need to run. It’s getting dark, and I’m expecting Marc any second, so I should get dinner going. It’s taco night, in case you’re interested. :o) Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye