Grandpa Johnson died February 3, 1961. I don't remember, I was awfully young. I remember grandpa, though, sitting on his lap while he told us stories, looking into his jolly face, listening to his wonderful Swedish accent. I suppose I don't remember him dying because mom decided not to have us come to his funeral. Keith was barely six, I was only four and a half, Phillip was two and Linda was just barely one. Grandpa died from a sudden heart attack, and it must have been a very traumatic time for mother.
Grandma Johnson was only 61 when she became a widow, and it must have been very hard on her, too. She worked much of her married life to help support the family, especially as grandpa's health deteriorated before his death. Working as a miner his whole life, as well as being exposed to mustard gas during WWI, surely contributed to his failing health and the loss of his eye sight. By the time I was born Grandpa was legally blind and had one eye replaced with a glass eye.
Grandma worked at Williams Air force Base, running the cafeteria. She went to cooking school as a girl in Sweden, and was wonderful cook. Once Grandma was even on the Rita Davenport Show on one of our local television stations, demonstrating how to make Moss Pudding. At least, that's what Grandma called it in Swedish. I suppose we would have called it a Pineapple fromage, or moose.
Moss Pudding was our traditional Christmas Eve dessert, and it is delicious! It is made with pineapple juice thickened with gelatin, folded into whipped cream and egg whites. When grandma made it on the TV show she had Rita Davenport be her assistant. Grandma had put the gelatin in warm water to soften while she mixed the other ingredients. When it was time to add the gelatin she asked Miss Davenport, "Please hand me the jello", except with her Swedish accent it sounded like, "Please hand me the yellow." Poor Miss Davenport looked all over the table for something yellow, but couldn't see anything. "The what?" she asked. "The yellow," Grandma answered, still stirring the pudding. "The yellow what," Rita asked in puzzlement. "The yellow, the yellow," Grandma answered, pointing at the gelatin softening in the small bowl of warm water. "Oh, the jello," Rita finally understood with a laugh.
All Grandma's friends and family got a kick out of watching that program, and I heard that story repeated for years afterwards.
The Thanksgiving I was seven Grandma Johnson had to work at the base, serving Thanksgiving dinner to all the Air force pilots who lived there. Since we couldn't have our traditional Thanksgiving dinner at her house, she invited us to come eat at the base. We thought it was kind of neat. At school my teacher had helped us make pilgrim collars and hats out of white butcher paper, and I was determined to wear mine to our dinner. I also had a brown dress that I thought made me look just like a pilgrim. I remember Mom trying to convince me that I didn't need to wear a costume to dinner, but I was determined to dress the part, so she finally gave in. I have a feeling I got a lot of strange looks from the young pilots eating dinner that day, but they didn't bother me. I thought I looked wonderful. I suppose that was my first opportunity to dress up and pretend to be someone I was not, and I still love doing it today. Grandma was so pleased to have her family with her for Thanksgiving she didn't even worry about my eccentric attire. She told me I looked wonderful, and since there were no Thanksgiving centerpieces on the tables, I became the decorations for that day. I was happy to help Grandma out.
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