A Thanksgiving Portrait of Nanna
Lately, I have been thinking about family. And thankfulness. My mother’s mother Helen, Nanna to us, was Swedish and thoroughly American. Born in South Dakota in 1917, the day before 4th of July, she was a woman of faith, an artist, a 4-H sewing leader and an environmentalist before her time. She died a great-grandmother when our 27-year-old son Tim was not even 1 year old.
Nanna raised chickens and before giving away a mean rooster to a relative or friend would say, “This one’s really mean! You sure you still want him?” As I mentioned, Nanna’s parents came from Sweden. The family settled near Lead, South Dakota for a while until other opportunities and the dangers of black lung disease pressed the family forward and west to Arizona, then on west again to Oroville. There they made a home about 150 miles from the California continental shelf.
Her husband Darrel, whom she called “Otto”, drove a line truck for PG&E. Together they raised three girls. My mother, Dixie, the middle child, was an athlete, Captain of the women’s field hockey team at Chico State. When she was young my mother had bright red hair, read comic books, listened on the radio to “ONLY THE SHADOW KNOWS”, drank soda pop regularly and got cavities.” She also met my Dad at Chico State. Not necessarily in that order.
THANKFUL FOR FAMILY
Nanna named my mother Dixie, so the story goes, because of her love for the South and “GONE WITH THE WIND.”
Grandma Helen was a strong Christian and a bright spiritual light. She taught Sunday school for decades in the Lutheran church. When not wrangling mean roosters, Nanna painted in acrylic. For me, that flattop Oroville house was a place of wonder, mysteries, Easter egg hunts and occasional bad food.
A Four-Year Old with Discerning Taste
It would be unfair to say that my “Nanna” was a bad cook. After all, I was only four years old when my younger brother Mark was born and I was deposited on their step less than two weeks before Thanksgiving while his glorious birth took place. I only had three questions on my mind then. Where are MY Mommy and Daddy? What is this strange stuff I’m eating? And when will they be back?
Looking back fifty years this meal remains distinct in my memory. Nanna’s Swedish potato pancake mixture was more than my young self could imagine. A TASTE from a distant land.
Today, impressions of both the young and old NANNA still loom large in my mind. As Christians, we only see a small glimpse until the day heaven meets earth.
Is THANKSGIVING just another day?
My Nanna lived out her faith, teaching me to see a portrait of THANKFULNESS that includes all my family; both the close circle and the wider one too. I’m thankful to God for my immediate family- Chanie, my wife along with our children, Tim and Grace.
As well as, my parents Pat and Dixie and my brother Mark.
Some celebrate Thanksgiving with turkey. Others pass the pumpkin pie as a reminder: BE THANKFUL TO GOD for each day’s blessing. So with a smile and nod to NANNA, here goes.
I am THANKFUL for:
To my family and friends, in all shapes, ethnicities and sizes. Every age, color and special personality too. Thank you.
To the Richard family, and the Lollas- the Chan family and Li family. To the Tangs and the Longacres- the Kimbells and Corrs- the Nixs and the Landis’s. And to my grandmother Helen Moellendorf’s family and the Carlsons; as well as other family and friends in South Dakota and spread afar.
Even to the edges of China and our daughter Grace’s birth family whom we may never know. May your dear lives be measured in the grace of God’s scales. I PRAY. As depositing THANKFULNESS along with TREASURES OF HOPE.
And to our dear blessed Aunt Ginny, my wife’s best friend who is family of the heart. And my best friends Jay and Pete. Thank you for BEING PRESENT in our lives.
Take Time to Express THANKFULNESS
I will end with this. Some love letters to family and friends are spoken while others need to be written.
On Nanna’s 75th Birthday, she faced early Alzheimer’s. That day we came together on Uncle Larry and Aunt Linda’s agate rock patio. It was a small gathering. We asked Nanna to say a few words. She paused. Nanna knew enough to know what she wanted to say.
“Mike will speak for me.”
And so I did.
“These are the things, I am thankful to Nanna for…”
A Question for You
Is there a particular Thanksgiving memory that came to mind while reading about my “Nanna”? Please share it with us in the comment section below.
Other Helpful Links
Memories of Mom’s Garden and Her Never-ending Love – Inspire A Fire
Unconditional Thankfulness – Inspire A Fire
