Pansy Pie

Grammie Teele provided the glue that held my world together when I was a youngster. Mom had been raised in the South. Columbus, Georgia to be exact. Dad, Grammie's only son, was reared in Los Angeles. Mom & Dad met when he was stationed at Fort Benning during Army days. They should not have married. They were from worlds that never aligned. Dad tried to break the engagement several times. At least that was Mom's version of the story. She told me that Grammie would not allow her only son to do that. She must have been a very controlling parent. I never knew that side of her.

Grammie had waited till she was 39 to marry. She exchanged "I dos" with a man who had come here from England. He was her senior by a number of years. I never knew my grandfather. He died when my dad was 16. Then Grammie began wearing the pants in the family.

When Dad was still a minor, he lied about his age to join the Army. Several months later they sent him home as a homesick adolescent. A couple years later, he enlisted again. That is how he met my mom.

They married in Georgia and then made their home in Los Angeles. A year or so later, my older sister arrived to everyone's great delight. I am sure Grammie could hardly contain her joy. When she gave birth at the age of 41 to her only son, I'm sure Grammie never thought she'd see grandchildren. Before my sis was a year old, Mom and Dad separated. Dad must have had to put up with lots of Grammie's ranting. Divorce was seldom heard of back then and it wasn't on the list of options.

So they got back together. I am sure Grammie and Mom's southern parents sighed relief. Soon Mom and Dad were expecting again. I was their second daughter. The baby that was supposed to fix their messed-up marriage. That was a tall job; something children are not capable of accomplishing. Before I was old enough for kindergarten and before I can even remember him living at home, Dad moved out again. This time permanently.

Somewhere around that time Grammie, who had married Grandpa Teele when I was an infant, made the permanent move from Santa Monica to the lovely little beach community of Carlsbad, near Oceanside, in northern San Diego County. Grandpa owned a small "ranch." Really it was a one acre plot of land with a house, a detached garage, dozens of avocado trees, and then Grammie's flower garden. She had many varieties, but the ones I remember the most were the pansies.

Fortunately, while Mom and Dad were mending their separate lives, my sis and I spent lots of time at the "ranch" with Grammie and Grandpa. They were the definition of old in the best sense of the word. They were quiet, humble, observant, thrifty, holy, and generous in their encouragement and hope for their two granddaughters. Along with many other things Grammie taught us to make "pansy pies."

Grammie would drive us a mile to the seashore where we would fill coffee cans with sand, and then bring them back to the ranch to pour the sand with a little water into pie pans. Then we'd snip pansies from the garden and poke the stems into the wet sand.

Then our pansy pies would become the center piece of the dining room table and also the living room coffee table. Without a doubt, one of my favorite flowers is the pansy.

Anyone care for pie?

Good night from the Pacific Coast of America.
Rosie (aka Carol)