Choke Cherry Jelly ...

When I was growing up we had a lot of relation.  We didn't have much money...but love by the bucket.  And our fun was clean, kind and times to be remembered.  If you lived as I did back when life was less rushed...You might relate to some of the same memories I have...beginning with my grandpa

Mel Stoffer:
        A big man.  He looked like one of the giant redwood trees of California.  People said his hands were as big as hams.  When he walked he took long strides.  He could cover a city block in less time than it took me, with my short legs to get out of the swing and down off the porch.  His snowy white moustache topped a gruff mouth, but even in the rare times of anger, the twinkle never left his blue eyes. 

    This was our grandpa.  He was the Sheriff of Reno County.  Besides having his freight business and a lumber yard.  He was also quite a man with the town ladies.  After our "real" Grandma died, he married a prim little spinster with a pinched mouth and Puritan ways.  She did her best to convert Grandpa.  Even went so far as to h
aving a nice black suit made for him.  Just for church.  "That's fine, Nettie," Grandpa said.  "I'll just save that and wear it for my funeral."
  
 She never knew that he kept his promise, because she passed on after being "Mrs. Stoffer #2 for about three years.

   Grandpa wasn't much on grieving because eight months later he married again.  To a short, stout lady named Jennie Mauck,  This caused quite a ripple of gossip around town.  Most of it carried by some of the ladies that had entertained the idea of being "Mrs. Stoffer #3 themselves.

    We liked our new grandma, Jenny.  That's what we called her, "Jenny". We would arrive at her backdoor, unexpected and unannounced.  She would greet us with "Oh my, here's our lord and ladyship, come to have tea I suspect.  With that we knew we were welcome.  Sometimes we would have hard cookies and sour lemonade.  But who complains when you are having tea with a duchess? 

    Benny and I thought our Aunts gave us a bad time.  It was nothing to the way they treated Jenny. Always reminding her that the roof she lived under had been built for their mother.  The roses in the garden had been planted by their mother  The silverware, the china and on down the line, had belonged to their dear departed mother.  Jenny seemed to ignore their remarks.                                              

    Until, it was Thanksgiving.  All the relativives were gathered in Grandpa's big house.  Jenny had been working all week.  She had dusted, scrubbed and shined.  She had roasted a big turkey, baked pies and rolls.  The table was spread with a white tablecloth.  A big bouquet of chrysanthemums were right in the middle of the table.  Napkins, candles, the good china, the whole bit.

   We hadn't been there very long when Aunt Rennie looking like a bobcat that had it's tail caught in a trap, landed on Jenny with all fours.

     "Jenny, you surely aren't going to use mama's good china.  Why poor mama will turn over in her grave if we get a chip in one her lovely dishes." Grandma #1 was looking down on all of us from a large picture above the mantel.  I, for one, thought she was enjoying this festive occasion.  Jenny tried to be nice.   "We'll just have to be careful and not chip them.  Won't we?"
  
 It went on like that all day. Both aunts, Freida and Rennie saying that "having mama's portrait here in the dining room was almost like having her here with us."

 

     "My," Aunt Frieda pursing her thin lips, remarked, " Mama would surely disapprove of the coffee stain on her good tablecloth."                                                                                                                   

     Like most men, Grandpa thought Jenny was paying even less attention to the two sisters than he was.  Not so.

      The day after Thanksgiving Benny and I went over to Jenny's to see if there was a chance of getting some leftover turkey, or a piece of pumpkin pie.  We heard pounding in the dining room. It was Jenny.                                                                                                                                       
  
  She was pounding so hard, she didn't hear us come in, and stand in the doorway.  We hadn't been standing there very long when we looked up to see that we had been joined by grandpa.  None of us said a word, we were busy watching Jenny.                                                                                         

     She was standing on a chair in front of the fireplace, with a hammer in her hand and a big nail.
It was just like she was desecrating a grave, because right there beside Grandma #1's picture she was pounding a great big nail.

     We waited for grandpa's explosion.  I wondered what he was going to do to Jenny.  He just waited.  She got down off the chair, got this big picture, climbed back up on the chair, turned the picture around, that's when we saw who it was.  We gasped.  It was Alfred, that was his name.  It was Jenny's first husband. Poor Jenny, Grandpa was going to blow his top.  What he did was throw back his head and laugh.  He laughed until tears came into his eyes.   Jenny turned around, surprised to see us standing there, still defiant.

     "Jenny, you are a card."  Grandpa then took his big hands and lifted her off the chair, gave her a squeeze and said again, "A real card.  You know those two women are as much a pain in the butt to me, as they are to you."