Get The Pies Out of the Oven

I wrote this story about my grandma a few years ago:

I had a lot of memories of my Grandma Stratford as I was preparing for Thanksgiving. Her name was Vera Calder Stratford, but everyone called her Sally because she was as stubborn as her brother’s old mule Sally. My daughter is named Vera, my brother is Calder, and my sister is Sally. This is how much we loved her.

Every Sunday was Thanksgiving at my grandma’s house. She started preparing for Sunday dinner on Monday morning and it was always big…turkey, ham, chicken, lots of desserts. When she and my grandpa moved to Provo, she would have all the grandkids and their roommates up from BYU for Sunday dinner. Then she would seat me by the “nice-looking fellows” and any roommates who might be competition at the kids’ table.

My grandma loved to cook, and she was famous for it. Whenever people found out my name was Stratford, they would ask if Sally was my grandma, then they would rave about her wonderful hot rolls.

I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my grandma. I remember making what seems like hundreds of lemon tarts for a wedding breakfast the next day. But by nightfall, the bride had changed her mind and ended up going with her recently returned missionary instead of the groom. So we had a lot of lemon tarts on our hands.

Grandma Stratford really wanted me to learn how to cook, but for some reason it didn’t stick. When I was about 13, she had me come to her house for a week-long cooking class. We started with white sauce and some other basics but by mid-week, we were both discouraged and ended up going shopping instead. From then on, my Sunday dinner jobs were always putting ice in the glasses and setting the table.

I guess that is why I always feel more comfortable setting the table than cooking the meal. As I got out all the china and silver last week, I thought of the hundreds of tables I set at her house. She taught me how to properly place everything and how to create a welcoming environment.

One day my brother Calder found grandma collapsed on the kitchen floor and thought she might be dead. He heard her whispering something and leaned down for what might be her last words. She weakly said, “Get the pies out of the oven.”

Her priorities never wavered.

I miss my grandma.

(This was a trip back from Utah to the Hotel Bel Air for a garden club party.  She was so happy to see her friends.)