2000-09-29 | 08:04:31

my maternal grandma is officially the best person who ever lived. sorry for you and your "world's best" grandfolk, but they can't hold a candle to agnes.

columbus. churchill. chaplin. whatever. agnes!

my grandma lived next door to me my entire life. first in the starter home apartment building my parents lived in. i would run next door to her place, clutching my baby blanket and chasing her little black chihuahua under the massive, laminated wood-finish stereo console (agnes was ahead of the hip pet trend by three decades, thank you very much).

when my parents decided to take a financial leap and buy a home (circa 1970 payments: $250 a month), they got a duplex, so that my grandma could still live one door down.

a built-in babysitter. a built-in "vacation home" where my dad didn't control the tv remote. a built-in therapy office offering comfort and consolation when parents seemed hateful and cruel. a built-in, fresh-baked cookie jar! a built-in playroom for hours of barbie fun where toys almost never had to be put away. a built-in heaven.

my grandma read to me by the light of a decorative table lamp made of milky teal ceramic. i'd stretch out in a skinny span next to her on her rough-napped floral couch. she would rub my back with her gentle hand and smile her ever-lovin' grandma smile when i'd look up at her face...never taking her eyes off the book.

often, the tome of choice was an "uncle arthur's bedtime stories" volume. these were short stories with "morals" for growing christian minds. some of those cautionary tales still ring in my head. still affecting my behavior. like the one about the boy who took the biggest, shiniest apple in the bowl only to find it was rotten inside. or the girl who peaked in her aunt's forbidden bottom dresser drawer only to find it full of down feathers which poufed out in ever greater numbers when she tried to hide her snoopiness. and people think "the exorcist" is scary.

during my dateless high school years, i would hike next door to my grandma's house on saturday night to watch tv. me and my sister would eat fresh-made popcorn as we lounged on our favorite, super-soft, rose-print blankets on the floor in front of the tv. i would prop the back of my head against the bottom of a nearby armchair for optimum screen-viewing leverage. my grandma would always ask me, "lori, doesn't it hurt your neck when you sit like that?" i would always say, "nope."

we knew the tv line-up by heart: first, "the lawrence welk show." my mom and grandma loved them some "and a one, and a two...wunnerful, wunnerful." actually, i enjoyed the songs and the dancing and the lovely anaconnie (sp?). i think that show is part of the reason i dig so many kinds of music now...especially those lyrical wonders by the gershwins and cole porter. no, they can't take that away from me.

after lawrence came "emergency!" with the hotter-than-wasabi randolf mantooth *fist bite*. "the love boat" soon made another run. "the golden girls" stopped by for a visit in my dateless college years. while i do regret my late blooming, i'll never regret those cozy saturday nights in my grandma's living room. i can still hear her laugh and say, "oh my!" in reaction to estelle getty's sassy-mouthed antics.

when i got into the teens, my grandma clucked her tongue at me for staying up late to watch "saturday night live" or "mtv's 120 minutes." but on weekend mornings, she always let me sleep in until i was good and ready to get up and eat a doughnut.

we baked cookies together. we went for car rides together. we went for walks together. she would wait patiently with my mom while my sister and i hunted for ladybugs in the hip-deep grass of deserted lots. she was always patient--a nice counterpoint to my mom's jangly nerves. she was always kind. she'd correct our "can's" into "may's" and tell us to never use the word "hate."

she was beautiful. the closest thing to a saint i'll ever know. ah, she wasn't perfect. my mom, of course, had mother/daughter issues and some grudges from the past to hold against her. but as a granddaugther, i was able to enjoy her at the peak of her perfection--mellowed by her hardships and full of cardigan-wearing love.

my mother called the day my grandma passed away. i sat on the floor and cried. it hadn't been a shock. she had faded away slowly and we were relieved she was at peace. especially my mom who had cared for her daily and watched her decline. her last nights were spent in my twin bed in the corner of my old room under the same '70s bedspread i'd slept under.

i was dating vietnam at the time. he comforted me and gave me a little frame to put a picture of my grandma in. and he said such a wonderful thing to me. something that gave me great comfort: "now you can carry on in her place." that filled my heart up something fierce. if there was anyone whose path i would like to emulate, it was hers.

there was one of those "uncle arthur" stories i remember especially well--ok, it's a bit melodramatic, but bear with me. it was about a mother who was ashamed of her ugly, scarred hands. she would wear gloves and try to hide them under the folds of her skirts. the damage was from years earlier when she had rescued her baby daughter from a fire. one day, the mother lamented their unattractiveness. "i wish my hands were pretty like they used to be." the daughter's response: "mother, those hands saved my life. those scars represent your love and sacrifice. i can't imagine anything more beautiful."

my grandma's hands were eventually crippled with arthritis. age spots tripped across their stretched-thin shiny, silken soft skin. my grandma would complain about their unattractiveness, as well. but those hands smoothed my tearful head. those hands turned the pages of storybooks. those hands mixed bowl after bowl of tollhouse cookies and the best cinnamon rolls on god's green earth. there was nothing more beautiful to me than those hands. and nothing more beautiful than my grandma.

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