I’ve been sitting here trying to think of something topical and pertinent to write for this week’s column but the ideas just aren’t flowing. Usually I have three or four undeveloped ideas mulling in my brain at one time and I can scoop my ladle into that well and create something wonderful.
This weekend, however, my grandmother died and my creative well has run dry while I try to process the loss and the idea of having to go to Minnesota in the middle of winter. When my grandma died I was at Portland Center Stage watching an adaption of Moliere’s play The Imaginary Invalid. The play was full of fart jokes and crude humor, but, if you were paying attention, some interesting political and social commentary. My grandma would have loved it. As I left the theater I had three missed calls and I turned to the people next to me and said, “Well, I guess I better prepare for bad news.”
Marion Borgstrom-Kloss had a wicked sense of humor and a sharp tongue. She looked like a Barbie doll in her wedding pictures and kept a Chippendale calendar in her cupboard. My mom characterized her at a tough old broad and I will always remember her fabulous 1950’s style jewelry and pink lipstick. She dyed her hair blond and knew the importance of getting her hair styled each week. She cooked, she cleaned and she made calendars out of sequins. The candy dish was always full and so was your glass. The last time we visited, she badgered my husband to put butter on his zucchini bread until he finally succumbed. We still laugh about it to this day.
She grew up on a farm about an hour from Minneapolis. The last time I was in Minnesota I took this picture of the barn.
I will miss her terribly but at least I got her zucchini bread recipe before it was too late.