Mary Poppins Monday: Nonnie

Of course I could not even begin to honor the people in my life unless I started with...

NONNIE!!!




Nonnie was my maternal grandmother and if anyone was placed on this earth just to be my guardian angel, it was Nonnie. Nonnie was my hero. You may not think that being a grandmother is heroic, but it was the way that Nonnie did it.

First you should know that Nonnie was the COOLEST grandma EVER!

She would pull us out of school to go to Disneyland, where she would hop on all the roller coasters right beside us.

She would have us over to play cards and we would take spontaneous breaks to play roller derby. Roller derby was a game started by Nonnie herself when she one day burst away from the table on her wheel-bottomed chair and took off around the house. We all followed and chased each other around and around. I am so game for some roller derby...does anyone have chairs with wheels anymore?

Nonnie was a dancer. She danced her whole life and was still dancing professionally into her 70's with a group called "The Dancing Grandmas". She even practiced with me when I tried out for cheer and got right down on the ground and did the splits with me. Does it get any cooler than that?

Nonnie loved to spoil us. She would tell my grandpa to take a nap and then sneak us out to get waffle cone sundaes...for LUNCH! (Don't worry...she was usually a health nut and is probably solely responsible for any and all vegetables I have ever consumed)


Nonnie was funny! I can still picture her imitation of a chicken in a hail storm. I still smile when I think of how she called her competition in the dance world the "Bag of Bones" instead of by their preferred title, The Vagabonds.

Aside from being insanely cool, Nonnie took care of us.

If we were sick at school, Nonnie came. We were then treated like royalty on her couch until we healed. It was a privilege to be sick at Nonnie's house.

Nonnie took us to swimming lessons, and gymnastics, and anywhere else that required a ride.

She carpooled us to school.

She took us shopping.

We went out to eat.

She prepared super yummy meals and snacks for us and then sat with us while we ate. That sounds simple, but as a mom I know it is sometimes tempting to just throw a bag of fruit snacks at my kids and send them downstairs.

There was nothing that Nonnie wouldn't do for us.

She even bought me my first car, and sent me to college.

I admired Nonnie. She was so strong. She was even strong enough to comfort me when her husband, my Papa (coming soon to a Monday near you) passed away. She held it together so that I could fall apart.

Nonnie was my friend. I loved to talk to Nonnie. She listened to me. She talked to me. One of my fondest memories will always be walking around Balboa Island with Nonnie. Every night, when we vacationed there, we would walk downtown to get a treat and then walk all the way around the island. As much as I love a good Balboa Bar (preferably topped in butter brickle), it was the walk with Nonnie that was my dessert.

Nonnie believed in me. She helped me to find confidence. When I hated my "witch nose" and thought I needed a nose job, she took me to the mall. We nose shopped. We talked about all the noses passing by and she helped me to see that it could certainly be worse, and that my nose was perfect for my face. It was part of what made me Julie.

When I started high school my friends were starting to look like teenagers and I still looked 10, at best. I thought I was ugly. The other girls had bright lipstick and eyeliner and all the boys were looking. The boys did not pay any attention to me, unless you count the group of boys who would ask me to lay on my back so they could use my flat chest for a racetrack. Nonnie would remind me that all the other girls had braces and "teenage skin" and that I was beautiful. She looked at me and I knew she saw something that I never did.

I knew Nonnie loved me. I always knew that. That may be the only thing in my life that I have never questioned.

Nonnie was not particularly warm. We didn't hug much. She didn't say I love you. She even had a bit of an attitude, but if she loved you, you knew she loved you.

Maybe it was the 7 million boxes of pictures she left behind (which I still think should be in my possession, mom). She was always trying to capture everything we did on film.

Maybe it was the gentle way she woke me up in the morning. She would come in and open the blinds just a touch, letting in a sliver of sunlight. She would softly whisper "Good Morning Princess". She would set some slippers by the bedside and then go back into the kitchen and finish making my breakfast, usually her famous omelets and fresh squeezed OJ. She didn't have to tell me to get up twice. I could feel her presence nearby and I would just melt out of bed and gravitate to her side. When I think of being warm and safe and loved, I think of waking up at Nonnie's.

I find myself frustrated trying to paint Nonnie for you. So many words and yet the canvas still looks blank. I am so grateful that I can still feel in my heart who Nonnie was.

I was so blessed to get to keep Nonnie with me throughout my childhood. I graduated in 1993 and shortly thereafter Nonnie was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. My Nonnie! She had always been so healthy and young and full of life and we were losing her.

The first time I came home from college to visit I ran to see Nonnie. We went to Marie Calendars. After we ate she insisted that we get a whole pie to take home. When we got home she told my mom I was being spoiled and greedy and made her buy a whole pie. My heart broke. Nonnie wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't have said that. Nonnie was disappearing.

Her behavior grew increasingly more strange. I HATE Alzheimer's. It eventually takes your health and your life but it also avariciously takes everything with it on it's way. The strongest woman that I have ever known lay helpless in the arms of this disease.

When I left on my mission I was afraid Nonnie wouldn't know me when I returned. She sent me with a jacket that belonged to her. It smelled like her. Oh, to smell Nonnie again. I can't describe how she smelled but I would know it like my own heartbeat if I were permitted to smell it again. It was clean and warm and beautiful. I wore her jacket often, or sometimes just sniffed it. It made it through the whole mission, unwashed and still with a hint of Nonnie.

Then I came home. I drove up to Nonnie's house. She was waiting on the porch crying. I had never seen her cry, but Alzheimer's changed so many things. She was bouncing like a little girl. She remembered me. I ran to embrace her. She even remembered Seth and asked when he would be home.

We sat together at church every week until I moved back to Utah. She said lots of crazy stuff but she still knew me. What a sweet gift to be granted one last moment with Nonnie.

Just a month later I called her on her birthday. She kept asking who I was. Just that quickly, she was gone. She never recognized me again.

In January 2007, Nonnie was in the hospital. Her time was short. I had plane tickets to California to see my sister Kelly return from her mission. I knew that I had to go and say goodbye to Nonnie. One morning at 3:00 AM, two weeks before my trip, my mind was suddenly tackled by Nonnie memories. I thought of every Nonnie moment that my memory holds. I laughed and I cried. I prayed. I told Heavenly Father how grateful I was that He sent me Nonnie. I told Him that I wanted her home with Papa. I got a call later that day. I heard the words that my heart already knew. Nonnie was gone.

I cried and I ached, and I rejoiced in her return to my grandpa.

I can't recreate Nonnie in words. Not even Steinbeck could. I miss her still. I am reminded of her often. Sometimes I am even blessed to catch a glimpse of her in Alyssa's smile.

Nonnie was so many things to so many people and I know it sounds egocentric but there is part of me that will always believe that Nonnie was mine.

My gift, my angel, my hero.