By Diane Hoemeke

The oldest of the grandchildren, I lived with Grandpa and Grandma Magelli in their Mt. Clare home until I was 15. 

Here are a few of my favorite memories about Grandma: 

She held the bib of her apron in place with two tiny safety pins.

On cold winter mornings, she’d rise early, head to the basement and stoke the coal furnace so the rest of us woke up in a warm house.

On Saturday mornings, she’d send me to the store for “nickel’s worth of yeast” for homemade bread.

She hauled buckets of hot water from the mine trough to the front yard or the basement, depending on the weather, to wash clothes.

To prepare for Sunday dinner, she’d get a long, stiff wire with a hook on the end. She’s head out to the chicken coop, wrap the hook around one of the hen’s feet, then wring its neck, pluck it, clean it and turn it into a delicious meal.

She kept eggs laid by our hens in a special bowl in a corner of the kitchen cabinet. Not in the refrigerator.

Her disciplinary style was throwing one of her shoes across the living room at Pete and Paul for wrestling and making noise when she was trying to rest.

With her “machete-style” knife, she could rapidly cut the pasta that she’d rolled into a large square. Sometimes, she’d make wide egg noodles. Other times, she’d slide the pasta into slender angel hair spaghetti.

She kept a pair of brass knuckles how she had a pair of brass knuckles in a junk box in a drawer in the dining room.

Grandma would sit next to Grandpa on the couch and they’d hold hands.

She left me a $2 bill in her strong box when she passed.