Nana

Five-foot two-inches of pure love and kindness.

That’s my grandmother. We called her Nana.

The name Nana wasn’t as popular as it is today, and we always loved that it had that nice Bohemian ring to it. Nana was full-blooded Czechoslovakian – the first generation of her family born in America. Actually, as she was the oldest of her siblings, the first Kolembar born in the United States. Born in 1912, at the end of the year.

But those are just statistics. None of that tells you who she really was. Being the first generation from immigrant parents certainly shaped her life in a different way than others who had been here for ages. We noticed it in little ways. Like how she said “huss the lights” instead of “turn off the lights”. Or how some of our favorite meals included kinedliky and zeli, which are dumplings and sauerkraut with caraway seeds. Those little black spicy gems made quite an impression on my mother, who had never seen them before and thought that bugs had gotten into the food the first time she ate at Nana and Grandpas house. Once mom found out the magic of caraway seeds they found themselves into dishes at home, and plain old sauerkraut became zeli permanently.

Nana spent three days every Christmas baking our favorite Czechoslovakian treat – kolaczkis. It was a labor of love taking three-to-four hours the first day to create two different kinds of dough, an hour the second day to blend the two doughs together, and all day the third day to make and bake dozens and dozens of golden delicious filled pastry cookies that literally melted in your mouth. Kolaczkis were a favorite at our house and a big hit with our friends. The older we got, the more kolaczkis Nana had to make every year to accommodate all the people that would stop by for a cup of coffee or a glass of milk and a bite of heaven.

When we were very young, my siblings and I looked forward to each other’s birthdays almost as much as we did our own birthday. That’s because Nana would always buy a “big” present for the birthday kid, but also give “little” presents to the two of us who weren’t celebrated that day to remind us that we were always loved and always special no matter who was getting the most attention at the moment. Nana was determined that the three of us would always know our worth, and never be jealous of the others. As we got older we got to go on special one-on-one “dates” with Nana in the summer. We would spend the whole day together at the park or library or shopping or a movie or whatever we chose, then have dinner out at a steak house. Just the two of us. Just Nana and whoever’s turn it was for date night. We each got one cherished day of undivided love and attention like that every summer. We looked forward to it all year long!

When I was ten we moved 650 miles away from Nana to a different state. Not because we wanted to leave her behind, but because my dad got transferred and we had to go. We were all heartbroken at the thought of not spending much time with Nana, but that situation was resolved quickly when she decided to come spend every summer with us to help out my parents with us kids and to stay close to her grandchildren. Toward the end of every school year she would drive twelve hours to the little apartment we created for her in our home in order to spend the summer watching over us. Nana was a pure bundle of love and joy with an infectious cheer – it was impossible to be in a bad mood around her – but she could be fierce when she needed to. I never realized until I was older that part of that fierceness was driving herself halfway across the country at a time when sixty was considered “old”. We never knew how old Nana was – she always said she was twenty-nine. But when dad turned 30 the gig was finally up and we started doing math to figure out her age. She spent her sixties and early seventies driving back and forth from her home to our home every year, leaving her husband alone for a few months at a time, and never complained about it once. It was her little adventure.

I think the fiercest thing I ever saw Nana do happened when I was twelve. We lived in what I liked to call “suburban country”. We lived in a neighborhood, but we had two-plus acres of land and everyone around us had acreage as well. So there were plenty of houses, but there were also horses and cows and dirt roads and the kind of critters that country living brings.

We had a large rock garden next to our house where we kids used to play – jumping from boulder to boulder with each other and the dogs. It was our own version of “king of the hill”. Sometimes the horses would wander into the rock garden and nibble on the greens growing there, although they definitely weren’t supposed to! One day Nana was out working in the rock garden and she turned over a rock to find a nest copperhead snakes underneath. She made quick work of chopping them to death with the hoe in her hand. I was absolutely amazed…and horrified.

“Nana weren’t you scared?” I asked

“I’m too old to be scared of anything,” she laughed.

“But Nana, weren’t you sad?” Being a sensitive animal lover included snakes in my world. “Why did you have to kill them?”

“I’m sad that it made you sad,” she told me, “but I will always protect you kids no matter what it takes. I could never take the chance that a poisonous snake would bite you so if I have to kill a million of them to make sure you are safe I will kill a million of them.”

I think that moment was the first time I ever realized the sacrifice that some make for others. Nana didn’t want to kill the snakes, but she felt that she had to. I’m not sure I could have made the same choice. I either would have run screaming from the garden, or turned the rock back over and never mention the danger lurking underneath in order to keep the snakes safe. I learned a valuable lesson that day in realizing that what is best for all isn’t necessarily what you want.

Nana wasn’t cruel, though. The copperheads may have had to go but the little mouse that she caught in the house with her bare hands got a swift escort to the outdoors where he belonged. Anyone that can catch a mouse with her bare hands and then release it definitely loves animals. And that make me realize even more how unpleasant it must have been for her to have killed those snakes to protect us. And that made me feel more loved than ever.

I think the most influence that Nana had on me was her ability to look at the bright side of everything. I discovered it on the day that Nana accidentally learned how to fly.

My family built our barn ourselves. From scratch. From the ground up. From literally breaking up rocks and digging out the foundation to putting the beautiful red tin roof on the top. It was a lot of fun for us kids, even though it was a ton of hard work. Everyone pitched in on the build – including Nana. During the process, we realized that Nana was tougher than she looked, and had grit and determination to spare. No job in the barn building was too much for her, and she wielded wood and power tools like a pro during the process.

One beautiful, hot, sweltering summer day we were putting the roof on the barn. Excitement was high as this was the last step to complete before we would be able to bring our horses home from where they were being boarded down the street. I couldn’t wait until my big black gelding was able to finally live at home and I could see him every time I went outside!

Though the excitement level was high, the exhaustion level nearly matched it. We were hot, sweaty, tired, dirty and ready to be finished with the project after a whole summer of slaving away at it. My dad was on the top of the roof, nailing down the red corrugated tin we used for the entire barn exterior. The tin came in large sheets that took two of us kids to carry. That was our job – carry each sheet over to the ladder and pass it to Nana, who stood on the ladder and passed the sheet up to dad on the roof. It was an excellent system that was working well, until the wind came.

Suddenly out of nowhere a giant hot gust of air swooped through the barn opening. Nana was on the ladder holding on to a piece of roofing at the time, passing it up to dad. But Mother Nature had other ideas and that gust of wind picked up Nana and her piece of tin – which was acting as a sort of parachute or kite holding her up in the air! She flew about twenty feet before crashing to the ground. We ran over to her, panic-stricken, worried she was injured. But as we got closer to her, we heard a funny sound. She was laughing!

Relief flooded through the family as we realized Nana was unhurt. We helped her sit up, then stand up and get her feet back under her. All the while she was laughing.

“That is the first time I’ve ever flown without an airplane!” she exclaimed as she rose to her feet.

“Nana are you ok?”

“Nana weren’t you scared?”

“Nana aren’t you hurt?”

We pelted her with a barrage of questions.

“I’m fine,” she responded, “and that was actually kind of fun! Although I would not choose to do it again.”

I was thinking to myself that it was unbelievable that she was laughing after such a harrowing adventure. I thought I would have been scared and crying with the fright I felt if I had been lifted off the ladder like she was. But her laughter and her glee at the event sunk deep into my soul that day and I realized, suddenly and without formal explanation, that you get to choose how to look events of your life. You can look at the dark, scary, downside and honor that, or you can choose to look at the bright, fun and full of life side and honor that instead. Nana chose to laugh and enjoy the fun part of flying rather than give in to the terror of it.

To this day I still live my life the same way. I look for the bright side of everything. I focus on the good and the positive and the fun. This ability is one of the greatest gifts I have ever gotten. It allows me to fly high over any possible despair and depression that may arise. And I got that gift that day my Nana flew without an airplane.