I see a stone path behind her, leading to a backyard garden and one of the last functioning outhouses in my hometown. She happily rejoiced when an indoor toilet was finally added to her Stover St. house. I recall that the bathroom - and toilet seat - were as cold as ice in wintertime, but at least the new room saved me a trip outside.
I see my mother Edith Jane in Ida Belle. Same narrow shoulders and slim figure. I'm pretty sure I don't look like my grandmother (I think I look more like her mother, Lydia Jane Gordon), but I see similarities in our shoulders and arms.
I hear her voice in the midst of lively family chatter around my mother's dining room table. Ida loved to play cards and had a chuckle that went up her sleeve. And because of a story told me about the day her husband Lorne Catton died, I can hear the lonely wail that leapt from her throat after the terrible news was delivered to her.
She carried on. She had to, because she had four children. The Catton family lived on nickels and dimes for many years and grew up with a remarkable, creative work ethic that, in my humble opinion, lives on to this day.
Once she asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told her a new car. She got it for me. It was five inches long, made of tin, and painted up black like a police car. Because I was a teen I didn't place much value on the gift, though I thought my grandmother was pretty clever and made jokes about 'my new car'.
Photo of an old photo by GH
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