Cecile Charron Schnubb

September 28th, 2016

Today is a special day. It's my grandmother's birthday. She passed away at the age of 100 years ago but her birth date will always be significant. She was a strong woman, we called her "Mama Mafia" because she didn't mince words and she had a loud voice. She raised five children in the middle of the country without a car. She was content to cook and clean as long as she had her radio. She loved music. She sang and whistled along all day. Her life was simple but she had siblings and they liked to come over and play cards or bean bag toss and, talk, and laugh.

My grandfather was a hard working man. He took over his father's general store and made it successful. He was the epicentre of his community, providing quality meats and produce. People loved his polite manner and small town charm. My grandmother cooked his meals and starched his shirts but when he got home at night, he knew who was boss. She did the bookkeeping and made the important decisions.

I had great role models in my family. My mother was a hard worker. She had a great sense of humour and, although she was mostly quiet, she could stand up for what she believed in. Then there was my grandma. There was no political correctness. She wasn't saving up for retirement. She lived her life. She laughed out loud. She kicked up her feet when she laughed. She wore lipstick, curled her eyelashes and paired red high heels with her denim jeans. She whistled, despite my grandfather's belief that real women never did. She drank beer and played cards.

At Christmas, she filled the house with family, cooked up a storm without a sweat and sang for all of us while step dancing and playing the spoons on her lap. Oh, and let's not forget her harmonica, she was a one woman show. Even in her 90s, when she had sore legs, she still did her step dance with her high heels but she remained seated and moved her feet over a wooden board. It made the same clanking song that invigorated her singing.

She was festive and feisty. She either liked you or she didn't. Anytime you brought home a friend or, heaven forbid, a boyfriend, you never knew if she would approve. My husband won her over when he sang "Michelle ma Belle" to her. If he'd serenaded me, she would have said he was a show off but, he serenaded her, smart man. She loved him and called him, "Vincent with the dreamy eyes". She wasn't very affectionate but you knew she loved you. She would cook something special and double pack it in wax paper, covered with foil. She was always happy to see you.

I loved making her laugh. She would get a kick out of watching my grandfather laugh. I would joke around, his nostrils would start to flare and his belly would jiggle. She would look over at him and laugh as well. She was very adventurous and when she got too tired to get out, she wanted to hear all about the adventures of others. She loved Bob Barker and Lawrence Welk. I can still see her sitting on the edge of her chair, watching couples dance on stage. Her entire body willed her to get up and dance along.

I am so happy she was my grandmother. She was a blessing in my life. Happy Birthday Mama Mafia! I love you!

Anne Walsh
www.artnsoul.org