Rice and Socks

Once Aunt Gert moved back to St. Louis and Grandma Hilda lived with her on Jamieson, we

got to see them more often. Once in a while they would come to our house for Sunday dinner.

You never knew what Aunt Gert was going to say. She had some fairly off-center ideas about

things.

Once my Mom served rice with the dinner and Aunt Gert said, in amazement, "how did you

get this spaghetti in to such small pieces?" We were at a loss as to how to tell her what it

really was. But Grandma Hilda, who never gave Gert a pass, said "You dummkopf, that's rice,

not spaghetti."

Around the same time, my mother had a cat she named Socks because she was mix of black, white and gray. Each of her four legs had enough grayish white to make it look as if she was

wearing socks, hence the name.

One time, when Gert and Hilda were visiting, we were sitting in the living room and Aunt

Gert asked my mom, "How do you get those little mittens on all her paws." Again, we were

speechless, but Hilda said, in a voice born of resignation, "Those aren't mittens. That's her

feet."

Grandma Hilda was not above doing strange things, herself. While she was living with us,

she helped with the washing and drying. One day my Mom came home from work and noticed

there was something different about her chenille bedspread. Then it dawned on her: the fringe around the bottom and the little balls were no longer there. Mom asked grandma

Hilda what happened and she said she cut the fringe and balls off because it kept getting

tangled.

I think grandma also sent several pieces of clothing to the Good Will when actually they were

on a chair to be taken to the cleaners. When the Schmidt Sisters were around there was

seldom a dull minute.