Monday Motivation: A Little Mischief

Friends

Not only did I know the love of two fabulous grandmothers, but when I married, I was blessed with two more. Today, I give you a glimpse of the incredible lady we affectionately called “Grandma Pike.”

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“Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”

Proverbs 31:30 – NIV

The wind wasn’t just blowing. It was howling, swirling around the house with the fury of a tempest. The rain was pelting the windows, the raindrops hammering against the windowpanes like the pounding of a much-too-loud drum in a concert hall. The house sat deadly still, bracing for impact, shrouded in pitch-black darkness. They had lost power hours ago, no telling when it might return. Certainly not tonight.

They sat quietly in the den, a large dark-paneled room in the middle of the house. The room offered the best protection from the elements, save the wide hallway that ran towards the bedrooms. They would shelter in the hallway if need-be, but for now, the two of them remained in their armchairs, the antique mantle clock offering its steady tick-tock. They were waiting. Waiting for what? For the roof to fly off? For the windows to shatter? For dawn to break? There was nothing left to do but wait, wait for the hurricane to pass. They had no clue when it would do so.  Even worse, what would be left in its wake?

They sat in silence, out of words. What was there left to say?

He sat in his leather chair, arms propped on the padded armrests, his legs stretched out on his comfy ottoman. His body was still, save for his right hand, his outstretched fingers drumming a steady beat on the mustard-yellow leather. It was her only clue that his nerves were on edge, just like hers. 

He was a tall man with broad shoulders, thinning-gray hair, and sturdy glasses resting on his strong nose. He was in good shape for his 80+ years, the result of many hours per week chasing a golf ball around the golf course that surrounded their home.

She sat calmly in her own chair, this one daintier in size, just like the petite lady who preferred it. The chair was a Queen Anne-style, upholstered in a favorite color, a Wedgewood blue, and accompanied by a floral needlepoint footstool, this being an essential item since when seated, her feet wouldn’t reach the floor. She barely made 5 feet, her frame tiny from head to toe, but the size of her smile was anything but small. It could light up a room! 

Like her husband, Ann’s hair turned gray years before, yet hers retained that beautiful, snowy-white color no bottle can produce. Her porcelain skin was unblemished, except for the age spots that now dotted her petite hands. Those hands were always busy with one project or another, comfortable in a kitchen, happiest when baking her signature orange blossom mini-muffins, molasses cookies, or monkey bread. Those hands kept busy gardening, planting pansies in winter and impatiens in summer. Her yard was never showy, but always immaculate, her flower beds setting off the brick rancher with white trim and black shutters so perfectly.

Those hands spent many happy hours each week clutching golf clubs, their favorite club being Ann’s well-aged putter. “One-putt Pike,” her golf buddies called her, because if she could drive the ball anywhere on the green, she never failed to get it in the hole with just one putt. Ann kept standing tee times with her lady-friends, savoring the time they spent roaming  around the golf course together, and then lunching afterwards. Even better, she treasured her twosome time with her much-beloved husband, George, sharing the game they had adopted as a favorite pastime decades earlier. 

George had served as the town doctor in Chatham, New Jersey, caring for the community his entire medical career before he and Ann selected Wilmington, North Carolina for their retirement home. George was a man of stature and authority, in charge of the household, and Ann always, without fail, let him think that. Still, once I stepped inside the walls of their home, it didn’t take me long to figure out that the one who really ran things was Ann. She had a quiet, but steady presence, and a backbone that didn’t give an inch. She never argued with him, rarely corrected him on anything, but when she put her foot down about something, that’s how it went.

Ann’s raising was steeped in the social graces, her manners impeccable, her penmanship perfect. She was an exemplary hostess, a dedicated church worker and community volunteer, and a mother adored not only by her children, but by every child in the neighborhood. The community kids commandeered her yard as the baseball field, even going so far as to claim her lilac bush as second base. The bush didn’t fare too well, but the kids had a blast. Without a doubt, the welcome mat was always out at Ann’s house, not to mention the occasional homemade cookie or two.

Now in her 80s, silver-rimmed glasses adorned her slim face, but nothing could mask the mischief in her bright, blue eyes. Beneath that dainty, well-mannered exterior lay a witty sense of humor that would pop out when least expected. She was known to sit there all prim and proper, carrying on genteel conversation, and then without a hint of warning, calmly interject the most outlandish remark guaranteed to evoke fits of laughter from every person within earshot. Not only that, but she thrived on playing harmless practical jokes on her friends and family. At her youngest son’s wedding, just moments from walking down the aisle, she emerged from the bathroom, hand covering her mouth, her eyes quarter-sized with panic. Locking eyes with her husband, she blurted out, “George, I dropped my teeth in the toilet!” Gasps of horror filled the room as family members stared in alarm, until Ann dropped her hand and grinned, revealing that her newly-acquired dentures were still snugly in place. Indeed, it was common knowledge amongst her children and grandchildren that you never knew what Ann might say or do next. 

On that particular stormy night, as the wind howled above their heads, and the rain pounded the windowpanes, Ann sat in her blue chair, calmly surveying the situation. Finally, she had sat in the dark and silence long enough to come to a decision. Turning to address her beloved husband, she declared, “George, I’m going to bed. If the good Lord wants me, He knows where to find me! If a tree falls on the house, I guess I’ll just wake up.”

With that statement lingering on the air-waves, she rose determinedly, shuffled to her bedroom, took out her bilateral hearing aids, and promptly climbed under the covers. With a shrug of his shoulders, George followed her down the hallway. What else was there to do?

I’m not quite sure how George slept that night, but since Ann was deaf as a post without her hearing aids, she slept like a baby. Hurricane or not, she knew her life was in the Lord’s faithful hands, and Ann was good with that.

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Friends, that’s faith, and that was Grandma Pike, full of hope, full of joy, full of love. She had a Goliath-strength housed in that diminutive frame, an enormous heart beating within the walls of her petite chest. 

I met Ann shortly after my 17th birthday and made my first visit to her pleasant home right after my high school graduation. That first trip might not have happened without Ann’s intervention, my father not so keen on the idea of me trotting off to the beach for the weekend with my then-boyfriend, later-husband Eric. Ann came to the rescue with a well-crafted letter reassuring my father that we would be well chaperoned, making it abundantly clear that there would be no hanky-panky in her house! She was right. We wouldn’t dare! 

That was the first of many visits to Ann’s house over the years. After my marriage to Eric, Ann’s third grandchild, I knew I had been officially accepted into the family when I returned to my bedroom after breakfast intent on making my bed. Pulling back the covers, I found a huge red plastic Buddha staring up at me from my pillowcase! The Buddha had been a well-passed-around gift in a “Dirty Santa” game amongst her lady friends for at least a decade. Apparently, Ann thought it needed a comfy spot under the covers that summer morning and just failed to mention it. Ann strikes again! 

 I always admired how Ann made her beloved George a priority, continually searching for avenues of connection, be it a shared cocktail before dinner after a long day of doctoring, or a round of golf together in the twilight hours, or simply watching a  golf tournament on TV on a weekend afternoon. She had a way of making him feel special, and she was the center of his world.  

If George was her rock, her center, then her three children and seven grandchildren were the light of her life. Ann was all about the family, planning parties and get-togethers any chance she could. She adored having her family gathered around her well-laden table, thrived on the chatter of lively conversation, and positively adored the pitter-patter of tiny feet down her hallways. She had been a first-grade teacher before motherhood, and her grandchildren, and later her great-grandchildren, found her a positively awesome playmate! Their home became a vacation haven for the family, their close proximity to the beach an added bonus. But beach or not, the family would have come, because Ann’s house was full of warmth and welcome, and no one wanted to miss a moment in her presence. 

In my mind’s eye, I can still see Ann sitting in her chosen spot on their screened-in porch, the favorite room of the house as it faced the golf course, the 11th tee to the right and the 13th fairway to the left. She and George sat there every evening, drinks in hand, watching the golfers play their holes. It was the way they marked the end of the day in summer, and in winter, they shared their evening cocktail in the armchairs they inhabited on that long ago stormy night.

Always together, Ann and George shared a good life, a life of service and compassion, a life of love and faith. Well, and at least on Ann’s part, maybe a little mischief thrown in there  too! 

PRAYER

O Loving Father, thank You for the love of a good grandmother. Thank You for the strong women of faith who have served as positive role models for us. May we follow their example and live lives full of faith, hope, and love.

In the Loving Name of Jesus, we pray,

Amen

Blessings,

Anita

-APS 6/23/2025