Personal Narrative: Grandma's Work

My subject is my aunt, Florence Lucey. She is a 65-year-old female, who identifies with her gender. She is a white, heterosexual, Catholic, Italian woman who has lived in Connecticut for her entire life. She currently lives in Weston, CT, in the home that she has lived in for the past 20 years. Florence has been married twice; she was widowed in 2003 and remarried in 2014. She has one sister, Donna, my mother, and 4 kids, all who are out of the house. I was able to gather my information over facetime and received real-time data coverage. I will be referring to my subject as Florence throughout this paper.

This was my 2nd year in clothing construction and my 7th year in girls buymanship. If you know me good enough you would know that I don’t dress up often so when I do it must be a special occasion. During buymanship and clothing construction I am able to dress up some and as much as I want to. These last 2 years I have enjoyed making something that I can use quite frequently in clothing construction, doing so makes me feel good about myself and what I've done.

Religion has always been around for many years and will continue to live on. Since 2014, there are an estimated 4,200 different religions, all over the world each believing in different things Having their own set of rules and tradition that must be followed. Storytelling became a way to give people advice or telling people what would happen if they disobey their religious rules or tradition. In the story of a grandmother, it critiques religion for the way it can lead to snap judgments and a loss of freedom.

Sewing my granddaughter's birthday dress, I was fretting over the perfect fabrics, questioning the oversized silk bloom that was to be pinned to the front of the bodice, all the while thinking, surely no two-year-old is going to run around with this monstrosity hanging from the front of her but in the end, opting to keep it because it was, in fact, adorable. I made coffee, took my dog out, said hello to the neighbor, and then Paris...

“I’m sure you’re probably wondering why right? Well, let me tell you. Good ole’ dad here, has this wonderful taxidermy business that I’ve wanted to be a part of since I was a child. Turns out girls can’t do this kind of stuff though, ‘they belong in the kitchen’,” she spoke with a mocking tone, “So I instead went into sewing. Next thing you know I’m practically the best needleworker in this town. I thought my talents deserved to be displayed to prove my scum of a father wrong. Some women in my sewing class teased me about it, so I just gave them a little taste of what I was capable of. Who knew dad’s old taxidermy kit full of arsenic would come handy.” Mildred cackled out and continued her rant. “And here I am, showing the main person who doubted my abilities just how much I belong in that damn shop of his. He might not be alive to see my handy work on him but that’s fine, I’ll let the Philberg Police Department do the

Oh Junior, such a poor kid. Growing up with such an array of disabilities has definitely taken a toll on him. Seeing him constantly falling victim to teasing and bullying certainly makes me sad but sometimes I feel that he brings it upon himself; of course I am not allowed to say that though, being his grandmother I am required to be supportive of my grandson. I wish that he would somehow manage to at least find a few new friends. The only kid I ever see him around is that Rowdy boy. I know that they have been friends since birth but he is absolutely cruel and is constantly fighting others on the reservation - I do not think that he is a very good influence for Junior to be around. Rowdy had

The simple bowl is deep cherry wood with a silver rimmed bottom that reflects my face upside down as a result of the polishing it has received over the years. The grain is worn, but still radiates the strength of the tree that it came from. As I run my finger over the inside of the cavernous salad bowl, it picks up some of the olive oil residue from the homemade Italian dressing that has seeped into every little grain of the bowl over years of use. Never subject to washings; we only wiped it out with a paper towel, to better flavor the crisp Boston bibb lettuce salads that it delivered at every family dinner. Just as the wood bowl, my grandmother was weathered and cracked by the trials of life. I could not be around her without leaving

My grandmother, Joan Stackhouse, has been the most influential woman in my life. She was born in the late 1930s and raised during the time where African Americans didn’t have many rights. She told me about a time where all she could do is clean houses to earn a couple cent to support the family. Her husband worked as a policeman and was barely home. When an educational opportunity became available she took advantage of it and began taking classes at Francis Marion University to later become a teacher’s aid. Today at almost 80 she’s battling Rheumatoid Arthritis, fibromyalgia, and a couple other things that comes with old age. But she remains strong. my grandmother has influenced me to remain strong regardless of the situation and has taught

I have a great grandma that lives in Adairsville, GA that is getting worse and worse everyday. I have never met her before until last Spring when I went on vacation to Florida and stopped on the way back to visit her. She is the sweetest little old lady I have ever met. It made me sad to know that I have never visited her until now. I wish I could see her more often. we write letters to each other quite a bit. She never forgets to send us each something on the holidays. We only visited for about 3-4 hours then headed off back home. I wanted to stay all day. Even though I have only met her once it feels like I have had this connection with her my whole life.

I was a little girl trying to get around in the small town Cresco Iowa. I tried my best to do my best with everything I did; mostly to make others around me happy. Growing up I didn’t have very many role models or guiding people to help me through my life. When I was a little and got to know my grandparent’s the older I got, I was obsessed; I looked up to them and hope to achieve what they have as a couple and individually. The most difficult time of my life was losing them.

I have always considered myself a feminist. I am inspired by women who are independent, fearless, and refuse to be any less than their best. For an extremely long time, these independent women were belittled and were not given the same academic acknowledge that men got, but they nonetheless forged ahead. One of these strong women, was my grandmother.

revert to the denim du jour for the rest of the school year. Even she

It was a Monday night; I remember it like it was yesterday. I had just completed my review of Office Administration in preparation for my final exams. As part of my leisure time, I decided to watch my favorite reality television show, “I love New York,” when the telephone rang. I immediately felt my stomach dropped. The feeling was similar to watching a horror movie reaching its climax. The intensity was swirling in my stomach as if it were the home for the butterflies. My hands began to sweat and I got very nervous. I could not figure out for the life of me why these feelings came around. I lay there on the couch, confused and still, while the rings continued. My dearest mother decided to answer this eerie phone call. As she

I will tell you a tale of a woman of great success. This is a woman that has inspired me to be something great one day and to never give up trying. Though she may be growing into her elderly years she has lived a very challenging, joyful, loving and successful life. She is a woman of great faith and character, she is my grandmother.

At just over five feet tall, she was the kind of woman that you saw on the street and knew to move out of her way. Her demeanor was strict, her hands tied with thick blue veins, criss­crossing over her thin, frail fingers.