I’m looking forward to cooking with my granddaughter, swapping tips and sharing stories

Reading my friend Ana Veciana-Suarez’s recent column about the thrill of having her grandchildren for a visit reminded me of my newest great-granddaughter, Loretta Jane Hardie, who arrived on June 6, 2020, in Brooklyn.

On Christmas Day of 2019, her parents gave me an American Airlines gift card to visit when the baby came. Because of the pandemic, I have yet to use the gift card. I long to hold her and kiss her chubby cheeks.

But thanks to the Portal device her parents sent me, I can watch Loretta Jane’s growth. She has learned to recognize me, and now waves to me when she sees my picture over the screen in their New York living room. Still, it is not the same as being able to cuddle her.

Ana’s column also brought to mind my own grandchildren, now all adults. When they were little, it was always a joy to have them around. And unlike Ana’s grandchildren, when my grands were young, they all lived within minutes away. They visited frequently, and how I enjoyed their visits.

Recently, my middle granddaughter LaQuonia Hines, 35, a Miami-Dade public school teacher, asked me to teach her how to cook several of her favorite meals — meals that she first ate at my house as a little girl. I was delighted.

I have often thought of sharing traditions with my granddaughters (I have five). Over the years, I have enjoyed cooking dishes they like.

“I’ll teach you to make it,” I’d say whenever they complimented me on something I made for them. Their all-time favorite is my pound cake, which I tweak from time to time to make it a bit different each time.

It pleases me that LaQuonia wants to know my secret to making her favorites such as oxtails and collard greens. Actually, there really is no secret.

Like my own grandma Susie, I hardly ever measure anything. It’s a dash of this, and a pinch of that — and lots of love. And, somehow, it all comes together in the end. Still, my grandma passed on valuable cooking secrets to me. Now, I will pass this tradition on to my granddaughter.

I am looking forward to our cooking date. It will be more than a cooking session. I will be passing on to another generation of women in our family the “kitchen secrets” that have comforted us through some hard times.

It is a way to spend some quality time with one of my adult granddaughters, a time for sharing and telling stories. Stories like how I rode the train to Fort Worth when I was 10, with my lunch of fried chicken and pound cake in a shoe box, because Blacks weren’t allowed in the dining car.

As we talked, LaQuonia wanted to know how I managed with two sons, to feed, clothe and keep a roof over our heads as a single mother.

“It wasn’t easy,” I told her. “Looking back, I really don’t know how I made it, except for the Lord.”

I believe it was the Lord who taught me how to take a pound of ground chuck, a can of red beans, some onion and green bell pepper and a little grated cheese and make a meal that my sons thought was fit for a king. It had to be the Lord, I told her, because I’d never heard of that recipe before.

“I’d cook a pot of white rice and make a salad or a vegetable to add to the meal and they were in food heaven,” I said. LaQuonia laughed. “They always thought I made the best meals. They never knew how I had to cut corners, to produce decent meals for them. And somehow, there was always enough to feed one of their hungry friends.”

This bit of information was news to my granddaughter.

“But, Grandma, I always thought you were rich,” she told me.

Now it was my turn to laugh.

“No, baby,” I said to her.

I was far from being rich. I explained to her that my salary was never equal to that of my white co-workers, but that somehow, the Lord taught me how to stretch a dollar.

I became a homeowner (which was not easy to do for a Black single mother in the early 1970s), bought several cars, and my sons always dressed nicely. They never knew how hard a time I was having, I told her.

“I guess I thought you were rich because when we came to your house, there were always good things to eat, and you made us all those beautiful dresses when we were growing up. I remember… ,” LaQuonia said.

I was glad she remembered. Our conversation brought back the memory of those days when I would take a week’s vacation before Christmas and a week before Easter to make pretty dresses and bows for my girls.

I even sewed matching lace on their socks. Not only did I sew for my granddaughters, I also sewed for my goddaughters. A week of almost nonstop sewing would produce sometimes nine dresses and matching bows, all Laura Ashley fabrics. I loved doing it.

And I love how LaQuonia wants to learn from me. Passing on traditions and heirlooms is important to me. I don’t have money to leave my girls, but I have stories and recipes and a few items — heirlooms to me — to leave with them after I am gone.

More than the material things, I have a heart filled with love to pass on. And that’s priceless.