ELEGY

 

Anna Gordon Knoll

These mellow, golden October days always intensify my sentimental nature. So many memories of the past keep surfacing.

October 17th marked the death of my maternal grandmother Anna Gordon Knoll. I was only sixteen when she died, but I retain vivid memories.

My great- grandfather John Gordon had twelve children. The first two were born in Hungary. The rest were born here in the U.S. My Grandmother Knoll was born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

The eldest of the Gordon children was my great-aunt Kate, who was murdered in 1906 at the age of eighteen by my great uncle Frederick Lang (I've written several blog posts about this tragedy).

When I was a very young child in New Jersey, both my parents worked, so I was left in the care of my grandmother.

Her presence is indelibly etched in my memory. She was soft spoken, gentle, with an inherent manner of dignity and sophistication - which was prevalent in all the Gordon women.

She had a beautiful singing voice, and would usually sing while doing her daily tasks around the house.

She was a magnificent cook. Her Hungarian food was so delicious, that my cousins still remember it to this day. My very favorite was her tesztaleves (noodle soup) with, of course, homemade noodles. I also remember the kenyar (bread), sutemenyek (pastries), and serpenyos rostelyos (pot roast).

She always called me Janczi (pronounced yan-chee) - - which was a derivative of Janos (John).

She died in New Jersey and my parents and I lived in California. We had only a very short time to drive back east for the funeral.

My father drove at breakneck speed across country in his brand new Cadillac. We didn't even stop to sleep in a motel. We pulled over at a roadside rest stop and slept in the car for a few hours.

My most vivid memory of that trip was the gorgeous autumn scenery. The weather all across country was clear and beautiful.

The loss of my grandmother had an intense impact on me, which still remains.

Sleep in the comforting arms of peace.

Me, age sixteen in my senior year. This photo was taken two weeks before my grandmother died.

I took a crimson rose from her graveside and pressed it in my Bible. It retained a sweet scent for many years, but eventually faded and turned almost black. It's still in the Bible.

I still have her cookie jar, which was given to me by one of my aunts. I remember this jar since I was three years old. My grandmother always had it filled with homemade cookies.

Jon

I'm blogging frequently this month because  I have a lot to say. You can read about my possum house guests in my previous post.