My Grandmother

Mocha was my mother’s mother. She is really the only grandparent that I remember. Granddaddy, Mother’s father, and Grandma, Daddy’s mother, died was I was very young and I only remember them really from pictures. Grandpa, Daddy’s father, died before my parents ever met, so I obviously never knew him. We were lucky to have Mocha for a grandmother. She was an amazing woman and always fun to be around. Mocha was born Marion Carney Malone on June 8, 1898. It’s sort of weird to think about, now that we’re in the 21st century, someone actually being born in the 19th century, even if it was just barely that. She gave birth to my mother when she was almost 28, which was probably a little old in those days. This is the earliest picture that I have of her, when my mother was a baby.

 

I think for a long time that Mocha and Granddaddy and their daughters lived a pretty cushy life. I’ve heard that they had a cook and a maid and they lived in a pretty nice neighborhood in Charlotte. I’m guessing that when the Depression came around that they had to tighten their bootstraps some too, just like everyone else, and that’s when Mocha learned to cook. Mocha really was a pretty good cook. Her specialty was baked goods though. I’ve mentioned before how she made cakes for the grandchildren’s birthdays and would make anything that we asked. Her angel food cake was always a hit as was her pound cake, and those got requested often. She also made chess pies, which were basically a super-sweet custard-like concoction in individual tart shells. Somewhat like a baked crème brulee, although not as creamy. Put a little whipped cream on that baby and you were bouncing off walls for days!

 

 

She also was a great casserole maker. She made a wonderful chicken and wild rice casserole that was a favorite in our family. It was always my brother Paul’s birthday dinner and, since my mother served this often when we had guests, it’s been passed on to others. Here it is for your eating pleasure:

1 box Uncle Ben’s wild and long grain rice

2 – 2 ½ lb. fryers, cooked and boned

10 ¾ oz. can condensed cream of celery soup

1 onion (minced)

2oz. jar pimientos

2 cups mayonnaise

8 oz. can water chestnuts, sliced thin

2 cans French style green beans (drained)

Paprika and parmesan cheese

Cook rice as directed on box. Add all ingredients except paprika and parmesan cheese and mix well. Pour into shallow 3 quart baking dish. Sprinkle with paprika and cheese. Bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes.

Easy and delicious!

She also made something called Crittenden Casserole, which she got at a luncheon at the Florence Crittenden Home. This was a place where girls went, back in the olden days, when they were pregnant and unmarried. Mocha was President of the ladies group that supported the Crittenden Home, which kind of surprised me when I found out what the place was about. For whatever reason, it didn’t seem like something she would have supported, but I was always glad that she had had a heart for that. The casserole, by the way, was never one of my favorites.

Mocha was always a fun grandmother, although she could also be strict. She was never the grandmother that let the rules go out the window. If my parents left us with her, she always followed their rules, sometimes with a little twist. But she also, sometimes inadvertently, helped us out. I remember the Christmas she came to visit us with pierced ears. I had been begging my mother for years to let me get my ears pierced, to no avail. But when Mocha showed up with her cute little earrings, there was nothing Mother could say but “yes”. So I was forever grateful to Mocha for helping me out. Mocha loved going to the beach. The Hunters had always gone to Wrightsville Beach in North Carolina and that was a tradition that lived on for decades. I don’t ever remember seeing Mocha out on the beach, but here’s a picture that proves that at one time she did.

 

Mocha was always dressed to a T. I never saw her in anything but a dress. Quite the proper lady.

 

I knew Mocha wouldn’t live forever, but she lived a very long time. She was 96 years old when she died. As she got older, she got more confused about things. Not big things, just little things, but they were often funny. I went to visit her at her retirement apartment one evening when I was in town on business. She had asked me how my mother was doing and then she asked me about “Joe”. I was stumped. So I asked “who?” and she frowned at me and said “Joe, that boy that lives with your mother”. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. She meant George, my brother, who was living with my mother at the time. (My mother pronounced George “Joe widge” and that’s where I think Mocha got the “Joe” from.) It’s one of the favorite family stories.

So here’s to Mocha – a great woman and a terrific grandmother! I miss her a lot.