The End of the Month on Oxford Street

Mom-Mom would give you the shirt off her back, if she could. And many times she did.

I remember my grandmother (Mom-Mom) as a hunched woman with a cane, seated on the sofa preaching about why we should all read more books. She was witty and she didn’t miss a beat. For my cousins and I, she was home. And for what we knew, home was stable. 

When my sister and I would visit Mom-Mom (to have our weekend visits with dad) we’d have a clear understanding of what to expect for the weekend. There were 2 options: things were fine or it was “the end of the month.”

In her 2-bedroom apartment near West Philadelphia, with anywhere between 5-7 sleepers at any time, Mom-Mom would craft killer homemade mac-n-cheese, casseroles, ham and cabbage, and cute Christmas cookies. Of course, don’t forget the beloved Norwegian Christmas Bread, duh! 

She made a home with what she had, which meant scraping pennies while she waited for the welfare check at the first of the month. At least with pennies she could continue to provide as a single-mother and fantastic grandmother. 

I often thought she was pretty wealthy, giving away her food, her space, and her time. To my 6-year old mindset, that was what wealthy people did. 

And spending weekend mornings with her in the living room, I’d watch her sip her coffee while I folded the sheets on my fold-away foam-chair bed that sat in front of the TV. 

As puberty started introducing itself to me, the foam chair bed became a dismal reminder of the true culture of Oxford Street. Mom-Mom had accepted that culture long before I knew it existed. 

To me, Oxford Street represented my childhood memories of milk-crate basketball nets, retrieving hockey balls from the sewer, Kick the can, Run the bases, and, when we were super lucky, a football or basketball. Oxford Street let me be a Tomboy and it also exposed me to the realities of poverty. 

“The end of the month” represented hidden breakdowns, failures, disappointments, conflicts, fear, scarcity, and poverty with no margin to overcome its grip. 

By the time I had reached puberty, the end of the month grew tentacles, fangs, and claws. 

Empty cookie jars, sparse cabinets, and canned green beans set the tone, aggressively reminding us of the shortcomings of previous generations.

Mom-Mom was the glue that held it all together, even while the SWAT team was “visiting” Oxford Street. 

As far as I’m concerned, Mom-Mom conquered “the end of the month.” 

She taught me to see beyond the empty cookie jar, to drown out the noise and use it to build a home where all are welcome. 

By sharing Mom-Mom’s wisdom with others, we all get to rise above poverty to build a home where we are fulfilled, loved, and stable. 

I now know I get to make an impact by contributing to empty cookie jars everywhere.

Every Day. 

Not just the end of the month.

“The power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.” - Louisa May Alcott.

<3 This article is dedicated to my Mom-Mom <3