The day my grandfather became her husband

It was dirty, rundown and industrial. A fine layer of red dust covered everything that I could see. Red dust from taconite pellets, iron ore to be loaded on to 1000 foot ore ships and floated east across Lake Superior. In a matter of hours the ships would disappear from view.

It's been years since I thought about the red dust that covered everything, permeated my skin and no doubt played a part in forming who I am.

I was called home by my family to be with my grandmother through the end of her life. So I packed up what I needed and loaded it into my car, a red Toyota corolla with 100,000 miles. No rust but that will be soon coming. Everything else I gave away or stored at one of those storage centers. I optimistically paid for 3 months. But knew that I'd be paying more.

I chose to drive through Wisconsin bypassing the four lane concrete freeway that would get me home in half the time. I had made the decision to move back and thought that a leisurely drive would be the thing to do. I suppose that what I was really doing was delaying the obvious. I was leaving the city and returning to my childhood home.

I was coming back, driving into my history.

It was a warm day. The windows were down. Fresh air that is not available in the city was flowing through my car. I breathed deeply and continued driving. I was driving in from the south the beginnings of the city were visible. The fist landmark I came to is the cemetery, neat and tidy looking. It’s a lonely place.

Up over the hill the cold blast of air from Lake Superior brought me back to reality. The power of the lake and the culture of coldness that comes with it completely enveloped me. I stopped to roll up the windows and continued my drive.

I continued on and drove passed the bowling alley and turned right at the Catholic church where I was baptized, I drove passed the golf course and over the river. My car seemed to know where I was going. Everything was the same as I remembered.

I turned into the drive at my grandmother’s house. The driveway was long my car was the only one in the drive. My grandmother’s small house that held my memories had burned a while ago. Everything was gone except the peonies in her garden. Even with the fire they continued to return year after year. For a short time each spring the yard is filled with their intoxicating aroma and her stories.

After the fire my grandmother built a new house, it was a newer version of her old house. This one was set back from the road. She said she needed more room for her flowers.

I was entering the new house for the first time. I was a little apprehensive as I climbed the steps and reached to open the door.

I opened the door and walked in just as the old house the kitchen was the biggest room in the house. Her enormous table took center stage in the kitchen. That table was always inviting family and friends to come and sit awhile. Share a meal or a story, find solace or enough love to keep you going.

Except for the new TV it looked and smelled exactly as I remembered. My grandmother was sitting at the head of the table, with a cup of coffee, a deck of playing cards and Oprah on the television. I joined her in a card game of her own rules. We talked and talked I answered the same questions over and over again.

Drinking coffee and sitting at that table was a blessing for me. After the card game I looked around at the new house. I found the family photos in a basket in the living room. I always loved looking at the photos and hearing stories about the people in the pictures.

With the ebb and flow of my grandmothers dementia story telling could go in many directions.

Family members grew tired of the constant reminders of times in the past. She always asked them to bring the grandbabies to visit. They were frustrated by her lack of cooperation and her flat out refusal to go see the new doctor.

All of her children were grown, most had moved away and started families of their own. With the bulk of the work falling on my mother she called me and reminded me that I had a way with my grandmother that was calming. Then she told me that I was to come and live with my grandmother.

I picked up the basket of photos and went back into the kitchen. My favorite photo was on top. It was a picture of my grandmother wearing a skirt and a jacket. She was posing in front of a tree. Every time I look at her eyes in the photo I feel the energy of her soul.

I know that my grandmother was born in 1910 on the Fond du lac Indian reservation and I know that my grandfather lived in Chicago. She married him in 1929. With this little bit of information I placed the photo in front of her I wanted to hear a story.

She talked about living in a big city, but she couldn’t remember the name. I asked her if it was Chicago. She very excitedly said yes and told me how much she loved her time in Chicago.

She said they had an apartment that looked out on to Lake Michigan and that the man who lived with her was very handsome. She swooned as the memories came back to her. I assumed that the man was my grandfather. When I asked how long she lived there with grandfather she looked at me with a furrowed brow and said no it wasn’t him. She looked away and then back at me and went on to tell me that they had recently seen Mario Lanza at the opera house.

This is not the first story she has told be about that photo. There have been many stories. Each time I get a glimpse of her life.

I put the photos away, we ate our dinner and I tucked her into bed.

This Motto to Live by

I arrive
       The night is crisp, cold and dark
             I am greeted at her door with hugs and tears

As I make my way to her room
             Her energy swirls around colored red and blue
                     Red for heart and heat and companions

Blue for coolness, strength and serenity
           I’m wrapped up in love

This motto to live by moves with me as I wander her apartment
          I look at her books, read cards and notes
                  and magnets on her fridge

What stands out is a scrap of paper
         It’s worn
              Typed letters in blue
                      Blue for coolness

The blueness swirls as I reach that scrap of paper
          Her energy swirls again
                   Flowing up from the floor swirling
                             and surrounding my body
              Guiding my hands as they move through space
                         and that swirling energy

This motto to live by - - that scrap of paper with letters
                 typed in blue

This motto to live by - - I read the words

This motto to live by
            The journey
                   The intention
                       Arriving safely
                             With chocolate and wine

This motto to live by - - the swirling ceases
          I return the paper to its space

This motto to live by - - as I leave her that evening
        I am comforted by the words
                 and the energy that Swirled up and around me
                             The blueness of her energy

This motto to live by –

Patricia VanErt 02/14/2007