by jphilo | Jun 12, 2015 | Family, Reflections on the Past
Tomorrow the Man of Steel and I are taking Mom to a family reunion where many cousins will gather to catch up on each other’s lives and to reminisce about our parents and grandparents. As we talk, the realization will come upon many of us, myself included, that we are becoming more and more like our parents and our stalwart grandparents, Vernon and Josephine Hess. This Fantastic Friday post from June of 2009 offers a picture of what that means.
A few years ago my older sister, who hit fifty long before I did, said she was getting more like our Grandma Hess (our mother’s mother) every year. “Maybe it’s happening to you,” I thought, “but it won’t happen to me.” I was so wrong! Since turning fifty almost three years ago, I have developed some strange quirks that can be traced directly to Grandma. The most notable of these traits are:
- A growing belief that oatmeal deserves its own food group, should be eaten for every breakfast and added to all baked goods.
- A penchant for big, flower-patterned, cover-up aprons.
- Snoring.
- The habit of spitting on a tissue (though Grandma used a hankie) and using it to wash the dirty face of any child related to me.
- Wintering over my geraniums, rooting geraniums, planting geraniums in my garden, etc.
- Ditto for asparagus ferns, vinca vines, and philodendrons.
- Not wanting to spend money unless it’s really necessary, and nothing is really all that necessary.
- A need to check my flower gardens every day, pick flowers for bouquets whenever possible, and put the flowers in the vase (see photograph above) that belonged to Grandma’s mother.
- Thinking the best way to celebrate any winter event is to cram everyone into my house and serve a heavy meal.
- Thinking the best way to celebrate any summer event is to have a family picnic.
Some of Grandma’s traits I haven’t picked up yet and hope the Man of Steel or my kids chain me to a wall before I do are:
- Taking all the sugar, creamer, catsup, mustard, and any other condiment packets, along with as many straws and napkins that will fit in a purse, from restaurant booths.
- Buying cheap clothes, worthy of wearing at my own funeral, at Crazy Daze and putting them in the back of the closet until the big day arrives.
- Belching.
- Watching Lawrence Welk every Saturday night.
- Knowing the life story of every entertainer on Lawrence Welk and relating them to my grandchildren.
- Asking my kids to cut my toenails when I can afford a podiatrist.
- Requiring kids to wait thirty minutes after a meal before they go swimming.
Unfortunately, a few years ago I would have told my family to chain me to a wall if I snored, spit on a tissue or wore a flower-patterned apron. So I’m probably doomed to pick up a few more Grandma quirks every few years. But if the Lawrence Welk oddities come last, I’ll be eternally grateful.
A-one, and a-two, and a….
by jphilo | Mar 8, 2013 | Family
Mom’s last living brother, my Uncle Leo, died peacefully yesterday after 90 years of hard work on this earth. He was the fourth of his parents’ eight children and the youngest boy. Leo took over the family farm, though his father had a hard time handing over the reins. Single-handedly, but with considerable help from his mom, he raised five children on the farm where he’d grown up.
Leo was a farmer and a father, a son and a brother, but he was much more than the sum of those things. He was also a World War 2 vet. He took shrapnel in his foot during the Battle of the Bulge. His injury slowed his fellow soldiers, and finally, they gave him a gun. “We’re going that way.” One of them pointed toward a building in the distance. “Find us if you can,” and left him on his own. He bottled up the terror of that day, and all the terrible days of war he experienced, until decades later a counselor at the VA Hospital encouraged him to tell his stories.
But Leo was more than a a survivor of World War 2. Mom said he’d been an eager student during his years in country school and an avid reader. In one of my last conversations with Uncle Leo, he said he’d always dreamed of going to college and studying history. Family obligations thwarted his dream, but he read voraciously. He loved history, and he loved maps, and his pleasure in them didn’t dim until after his 90th birthday.
But Leo was more than a World War 2 vet. He was royalty, crowned Pipestone County Health King at some point in his school career. The crown earned him a trip to the Minnesota State Fair, where he competed in and won the title of Minnesota Health King. That title made him eligible to compete in the national Health King Contest at the Chicago World Fair, but he caught a cold on the train to the Windy City and had to go back home.
Even so, Leo proved himself worthy of the Health King title during the long years when he cared for his wife, Anna, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. After she died he continued to live alone on the home place, worrying all who loved him, until he was over 90 years old. In December, during a visit at his son and daughter-in-law’s home, he fell. He went to the hospital and never rallied enough to return home.
In a few days, my brother and mom and I will make the long drive to Pipestone for the funeral. I’ll look forward to seeing his children and their spouses and their children, to seeing my remaining aunts and uncles, and many cousins. I’ll look forward to reminiscing about the old home place with everyone. I’ll go teary-eyed in anticipation the sad playing of Taps, the color guard, and the flag-draped coffin. And all the while, deep inside my heart where my inner child who wants to be a princess lives, I’ll be hoping an official crown will be on Leo’s head, a kingly sash will grace his chest, and his hands will grasp a royal scepter.
Good-by, Uncle Leo, father, brother, uncle, farmer, World War 2 vet, historian, and Minnesota health king. Long live our memories of the king!
