Onto the boat which transverses the river of Time, I set with gentle hands, your spirit, dear Gramma. I cup it carefully, and make sure there is a soft bedding before I set it into that small boat. It needs no large boat, now, for your spirit is tiny. It is only as big as my memory. So fragile, yet with attentiveness, it will survive.
I pull soft wool around it to keep it warm, like a mother blanketing her babe. It is a long ride, down that stream of eternity. I do not want Time to take her. I want to say, "NO, You can't do this!" But I know time would not listen. Time is so much bigger than any of us. If Time had a voice, it would smile as a Father, and say, "Ah, but she is not yours any longer. She belongs to me now..."
"I let you have her for a little while. Look, all the marvelous things that have happened while she was here!" His so saying would begin a movie in my mind.
In 1901 she was born, in a cold land. She didn't have much memory of her birth-mother. Only that she often prayed with great worries.
And worries there were, for there was no money to take care of her and her brother. Sadly their father drank up what little money there was. So she and her brother were sent to an orphanage. She did not speak of it as a cruel place, but when a lady she would later call Aunt Cora took her home, she was glad to go.
She told me she liked school. She learned a lot and had friends there. But circumstances allowed her only an eighth-grade education. Yet, in this day of watered-down education, she may have learned as much as any high school graduate today. She was articulate, and liked to keep up on what was going on the world.
She worked for a brief time as a telephone operator. She said there were these plugs called trunks that whenever a caller requested a certain number, she would place the trunk in the connection for that number.
She didn't work there long, for she met someone and fell in love. Afred Horschler was born in 1899. She said she'd remember the date by reminding herself she was born one year after the century and he was born one year before the century. Aunt Cora didn't approve of Afred. She had in mind some other suitor. Gramma wanted her own choice. So they began their lives together.
They had three children, June, Donald, and later Russell. A school mate of June's invited her and her family to a "Revival", and shortly after that, they became Baptists. Afred held out for some time, clinging to the Catholicism of his youth. But eventually he gave in, too. They were quite active in their church, Ridgewood Baptist. Afred became a teacher there.
Russell always felt like he didn't belong, so he went to explore the world by joining the Navy. He came back a little more worldly-wise, and settled down with Gloria, who became his wife. They had one child together, Joan, the teller of this tale.
Gramma never became close to Gloria, but she took great interest in the red-haired progeny. Joan was the only one in the family to inherit Gramma's red hair! With that red hair, a certain generally cheerful stubborness of spirit was in common. Gramma thought that child would go places, and do something important!
She was proud of all her grandchildren, a substantial brood. From June and her spouse Bill, came two daughters, Renée and
Sharmon. From Donald and his spouse Lorraine, came four: Sally, Phillip, Donna and Diane! And from those grandchildren came great-grandchildren! Sally with Henry, had Erica and Tucker. Donna with David has at least two. They are in their teens or older now. Renée with Henry, (not the same Henry Smith!) had Ansel and Sherryl, both married now. Sharmon with Dennis has a large brood of five. The eldest is at college, and the smallest still quite young. This part of the tale will go on! Phillip just married; he may add to the line. Diane, forty-one, Joan, who is thirty-nine are likely not at their ages to add to it. The brood is large enough without!
So she could look at this large family and know a part of her would continue on long after she died. There is a contentment in that. Because of a life well-lived, she would they would all speak well of her. There is a rich joy in that.
Gramma did have her joys. She loved the Wednesday afternoon outings with June. They'd get dressed up, go to fancy stores, and eat at restaurants. They'd frequent malls in neighborhoods of large, well-kept houses. She loved clothes. Whenever anyone (or herself) would buy her something new to wear, she'd put it on, and rejoice. She took care of those clothes, and even though some were more than a decade old, they would still have a freshness about them. Her house had many pretty things in it. It didn't go through
much changes. She believed there was one best way the furniture should go. Lorraine always surprises with a new arrangement. But the stable arrangement has meant easier memories. A gold velveteen chair by the door, next to a waist high sculpture of a dark lady in loose robe, holding a planter atop her head. The planter was full of abundant green leafyness. Then, a piano. That changed when the piano was sold. The teller of the tale remembers the piano most, for she spent many happy hours playing her favorite ballads and singing loudly. Gramma always enjoyed the music. She didn't like the canned music that came out of the cassette player, though. But she did like her radio music. She had one favorite station, and the people of that station became ethereal friends. She'd often reach out to them. They'd play Christian music, for that is what soothed her best. Gramma said her most favorite song was Like a River Glorious, and she hoped it would be sung at her funeral. For through out life, she often turned to Divine Essence, to find the deep wells of peace.
Songs of faith, reaching out to the Essence...the teller of the tale does that in her own unique way. After the piano, travelling counter-clockwise, was a window. She had many of the hand-blown glass paperweights and vases Russell had given her there, so the light would shine through them and illuminate their lustrous colors. Then an end table of dark red wood. The old lamp with the upside- down flower of a lamp shade...the maroon glass candy dish on the lower shelf. The dark green furniture that held us securely comfortable. Though she tried in vain to get the teller of this tale not to drape her legs over the arms of the chair!
Why should the particular house arrangements have such significance? As the backdrop onto which the memories are pinned, it is always there. We the younger generation, ever mobile, don't have a constant backdrop. Years are measured by what house we were in at the time. In the apartment on Yavapai? Oh, that must have occurred in '91 or '92! Both ways have their advantages.
Maybe for women of her time, the house became an extension of herself. It was a vehicle of expression, as well as shelter and comfort. Whatever, she did make it a gracious place. The kitchen was warm and sunny, with its yellow walls and colorful curtains. The birdbath, ringed with red geraniums was in full view from the windows. It attracted many thirsty birds. Human thirst and hunger were well-satisfied at Gramma's table. She was a good cook. Her homemade pumpkin pies melted in the mouth. All those pies, blueberry, lemon merange, cherry, apple... were good. She made most everything by scratch, including cranberry sauce. The vittles were tastier that way. We of the "heat and eat" generation would discover that, later.
And some of us, remembering the good taste of our grandmother's food, would begin to bake muffins and cakes, filling the house again with mouth-watering smells.
This is the fabric of our lives. We look at how its woven, its durability, the tapestry of varied hues. It is strong. It will not pull apart. We are the weavers. We will continue to weave, the strands being passed from old loose-skinned, wrinkly hands to young, smooth hands. Ever the cycle goes on.
In this knowledge, sorrow is turned to joy. We celebrate the lives of those who have come before us. A connection to the eternal, for we know it is the cycle, we will join them, and it is up to those who come after us to remember us. Let us do what is worthy of remembrance. Doing well, we embrace the Mystery of life. The Mystery will embrace us in return.
