Secrets from Granny

This early morning. news of the bombing in Caracas, Venezuela, and the capture of Maduras, came suddenly, but full realization of what this means came later. Heather Cox Richardson, the most well respected, brilliant, and honorable historian came on YouTube with her weekly “ What just happened?” podcast, alone. And looking so very tired. Her friend and fellow historian Joanne Freeman was out of town.

I will share the link here.

https://youtu.be/wu9QSeAI22I?si=HJkPcnZ1qNkOmyje

I would strongly encourage you to watch. It is enlightening, and pointed and comes with advice. Which is, to speak up. Use whatever power you have to bring others along for the power they have.

The air feels strange, like the quiet before the storm, a warning to be ready. The only way I know to be ready is to be in community.

When I was a little girl in Kansas, a summer tornado storm was preceded by a greenish metallic smell to the air . Birds would stop singing. The sky would turn so dark, Then the rain would pour and wind would begin to howl. Once I remember we were at our grandmother Nanny’s house, when she gathered us to safety in a neighbor’s basement. That our neighbors took us in, now seems the kind of thing that neighbors should always do in times of storms. We need each other in these times.

I am reminded of another winter, when Gary and I joined Ruthie and family for a vacation in Kauai and there was a false missile attack alert on our phones. But this time, it feels more real. More solid. And more harmful. I wrote then and I cringe at the fools we were to hide in the bathroom. But at least we were together. That was the plan.

I am thankful for Senator Patty Murray and those like her, who are not afraid to confront power and injustice and who represents us. I am thankful for the people who are protesting against inhumanity. I am thankful for the N.A.T.O. countries who are abiding by the rules that were agreed on when the United Nations was brought into being. I am thankful for Eleanor Roosevelt who led the effort to establish those rules.

I made Ukrainian Borscht soup and blue cornbread in a skillet today. Comfort cooking on a cold winter day.

Images materialize, leap from the shadows.

a new star is born as the curtain rises .

Waves of light bending into rainbows .

I have been reading Nanny’s letters lately. I think of her today, especially because of it being her birthday. Nanny loved birthdays. She was a good cake baker, and her specialties varied. I seem to remember angel food cake with a light lemon pink frosting. Dolly’s 10th birthday was a party with girls from school. My birthday came with the magic of November. I was a dark child in temperament, prone to tantrums and delirious dreams at night. I was often sick, home from school with Nanny and Joe. I lay on a couch in Nanny’s dining room. The dining room was a jumble of beds, boxes, clothes, dusty papers and musty books. No wonder I got sick a lot. Luckily I am strong, though easily injured. But the strength that endures, under the veneer of sickness and hardship is love. The love that is apparent in every life, as a vibration in time with the stars.

In 1975 , I was 19 years old, living with my 10 years older and 2 years younger brothers in a rented house in Portland, Oregon that we called the Weirdbox, long before “Portland is Weird and Portlandia. In April of that spring, the Oregonian published a recipe contest, to be judged by chef James Beard, amongst other notable Portlandians. Our cooking skills were primitive, but we entered the recipe we made up one inspired evening.

https://youtu.be/gTlXiC4-7Ek?feature=shared

An orchid in my window,

A gift from friends who meet

To share our thoughts and shadows

Of ideas still incomplete.

Open hearts and open doors

Objective of our meetings

Each aiming to disclose

The essence of our being

To fly a kite , to read a book

To sing and dance and play

To paint , to plant, to cook

Mixing joy and tears , sun and rain.

The goal is always further

Than the time we have to spare

Still in our gathering together

We come to be aware

My mama was and is a beautiful, bright star. She wrote a letter to her children that we found after she left us for the life beyond this existence.  For Mother’s Day, I want to pass on the truth that she gave to me to my children and their loved ones.

I wrote that passage years ago , and followed it with the letter that Mama had placed in her secretary desk drawer, written to us , her children and that Dolly found days after Mama’s death. We are grateful for its safekeeping and careful transfer of the original which Dolly now has.

When we got home from our recent trip to Oregon and I had time , I decided to open the boxes we had brought home from our family get together that Lynda had brought to Hood River for us. I found important but no longer relevant documents from Jack, Nanny and Mama. Documents regarding Jimmy’s application to be Johnny and my legal guardian, Nanny’s will , Mama’s will and documents pertaining to wills and properties. Copies of our birth certificate, Letters from Daddy to Jimmy during the time Dolly, Johnny and I were in California with Anne and Nicola. And a mystifying letter from Peggy Hatch, who we knew briefly as Mama’s friend from the past.

The following letter I found on May 5th, Jimmy’s birthday .. It is the text of his speech for Mama’s funeral. I think it is very hopefulPa and beautiful. It felt like a gift to me.

Today I realized that tomorrow, May 12th is the anniversary of the day Mama died. It is also Mother’s Day. And as if to honor the true spirit of Mother’s Day , I also found this poem that Mama wrote as a finish to her play “Journey Into Understanding”

Happy Mother’s Day to Mama this year. May her dreams come true. And Happy Belated Birthday to Jimmy! I know you don’t mind the delay 😉 .

I have begun reading a collection of letters written by my mother, maternal grandmother, father, paternal grandfather, paternal step grandmother, paternal great grandmother, friends, and relatives, including some dear notes written by my brothers and sisters. The letters were saved by my father in good enough condition that they are mostly legible. My objective is to read and organize chronologically, in order to make the collection more readable and accessible. Every so often , something takes me by surprise with its immediacy, and I am transported to that actual experience. Sometimes, tears arise , or laughing, I sense momentary and quickly vanishing revelations. I wonder if what came later in our lives was already in place. Little glimpses of predestination shine through the written words. Mystified and charmed , I am both vexed and relieved by what I find.

This week, Gary and I ( mostly Gary ) have been shoveling the heaviest snow from walks and paths, roofs and roads both here in our home in Entiat and up at The Pines. The beauty of the snowy landscape is dark and heavy most hours. When the sun broke through the clouds, we took a short drive to the Stormy Mountain Land Trust about 17 miles upriver. We will go back, and walk around on snowshoes. The river is thawing and a new life with the spring will emerge, nourished by this winters’ dormancy.

This poem appeared on a scrap of paper, which I promptly hid from myself ( hopefully) in the box I was sorting, but not before photographing it with my phone. I am including both the original and the copy I wrote in my own handwriting.

In the spring of 1956, my mother Ruth Mary wrote this letter from Chanute, Kansas, It is written to our father Fred who was stationed as a flight instructor at Anderson Air Base in Malden MO . I was 5 1/2 months old, and my sister Ruth was 2 1/2 years old. . Mama referred to me as Tiny Baby, and Ruth as Baby B, or B.B. . Mama , Ruth Louise and I were living in Chanute, Dolly was in Kansas City, Mo living with our grandmother Nanny , having struggled with eating enough and Mama thought it best for her to live with Nanny and gain a little weight. I am quite sure that our oldest brother Jimmy was also living with Nanny and soon to start his childhood drama and singing career. Mama’s younger brother Joe was also living with Nanny at the house in KC. He had contracted polio and would spend the last 12 years of his life in an iron lung in Nanny’s front room. When Mama came back to KC, she would stay with all of us kids in the upstairs bedroom of Nanny’s house. I will do my best to transcribe the letter, leaving abbreviations and shortened words and phrases as is. This letter is one of many Mama wrote over the years.

I am sharing it today, as my heart goes out to my own Ruth Marie who is sick and has sick kids and sick husband during this cold winter season. I also think of my dear niece Rachel who cares so deeply for her whole family . May this letter bring you a sense of connection to your grandmother who I believe feels your heart and cares for you from beyond.

Dearest – Thanks for the letter and check. I’ve surely been aftraid this week. Called several people see if stay nites, but no luck. I haven’t had good nite’s sleep in mo.

Took Tiny B. For her triple shot da before yes. Tho’t I might go KC for Dolly’s birthday. … T Baby sure was sick all nite and all day yesterday with fever of 102 and 103. Better today, but I’m exhausted. Have cysts on eyes and fever blister and ache all over. Stayed in all day. Didn’t make usual trip for groc. Will see if Gough has polio vaccine order. Wanted B B to get before went and wait a few days to see if any react before contact Dolly as seems there is danger of one having vaccine of passing polio germ to a relative or contact.

If don’t have in tomorrow will go KC Sun or Mon if I feel like it. Tiny B wakes up at 6:00 and Jo has fit if we get up before 8:00. I don’t like staying in room trying keep quiet and being hungry too for 2 hours. He sure makes it unpleasant for me there.

You don’t know how hard it is for me write letter. BB not only wants paper, pencil, envel but insists on stamp too. She’s outside for min . She’s sure fussy and irritable. Suppose needs playmate.

Mrs. Burns to borrow hi chair today. Borrowed books other day. Maybe should charge rent.

B B coming –

Enclosed very funny. Please keep.

Love you,

RM

Our work on the 7th Street house in Corvallis is back on again. While my family and friends in North Central Washington are experiencing the deepest snow of decades, we are in the misty fog of the Willamette Valley working on Pa’s grandmother’s old home. Grandma Dick was a warm, happy person who would be so pleased to see her grandson’s skills and talents improving and restoring her home. Surely she is smiling somewhere. Making thrifty improvements to this approximately hundred year old home takes patience, imagination, ingenuity, luck and resilience.

Which reminds me somehow of the movie we watched the other night. Okay, our project isn’t revolutionary , as is the building of a nuclear fusion device, but both have in common the need for time. This movie is excellent and inspiring.

LET THERE BE LIGHT Official Trailer from EyeSteelFilm on Vimeo.

Anyway, the light fixture in the dining room had been replaced with a modern pendant that we didn’t care for. The old fashioned built in cabinets and classic windows called for something more elegant. A chandelier!

The last time we were here we took a romantic drive to find and photograph covered bridges near Eugene, and to shop for a bathtub. We found a darling and reasonably priced chandelier at a sweet antique shop. We protected it from the weather in a black plastic bag as we drove back from Eugene. A few days later , we made a major trip to the landfill with debris and trash – some of it in bags, some loose. We never found the chandelier again. Haste made waste that day, as we disappointedly realized we had inadvertently tossed it with other junk .

Months later, our design idea came back to us when we looked in a give away pile in a neighbor’s driveway . This nearby bin often has items for sale or items for free. There was a fine looking brass toned chandelier! Not to say we deserved to have another chance, but there it was! Pa brought it home and Voila! It is now a lovely addition to this charming little home. Many thanks, muchas gracias , merci beaucoup universe for your many many blessings. May we find ways to reciprocate, and may we be humble.

This trait of finding treasure in trash reminds me of this old video from a few years back when Entiat had a day a year for metal recycling. I really looked forward to those events.

Loose Park was five or six blocks from our home at 403 W. 59th Street in Kansas City, Mo. A walking path wound its way around the lagoon, the tennis courts, the swimming pool and eventually to the well tended rose garden with a sparkling fountain at its heart. The park was a calm and charmed refuge from our messy home life.

On one hot summer day, my sisters Dolly and Ruth Louise and I took our first long distance bike ride to Loose Park by ourselves . Dolly and Ruth Louise were the lucky riders of sturdy and brisk bicycles with names like Cockney, and Rattletrap that I surely envied. Being the fourth child and the third girl in our sibling constellation of five , at my age of 7 or 8 , a bicycle had not yet entered my life. The freedom of fluid speed, wind in one’s hair came later, but on that humid morning my mode of transport was an outgrown tricycle. No matter, I felt lucky to be included in my older sisters’ escapade.

As we made our way up the hill, I realized my dilemma . My progress lagged behind my sisters, my knees were banging against the handlebars, and my energy was flagging. I was known as a crybaby, ( and in all honesty I cried the whole way ) and a weakling ( which I was ) , but on that day my ambition ( I had to! ) to keep up eclipsed my ó frustration. I can’t remember the arrival at the park, but it must have been with a feeling of relief , knowing the way back was all downhill.

The whole way home , I cried , and my knees were shaky, bruised and red and my body felt wobbly, but pride was intact (ha!) . Perhaps my future of someday crossing long distances on a bicycle had been sealed. Wonders never cease.

Today, in honor of Mama’s birthday, I looked through a folder I have of notes she wrote to herself, some barely legible. Amongst those I find many that seem to be an encouragement to herself to be a better, kinder, more accomplished person than the wonder she already was. I don’t know that she ever truly saw her own light. There is also a copy of her resume that she submitted to the director of the Kansas City Social Health Society in September , 1966. She must have needed a change from the job she was currently holding as a recreation director at the Don Bosco Community Center. We were kids of the same ages as those she worked with. The last photo in this IMovie is of her softball team. I look back on this time we had with Mama, and am struck with how very fortunate we were to be the children of a woman so passionately in love with life. Happy Birthday Mama!

In the process of remodeling the bathroom here at 429 NW 7th Street in Corvallis, Pa first replaced the major components of the plumbing, vastly improving the system. We have a rough timeline to return home to Entiat, and we were well on the way to having a completed bathroom when he began putting the wains coat wall covering on. He already had intentions to level the house next time we come down, but it was apparent the paneling would not fit well until that was accomplished. And SO, in a day and a half he tore down the decommissioned chimney in the attic and jacked the house up an inch and a half or more. He was hoping for 2 inches, but the jacks in the basement started to punch through the concrete floor. Just as the major part of the intense pounding, creaking of wood and crackling of plaster happened, I was on my daily zoom call with the grandkids. The distraction of their sweet untroubled faces soothed my nerves , and I hoped they didn’t worry hearing such thunder coming from my side of the zoom screen. They might have enjoyed seeing the bricks flying out of the attic window ( there goes Pa again! ) as the chimney came down, but I sought comfort in listening to the book “ Braiding Sweetgrass”, by Robin Wall Kimmerer, while discovering and working on a good use for the bricks – I now have edging for my front yard garden. I am finding solace and insight as Ms Kimmerer shares of the importance of reciprocity and gratitude in all of our actions. As a botanist, a poet, and a member of the Citizen Patowatomi Nation, she combines her heritage with scientific and environmental passions. I hope that our renovations and efforts to honor the places we care for let the plants, the people and the beings all around us, know we are so thankful. The gifts of nature are endless.

It’s been weeks now, since my brother died . I am not sure how the world shifted or how we left this plane of existence since his departure, but life has changed for those of us who knew him and loved him. Today is Jimmy’s birthday, and I expect to be thinking of him throughout much of the day. His life deserves so much more than I am able to share – the scope and effect of his existence and his thinking transcends my writing ability,

He was a handsome jolly baby, entering the world on May 5, 1946 . My dad told the story of the OB doctor emerging from the delivery room, with the statement “It’s a boy. That’ll be a hundred dollars.” Daddy later regretted not saving the cancelled check, a souvenir of the best $100 he ever spent.

The many photos taken of Jimmy with each member of our extended family show just how much they adored him. He was loved beyond measure. His generosity of spirit, and his magnificent career was launched in those early days. 

Remembering childhood with my siblings is a most cherished pastime, as we bring to life episodes that only we know. Sitting at the kitchen table with Jimmy one day last month , I reminded him of “fishy music” he used to play on the piano as we younger siblings “swam” and danced in the living room in our imaginary ocean – calmly when his notes were soft and gentle, frantically when the deep tones rang out the approach of sea monsters. The memory brought a smile to his face in a time when smiles were the best medicine of all. 

Jimmy would have been 75 today, 10 years older than me. That our brother spent many sweet times like this that we can all recount speaks of love. I am more lately considering the fragility of existence – and what is of enduring value. If I understand the premise in his book “Biocosm” , it is that intelligence is the force behind life here and throughout the universe. The beauty of the cosmos speaks to me of love, and good humor, which are in abundance in all my thoughts of Jimmy.