4
It started simply enough, all was whole and working and then my
Grandmothers died within a few years of each other around the time of
my birth. In fact I never had any memory of them. In the case of my
maternal grandfather, Bumpa, as he lived in a nearby town my mother
took up the task of running over to his house each day to check on
him and make sure he was getting along all right. In the case of my
paternal grandfather, Pappy, things didn't work out as well.
Visiting Bumpa's house was one of the things I looked forward to. As
one lives, often there comes a time when you've plateaued
technologically about mid-life. Sure you might still get the
newest-fangled black rotary dial phone, but the majority of the items
in your home reflect the age of technology when you were around your
forties and fifties. This was true with Bumpa's house as you entered
the front door and instead of the nineteen sixties, you were back to
the nineteen forties. No automated washing machine, but an open
barrel washer with wringing rollers above it. No obvious television,
but a large decoratively wood-housed radio sat as furniture to one
side of the living room. The dining room held a circular table and
chair set that mother told me Bumpa had handmade in his younger
years. He had a few family photos all black & white whereas my
family's home had a mix of black & white and color pictures.
A single floor house with a full basement, the basement was reached
by very shallow, steep steps that were scarey to climb up and down
given my small child feet. It was easier to climb down them
backwards than facing forward. In the basement was a collection of
wood working tools and some yard tools as well which could be taken
out by a side door to the outside. Lit only by a couple of
yellowish-orange glowing light bulbs, it was a mysterious place, yet
seemingly safe. In my adult years I would learn about the
subconscious comfort of 'warm' lighting versus the implicit
discomfort of 'cold' lighting so perhaps it was that amber glow of
the old style light bulbs that made it seem safe.
And then there was Bumpa himself, a huge man, mostly bald, with black
rim practical glasses, and fingers of various lengths. Given my
height at the time, his hands and fingers were what I could best see
of him when standing up close. Some fingers only had two knuckles,
one had just one. All the shorter fingers and one regular length
finger lacked nails. When I asked mother about them, she explained
that as part of his life working in mills and woodworking, he'd lost
some of his finger tips. Deep voiced and long legged, he was like
the giant of Jack and the Bean Stalk stories, but kind and
gentle.
Pappy, seemed a foot shorter with a higher pitched voice. More like
Batman's T.V. Commissioner in appearance than Jack's giant, he had
been a Boston banker who had bought a vacation home in northern New
England and eventually retired there by the nineteen fifties. During
Pappy's final years of work, my father had spent his teenage years
living at the vacation home full-time. Once retired, he and my
paternal grandmother had become snowbirds, living in New England
during the Summers, in Florida during the Winters. I don't remember
his New England home at all, though I heard it was a coveted lakeside
home. Soon after my paternal grandmother died that home was sold
and, as my mother kept an eye on my maternal grandfather, my father
decided to keep an eye on my paternal grandfather by having him move
in with us at our family home... kind of.
With his money from the sale of his lakeside home, Pappy had an
apartment built onto the side of our house, effectively a small house
built onto ours. His apartment came with an upside for the kids,
next to the full basement of our house was put in a full basement for
his apartment. Not needed to store tools or yard equipment, it
became a teenage playroom of sorts for my two older brothers as a
ping-pong table was put in place, other outdoor gaming equipment
would be stored there as well. Though unheated, it was still warm
enough to use from March through October as my brothers would be down
there entertaining friends or sometimes entertaining themselves with
games of ping-pong or just escaping the notice of our parents.
Pappy's apartment was placed just under my early childhood bedroom
window. Though I have no memories of it being built, I've had a
lifelong fascination with other buildings being constructed so
perhaps the exposure of his place being put-up seeded a lifetime's
interest for me.
When spending Spring through Fall with us, Pappy's time would settle
into a routine pattern of keeping to himself in the morning, perhaps
a quick visit with me or my siblings by late morning or early
afternoon, then joining us for supper and nighttime T.V. viewing.
This put a bit of a cramp into the family as viewing would now have
to include Pappy's interests, but this just resulted in my brothers
spending more time playing basket ball in the dirt driveway in front
of the detached garage, or in my eldest brother's bedroom listening
to music and talking about things that couldn't be talked about in
front of the parents.
T.V. viewing time with Pappy would also be punctuated by a new
tradition: His evening shot of Moxie. Poured into a small
juice-sized glass due to its strength, I would leap at the chance to
carry the glass from the kitchen to the living room and hand it to
Pappy where he would savor it for the next hour in small sips. As a
reward for this task, I was allowed to have a shot glass full myself.
It had all the flavor and charm of a liquorish flavored cough syrup
in carbonated water. For some reason, few of my other family members
were interested in this precious liquid.
My father would use part of his vacation time to join Pappy on his
drives to Florida in the Fall and back in the Spring. I assume he
flew back based on later experience, but I don't specifically
remember talk of how he got home.
And as my mother got to look after her father during morning visits
to his house, work a half day when I was in Nursery school and
Kindergarten, stay on top of all the household needs and make the
evening family dinner for us all. In turn my father got to look
after Pappy by having my mother wait on him hand and foot during
nighttime television that would sometimes include the late night
shows.
The truest tear in the unraveling of my family had taken place.
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