Before Grandma K moved into her cozy apartment, she lived in
this big blue house on Maple Street. It looked so welcoming with its
wrap-around porch. When we’d visit, we would have to squeeze between the piles
of magazines and old memorabilia to sit on her comfy chairs. She was a bit of a
pack rat, but in a cool way that always meant you’d see something interesting,
like a pair of wooden Dutch shoes that happened to be sitting in the doorway of
the bedroom upstairs. The guys on American
Pickers would have loved the sentimental hodgepodge and Grandma K, for she
was one special lady with a lot of moxie.
You always knew Great-Grandma K had just arrived because you
could hear the adults talking that she hadn’t called before heading over. “She
shouldn’t be driving anymore, especially in the rain.” But there Grandma K
would be in the driveway; stepping out of her teal sedan with a plastic
kerchief tied around her head to protect her freshly colored white-blonde curls
from the weather. As soon as the adults finished fretting and scolding, she
would usually turn to the nearest great-grandchild and confide “what a bunch of
turds” with a laugh.
After she passed away, my Aunt Kristi sent a box of things
Grandma K had left for my mom. But there were other interesting trinkets in the
box representative of Grandma K that my aunt had chosen as remembrances. For
instance, she sent my brother a small porcelain cat the size of a silver
dollar. Its belly was flat and had “Gum Parker” painted on it, just in case he
ever needed a temporary place for his chewing gum.
But the items within the blue house weren’t its only
attractive quirks. Right off the kitchen was a door that led down to the
cellar. One of my older cousins, Breanna, used to scare her sister and I with descriptions
of what it looked like down there. She made it out as the creepiest place in
town. According to her, the cellar had walls and shelves carved right into the
dirt beneath the house. The shelves were also covered in cobwebs and you had to
watch out for spiders since it was so dark down there. It doesn’t sound as
scary any more, perhaps she was telling the truth. There was something oddly
exciting about having that spooky door always waiting for us to open it and
peer into the darkness. Either way, the descriptions scared Mackenzie and I so
much so that we didn’t dare go down into the cellar that summer.
 |
| Grandma Joyce labeled this with: "Karina, the barmaid at Grandma K's, 2000" |
Then there was the outhouse in the backyard. It was unused,
of course, and had been for quite some time. The outhouse was a funny relic of
the past, which for some reason was curiously alluring to all of us
great-grandchildren. When we’d all open the wooden door and look in, we’d see
the small bench with the boarded up hole. Grandma K had still kept a stack of outdated
magazines inside of it as a joke; one day someone might need reading material
when they are out there.
This was the lady who let my Mom and Aunt Kristi run
unaccompanied at a very young age down the alley behind her house to
Schubert’s, the local grocery store. After slipping them some extra coins from
her top drawer for more sweets, Grandma K would hop on the party line to let
her sister Edna Schubert know the little girls were on their way. Edna indulged
them like her sister did; she would greet my Mom and aunt, allow them to fill
up a paper bag with candy and would then slip the girls more than they had
coins for. After sending them back down the alley, Edna would let Grandma K
know they were back on their way via the same party line.
Though Schubert’s was no longer around when my siblings,
cousins, and I were little, Grandma K always had snacks around for us. I always
remember small bowls of nuts and candy she would leave out while we were
playing games with her. In between turns of Old Maid, you could find a treat at
arm’s length in a leaf-patterned crystal dish without even looking. You always
wanted to be watching your game too, because though Grandma K loved to play,
she was always too excited to maintain a poker face. As soon as she found the
Old Maid card in her hand, she’d let out a little groan. When you were picking
from her hand, the smile on her face desiring you to take it off of her would
signal which card was actually safe to take.
 |
| Grandma K and Mom playing Old Maid. Grandma K's new apartment. |
 |
| Playing cards on another visit in the summer. Note the shared moment between Grandma K & Maren, who both know Grandma K has the Old Maid card. |
Other games were easier for Grandma K to win because her
enthusiasm wouldn’t risk her success. One winter, she taught my sister and I to
play dice. You should have seen her excitement when my Grandpa Larry suggested
we raise the stakes and gamble for candy. Each time the dice spilled from the
cup, Grandma K would react appropriately with a disappointed “oh no!” or a celebratory
hoot. Games always turned into a vocal affair when she, Grandpa Larry, and
Maren were all playing. They were so invested in the play that the entire suspense
of the game seemed to come from their own enthusiasm.
 |
| Learning dice at the blue house. |
Behind its lace curtains, 42 Maple Street had an air of magic
and mystery. Chewing on the chocolate cigars Grandma K kept around for all her
great-grandchildren, I would sit staring and wondering at everything within the
house. Why were these little stuffed animals or those wooden shoes here? How
did they get there? Was there more past that spooky cellar door? And why did this old house always feel so
full? Sitting and wondering more than 10 years later, I realize that in the
center of it all, between all of the visiting family and nostalgic belongings,
was Grandma K radiating her spunky joyful spirit that filled any empty place in
her home.
