My mind wanders today in tandem with my recent journey. A short journey in miles - I moved just a few miles to the northside of Chicago, but a long journey in who I am and who I was and who I will be.
I downsized, simplified and plain old 'got rid of' a lot of THINGS (and I mean things as in possessions) for this move. It was, in the end cathartic, but in the process emotionally and therefore physically draining.
I recommend it to everyone. I especially recommend it to you if you are hesitant about the next step in your life, or a bit afraid of what the future holds, or if you are feeling like your life has 'stuck' in a holding pattern not of your choice. If your circumstances dictate that you move, then look at this as an opportunity to reflect on your life's route, stick out your thumb for help, and just start the journey.
As a matter of fact, this experience was so eyeopening to me that I now plan to make this an annual event in my life. I feel connected to the world. I have a history - it's good, bad and ugly, but it's mine! I think I've made a difference in someone's life. I plan to let others know they've made a difference in mine. Coincidences can't be programmed in GPS.
It started with a DVD made by my uncle shortly after my dad's death in 2000. It had pictures of my dad's parents & their siblings, pictures of my dad's brothers and sisters, their kids, and grandkids - almost 70 years worth of pictures! I also found a CD made from a recording of my father playing the accordian when he was 8 or 10 years old (a special talent for kids of the 40's and 50's - no one plays the accordian anymore!). On that original recording my grandparents and aunts and uncles sent a short note to a family friend...I heard my grandmother's voice as a young woman. She was 10 years younger than I am now - my grandmother! My aunts, some shyly, some boldly, stepping up to the recorder saying "hi". My aunt Ardith, may she rest in peace, was bold and outspoken in my life - the one people listened too, and so it seems from the recording, had this character trait even as a young girl. My aunt Sandy is shy, a killer with kindness, the one whose heart lives on her sleeve; and in the recording, you could hear that.
I kept my wedding dress, and the maid of honor's, our marriage certificate and the cake topper- all there for my children. I reread letters my ex husband and I wrote to each other during our painful separation and eventual divorce. They are heartrending and so real and so full of feeling. I cried a lot reading them, just as I cried a lot going through it. But I see in those letters, two people who didn't know each other until it was too late. And it reaffirms that the choice to divorce was the right choice.
I really liked going through things my children made - things they made just for me of their own accord, or things that every child makes in kindergarten in Iowa (the laminated Christmas tree with their smiling faces in place of the star). I kept coloring books just because they had colored in them. From the one color scribbles all over the page to the multi-colored, intricate pictures, all within the lines, of course! My children colored these, I see their tiny 4 year old selves hunkered down, concentrating on making the picture 'just right' for me. I have their report cards, their birth certificates, and thousands (yes, thousands!) of pictures of them. The amount even surprised me. As a matter of fact, of the 20 or so boxes I moved - almost 1/3 are full of pictures or mementos of my kids.
There are pictures of me as a child with my three brothers (sorry Sis & Ty you weren't born then) and cousins. I looked positively anorexic until puberty set in! My birth certificate - goodness my feet were tiny and...crooked. Maybe that's why they hurt today? Some of my report cards - almost all say I don't live up to my potential. What potential did those elementary teachers see in me? More importantly, how could I, a 7 year old, not live up to it? My high school year books, graduation photos and pictures from high school friends whose short notes on the back almost always describe me as "sweet" and "smart". I have the first book, although coverless, I was ever allowed to purchase from Scholastic Books. "A Room for Kathy" so appropriate for a girl who grew up with three younger brothers!
There were papers and quizzes, and abstracts and loan applications in there from my college years; both undergraduate and graduate. Newspaper clippings of my time as the student body president/vice president, a bronze labeled plaque in recognition as an outstanding alumni and capstone projects, a proposed theory on adult education (presented by me at a national conference I might add). And pictures too of my colleagues, Dr. Earnest (now, just Kurt then), Ms. Ruther, my mentors, Dr. Fairchild and Ms. Morlan and professors, Dr.s Torrie and Hausafras who helped me live up to my potential.
I kept my performance evaluations from Iowa State (wow! I was a go-getter) and the letter offering me the job at DePaul. I kept my first lease without my husband as a co-signer and my first lease in Chicago in a box. Some pictures of me enjoying myself at a size acceptance group, a few pictures of me with men I dated.
There were newspaper obituaries, and funeral programs of loved ones; both my parents, my mother-in-law, who was like a second mom, the grandparents Gumm, aunts and uncles and my dear friend Lisa Lilac who lost her six year battle with breast cancer less than a year ago. I'm glad we put pictures on funeral programs - we show them smiling and living their lives, surrounded by loved ones. It's as it should be.
I looked at pictures and postcards and lots of souvenirs from my travels abroad. Even maps of airports in Kuwait, Turkey and Bahrain - did I really think I was going to get lost in an airport? Is that me riding a camel in the Dubai desert? I celebrated my 40th birthday in Seoul, Korea and that picture of a flushed me with 40 empty glasses? I did NOT drink all those beverages.
I read notes to myself about work, looked at mundane 'to do' lists and found the first few chapters of the book I began writing in 1999. Subsequent chapters were in other layers of stuff.
While I didn't keep all of these things, just looking at them, reading them, feeling the emotions each evoked, helped me realize what path I've been on. As a little girl, I dreamed that my life would consist of travel and a stage. So the stage happened to be in high schools telling people about the opportunities a college education could afford them. I believe that. I am a walking example of that philosophy. So what if, in the dream I was 5 foot 10 and 120 lbs with long, flowing brown hair and drove a lime green sport car? I was still on the same highway. I may not have always followed the prescribed route and sometimes I admit I was lost and did not ask for directions, but I am here - still on that road, still moving forward, with a destination of being the best I can be in mind.
At this time in my life, I am moving into the slow lane. Honk at me if you choose, but I'm here and I know where I am going. Like the little old lady who can barely see over the steering wheel, I will not let your aggressive habits deter me from my destination. I will take a few classes so that I can teach composition at university level, if time allows, I'll earn a PhD. I will set my eyes on the 'early semi-retirement' exit sign and if all the planning and mapping and use of the GPS system fails, then I'll move into the next lane and keep going forward, using my rearview mirror as inspiration and motivation.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
It's all fun and games until the Monkey pokes out your eyes...Memories of my Gram Keasey
My mind has traveled to my Gram (my dad's mom) because earlier this week, I was sharing some of the small-town Iowa German-ess of my heritage with a new colleague. Grams always made me laugh, even when she was scaring me, and she influenced my life in many ways. And I loved her more than I can say.
She was a real-life character. I have met very few people who had a Gram like mine, and of those I have, we've bonded instantly. There is something about having a Gram who was bigger than life that makes your childhood unique. She should have been a TV show. I wish I had asked her a few more questions, asked her to expound on her life. But I was probably running from her and the flyswatter she tended to hit us with when we were mouthy (read disagreed with her) 'bohunks'. I think she used the term affectionately, although it has more objectionable and not politically correct meanings.
My Gram (legal name Mildred, friends and family called her Midge) was about 4 foot 9 inches tall and weighed about 150 lbs. Family history has it she was born in the bedpan and premature, in a time when premature babies didn't survive. She was a fighter and she survived. She became the family pet to all her older sisters and brothers, who spoiled her at every opportunity. She developed a sense of entitlement early on.
At the time I remember her best, she was blind in one eye, so wore an eye patch under her cat's eye eyeglasses. She had battleship grey hair cut very short, in the style of a 50's doo-wop singer - that little flip in the front with some wave. I do believe this was a radical haircut for a woman then. It was the early 70's so she wore 'pantsuits' (all the rage and all polyester), and for some reason white nurse shoes. I don't think she was ever a nurse.
In the earlier pictures of Gram, she is wearing an apron over her farm dress, has windblown curly hair and is surrounded by 7 children (she had 9, but two died in infancy); my father the baby of the family for 13 years until his brother was born. My father was also the favorite of my Gram and even though they had emotionally violent differences, he remained her golden child. For some reason a majority of the pics of my father's family have everyone standing by a car. Actually, I've noticed that a lot of 40's & 50's pics have people standing by a car...but that is another topic for my traveling mind.
My grandparents owned a small 'mom and pop' motel and diner in a small close-to-a-college town in Iowa. I have a few, bright memories of the diner, and lots of memories of the motel. The diner was SMALL, like a box car. My grandpa cooked at the diner and for years after it closed, we ate from the diner dishes. Heavy dishes you don't find anymore. The diner became a storage shed on the motel property - painted emerald green and full of who knows what. Once Haystack Calhoun (a very famous tv & mid-west circuit wrestler) stopped at the diner and everyone had their picture taken with him, especially my Gram....he was huge and remember the diner was SMALL. My grandmother loved tv wrestling and never, ever, believed it was choreographed.
Every summer until I was 16 or 17, I lived with my grandparents and uncle in the hotel. And I helped my grandpa with cleaning, laundry, yard work, and taking care of my Gram. She was little, but she was the ruler of her domain, she may have been a dictator, or even a despot. Grandpa had been in the USNavy and was about 6 feet tall, yet I swear, he was slightly afraid of her (as were we all). Each morning Grandpa gave her an insulin injection and then brought her breakfast, which he prepared, of grapefruit slices, poached eggs and toast on a tray. He and I would eat Wheaties in the kitchen before beginning the daily motel chores...I love Wheaties. My uncle, may he rest in peace, was only 7 years older than me and so was much more like an older brother, would have been up tending to his numerous side businesses before heading to work at the local school district. He too influenced my life beyond belief, and I will write about him another time.
Gram had way too many pets: she bred chihuahua dogs, lived with a myna bird, tropical fish, and monkeys. Yes monkeys. Those skinny rat-like monkeys with the long tails and white hairy beards and manes around their faces. Sammy and Susie...right there in their special little cage, in the 'reception' area of the motel. They were mean and they scared the hell out of us, but Gram insisted that we let them play. They would pull our hair, jam their fingers in our ears and nostrils and scream with their mouths wide open showing barred teeth that looked like fangs. For some reason they especially liked to torture my younger brother, Tony, who was about 4 or 5. When in their cages, Sammy masturbated constantly or sexually attacked Susie at frequent intervals - all to our wide-eyed questioning. Gram would tell us to 'never mind that' and not answer our questions. She bought special fruits for them, in particular little, tiny bananas. Today that doesn't seem such a sacrifice, but I am sure then they were harder to find.
This was the 60's and 70's - the reception area of the motel was actually the living room of my grandparents home. It had two couches covered with a thousand crocheted pillows and dolls or holiday accessories. There was a TV next to the stand-alone heater, Georgie Porgie (the myna bird)next to the motel entrance door, the special built cage for Sammy and Susie, a big fish aquarium filled with tropical fish in very bright yellow and blue colors, the 'reception desk' with the candy stand....oh the candy stand.
Behind the reception desk - which was metal gray and about chest high to an average sized adult - was the candy stand. Motel customers could buy candy; big blocky klondike bars, hershey bars, gum and pop (soda to you non-Iowans). They could also buy Tums, Bayer aspirin, and other things someone traveling along route 69 in the midwest might need. And it was so enticing and off-limits to the grandchildren. My Gram, who was diabetic, would hide some candy every once in a while (okay more than she should have) in her pantsuit pocket and eat it but still forbid us from doing so.
The motel was called the Poplar Motel due to the string of poplar trees that used to be behind it and down by the small creek that ran beside it. By the time I lived there, the trees were spindly and dying or spindly and newly planted. Each room opened onto the sidewalk which ran in front of the motel. A little roof topped the sidewalk and was held up with black, wrought-iron posts. Some metal rocking lawn chairs were set out along the sidewalk, under yellow insect-repellent light bulbs for patrons who wanted to watch the traffic pass by. The motel sign was like that you see in the Psycho movies - a big, neon adorned sign set close to the road, advertising 'vacancy' or 'no vacancy', blinking a big yellow arrow toward the motel set not more than 50 feet from the entrance. Each year my grandpa planted flowers in the brick base of the motel sign...one year I pulled them all thinking they were weeds. They were Bachelor's Buttons and years later at my own home I planted them again...they DO look like weeds until they bloom.
Each room had a double bed (0r two) and 12x12 inch square tile floors, a TV, a separate bathroom with a tiled shower. One very tiny window in the bedroom and bathroom, with spun glass curtains hung on rods with very sharp pleat-enhancing hooks. A lamp (or two) with a twisty neck, bolted to the wall or bedside table. No artwork that I can remember on the walls. No big fluffy towels, no special ginger-mint soaps or shampoos. An individually wrapped bar of dial soap and two white, well-worn, rough, but absorbent towels and face cloths was the standard. Just thinking about the motel, I can smell Dial soap, although I've never used it other than at Gram's all those years ago.
The myna bird, Georgie Porgie who "kissed the girls and made them cry" as he liked to tell us, learned very early to mimic my Gram. Now my Gram could swear like a sailor, she cheated at cards and sometimes she judged the actions of her family and the motel patrons pretty harshly. This made for a wonderful repetoire for Georgie. Georgie was vindictive and hated my Grandpa. Grandpa didn't really like him either, but often had to be the one to clean out his cage and assist Georgie in his bathing ritual. I watched this bird, and if Gram helped him bathe, he was all kisses and sweetness, saying "thank you" and "Georgie's clean". When Grandpa did it, Georgie was swearing and cussing and throwing water all over the place. I know he hated Grandpa because one of the things Georgie repeated ad nausem was the creaking of the motel reception area door. Each time the door opened, Georgie 'creeeaaaaaaked'...and each time my Gram would say "G*dDammit Roy, oil that door". Eventually, Georgie went right from the 'creeeaaaak' to "G*dammit Roy"...and so Gram realized that Grampa HAD oiled the door and now we had to cover Georgie Porgie up anytime non-family came to the door. Sometimes Grandpa 'forgot' to uncover him for hours afterwards.
As I mentioned earlier, Gram bred & sold Chihuahua dogs. For the most part Chihuahuas are tiny, trembling things. They have a sharp bark and a Napolean complex - every time anyone came near Gram her breeder dogs/pets would growl and perk up their ears as a warning to us. Except for her favorite, Jinglehopper. Jinglehopper was shaped like a football. This is a very unusual shape for a chihuahua, she was...fat, incredibly fat. She wasn't always fat, when Gram first got her, she was tiny, so Gram put a little christmas bell around her neck so Grandpa, so tall and unaware, wouldnt' step on her. Jinglehopper's name came quite naturally - she had the bell around her fat little neck and she had only three legs causing her gait to be a little choppy. Believe me, this little chichuahua could not HOP up on anthing...so Gram often picked her up and carried her about, or sat watching wrestling on TV with Jinglehopper preening by her side.
Gram crocheted as if her life depended on it. She made Barbie doll clothes for the grandaughters. She made us sweaters. She crocheted smocking on flirty dresses for our baby pictures. She made doll pillows, she made dolls whose skirts covered the toilet paper roll. Dolls whose skirts coverd the toaster and the blender. She made potholders, oven mitts, baby booties and blankets. Doilies that covered every square inch of furniture or table top. She taught me to crochet and I have made....bed throws. That is it. But I remember Gram teaching me - I had to make a long (and I mean LONG) chain of stitches that all looked the same before she would let me make a square for a blanket. She taught me crocheting perfection.
I have so many stories about Gram. Next time I will talk about her cheating at cards and chasing us with flyswatters. I will explore the relationship she had with my dad and hence my mother and how I fit into that complex, sometimes hurtful triangle. I will share her wise words when I started being interested in boys and her advice on the perils of loving men. I'll invite you into her world of hoarding, and how when she passed, we found her tiny, tiny shoes from the 1930's and 40's stashed in her bedroom under every present her 7 children had ever given her. I'll talk about how she became a CB Radio queen and the clubs she joined and the jamborees she attended. And that will lead us into my uncle's life and how important he was to me as well.
As I would say when staying with my grandparents, Walton family style: Good night Grampa, Good night D, Good night Gram. Thank you for loving me. I love you.
She was a real-life character. I have met very few people who had a Gram like mine, and of those I have, we've bonded instantly. There is something about having a Gram who was bigger than life that makes your childhood unique. She should have been a TV show. I wish I had asked her a few more questions, asked her to expound on her life. But I was probably running from her and the flyswatter she tended to hit us with when we were mouthy (read disagreed with her) 'bohunks'. I think she used the term affectionately, although it has more objectionable and not politically correct meanings.
My Gram (legal name Mildred, friends and family called her Midge) was about 4 foot 9 inches tall and weighed about 150 lbs. Family history has it she was born in the bedpan and premature, in a time when premature babies didn't survive. She was a fighter and she survived. She became the family pet to all her older sisters and brothers, who spoiled her at every opportunity. She developed a sense of entitlement early on.
At the time I remember her best, she was blind in one eye, so wore an eye patch under her cat's eye eyeglasses. She had battleship grey hair cut very short, in the style of a 50's doo-wop singer - that little flip in the front with some wave. I do believe this was a radical haircut for a woman then. It was the early 70's so she wore 'pantsuits' (all the rage and all polyester), and for some reason white nurse shoes. I don't think she was ever a nurse.
In the earlier pictures of Gram, she is wearing an apron over her farm dress, has windblown curly hair and is surrounded by 7 children (she had 9, but two died in infancy); my father the baby of the family for 13 years until his brother was born. My father was also the favorite of my Gram and even though they had emotionally violent differences, he remained her golden child. For some reason a majority of the pics of my father's family have everyone standing by a car. Actually, I've noticed that a lot of 40's & 50's pics have people standing by a car...but that is another topic for my traveling mind.
My grandparents owned a small 'mom and pop' motel and diner in a small close-to-a-college town in Iowa. I have a few, bright memories of the diner, and lots of memories of the motel. The diner was SMALL, like a box car. My grandpa cooked at the diner and for years after it closed, we ate from the diner dishes. Heavy dishes you don't find anymore. The diner became a storage shed on the motel property - painted emerald green and full of who knows what. Once Haystack Calhoun (a very famous tv & mid-west circuit wrestler) stopped at the diner and everyone had their picture taken with him, especially my Gram....he was huge and remember the diner was SMALL. My grandmother loved tv wrestling and never, ever, believed it was choreographed.
Every summer until I was 16 or 17, I lived with my grandparents and uncle in the hotel. And I helped my grandpa with cleaning, laundry, yard work, and taking care of my Gram. She was little, but she was the ruler of her domain, she may have been a dictator, or even a despot. Grandpa had been in the USNavy and was about 6 feet tall, yet I swear, he was slightly afraid of her (as were we all). Each morning Grandpa gave her an insulin injection and then brought her breakfast, which he prepared, of grapefruit slices, poached eggs and toast on a tray. He and I would eat Wheaties in the kitchen before beginning the daily motel chores...I love Wheaties. My uncle, may he rest in peace, was only 7 years older than me and so was much more like an older brother, would have been up tending to his numerous side businesses before heading to work at the local school district. He too influenced my life beyond belief, and I will write about him another time.
Gram had way too many pets: she bred chihuahua dogs, lived with a myna bird, tropical fish, and monkeys. Yes monkeys. Those skinny rat-like monkeys with the long tails and white hairy beards and manes around their faces. Sammy and Susie...right there in their special little cage, in the 'reception' area of the motel. They were mean and they scared the hell out of us, but Gram insisted that we let them play. They would pull our hair, jam their fingers in our ears and nostrils and scream with their mouths wide open showing barred teeth that looked like fangs. For some reason they especially liked to torture my younger brother, Tony, who was about 4 or 5. When in their cages, Sammy masturbated constantly or sexually attacked Susie at frequent intervals - all to our wide-eyed questioning. Gram would tell us to 'never mind that' and not answer our questions. She bought special fruits for them, in particular little, tiny bananas. Today that doesn't seem such a sacrifice, but I am sure then they were harder to find.
This was the 60's and 70's - the reception area of the motel was actually the living room of my grandparents home. It had two couches covered with a thousand crocheted pillows and dolls or holiday accessories. There was a TV next to the stand-alone heater, Georgie Porgie (the myna bird)next to the motel entrance door, the special built cage for Sammy and Susie, a big fish aquarium filled with tropical fish in very bright yellow and blue colors, the 'reception desk' with the candy stand....oh the candy stand.
Behind the reception desk - which was metal gray and about chest high to an average sized adult - was the candy stand. Motel customers could buy candy; big blocky klondike bars, hershey bars, gum and pop (soda to you non-Iowans). They could also buy Tums, Bayer aspirin, and other things someone traveling along route 69 in the midwest might need. And it was so enticing and off-limits to the grandchildren. My Gram, who was diabetic, would hide some candy every once in a while (okay more than she should have) in her pantsuit pocket and eat it but still forbid us from doing so.
The motel was called the Poplar Motel due to the string of poplar trees that used to be behind it and down by the small creek that ran beside it. By the time I lived there, the trees were spindly and dying or spindly and newly planted. Each room opened onto the sidewalk which ran in front of the motel. A little roof topped the sidewalk and was held up with black, wrought-iron posts. Some metal rocking lawn chairs were set out along the sidewalk, under yellow insect-repellent light bulbs for patrons who wanted to watch the traffic pass by. The motel sign was like that you see in the Psycho movies - a big, neon adorned sign set close to the road, advertising 'vacancy' or 'no vacancy', blinking a big yellow arrow toward the motel set not more than 50 feet from the entrance. Each year my grandpa planted flowers in the brick base of the motel sign...one year I pulled them all thinking they were weeds. They were Bachelor's Buttons and years later at my own home I planted them again...they DO look like weeds until they bloom.
Each room had a double bed (0r two) and 12x12 inch square tile floors, a TV, a separate bathroom with a tiled shower. One very tiny window in the bedroom and bathroom, with spun glass curtains hung on rods with very sharp pleat-enhancing hooks. A lamp (or two) with a twisty neck, bolted to the wall or bedside table. No artwork that I can remember on the walls. No big fluffy towels, no special ginger-mint soaps or shampoos. An individually wrapped bar of dial soap and two white, well-worn, rough, but absorbent towels and face cloths was the standard. Just thinking about the motel, I can smell Dial soap, although I've never used it other than at Gram's all those years ago.
The myna bird, Georgie Porgie who "kissed the girls and made them cry" as he liked to tell us, learned very early to mimic my Gram. Now my Gram could swear like a sailor, she cheated at cards and sometimes she judged the actions of her family and the motel patrons pretty harshly. This made for a wonderful repetoire for Georgie. Georgie was vindictive and hated my Grandpa. Grandpa didn't really like him either, but often had to be the one to clean out his cage and assist Georgie in his bathing ritual. I watched this bird, and if Gram helped him bathe, he was all kisses and sweetness, saying "thank you" and "Georgie's clean". When Grandpa did it, Georgie was swearing and cussing and throwing water all over the place. I know he hated Grandpa because one of the things Georgie repeated ad nausem was the creaking of the motel reception area door. Each time the door opened, Georgie 'creeeaaaaaaked'...and each time my Gram would say "G*dDammit Roy, oil that door". Eventually, Georgie went right from the 'creeeaaaak' to "G*dammit Roy"...and so Gram realized that Grampa HAD oiled the door and now we had to cover Georgie Porgie up anytime non-family came to the door. Sometimes Grandpa 'forgot' to uncover him for hours afterwards.
As I mentioned earlier, Gram bred & sold Chihuahua dogs. For the most part Chihuahuas are tiny, trembling things. They have a sharp bark and a Napolean complex - every time anyone came near Gram her breeder dogs/pets would growl and perk up their ears as a warning to us. Except for her favorite, Jinglehopper. Jinglehopper was shaped like a football. This is a very unusual shape for a chihuahua, she was...fat, incredibly fat. She wasn't always fat, when Gram first got her, she was tiny, so Gram put a little christmas bell around her neck so Grandpa, so tall and unaware, wouldnt' step on her. Jinglehopper's name came quite naturally - she had the bell around her fat little neck and she had only three legs causing her gait to be a little choppy. Believe me, this little chichuahua could not HOP up on anthing...so Gram often picked her up and carried her about, or sat watching wrestling on TV with Jinglehopper preening by her side.
Gram crocheted as if her life depended on it. She made Barbie doll clothes for the grandaughters. She made us sweaters. She crocheted smocking on flirty dresses for our baby pictures. She made doll pillows, she made dolls whose skirts covered the toilet paper roll. Dolls whose skirts coverd the toaster and the blender. She made potholders, oven mitts, baby booties and blankets. Doilies that covered every square inch of furniture or table top. She taught me to crochet and I have made....bed throws. That is it. But I remember Gram teaching me - I had to make a long (and I mean LONG) chain of stitches that all looked the same before she would let me make a square for a blanket. She taught me crocheting perfection.
I have so many stories about Gram. Next time I will talk about her cheating at cards and chasing us with flyswatters. I will explore the relationship she had with my dad and hence my mother and how I fit into that complex, sometimes hurtful triangle. I will share her wise words when I started being interested in boys and her advice on the perils of loving men. I'll invite you into her world of hoarding, and how when she passed, we found her tiny, tiny shoes from the 1930's and 40's stashed in her bedroom under every present her 7 children had ever given her. I'll talk about how she became a CB Radio queen and the clubs she joined and the jamborees she attended. And that will lead us into my uncle's life and how important he was to me as well.
As I would say when staying with my grandparents, Walton family style: Good night Grampa, Good night D, Good night Gram. Thank you for loving me. I love you.
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