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.