Grandparents

Since I was the first granddaughter, I had a special bond to my maternal grandmother, so Grandma Rosie will be first.  I don't know a lot about her past, except her father came to America at a young age from Czechoslovakia.  He was not a Sims but took on that name to avoid being caught for deserting the Prussian army.  So, we do not know how to reach back into the mysterious genealogical matrix for our roots.  All we know is Grampa Sims was a 'boot boy' who fled the army at a very early age to avoid being raped by the officers.  He ended up in Bowling Green?, Ohio, met Grama Maude and did the only thing he knew:  Blow and cut glass.  The family moved to Detroit and lived near downtown around the time Henry Ford made his first assembly line.  Thus, Grampa Sims was commissioned to etch the mirrors for the new Lincoln building.  Word is he also did the artwork on the doors.  He also started a sort of assembly line method of etching glass, although his freestyle etchings were a work of art in themselves.  Mom only has a few of his pieces.  My favorite is a glass with a woodland scene, a deer under a flowering tree next to a pond.


Grama had two younger brothers, Donald and Eldon.  Donald used to sneak out and attend the choir practice at the Episcopal Church downtown closest to the river.  He had the voice of an opera singer, but his papa did not want him doing such an effeminate thing as singing.  Hmmm.  One can see some unresolved issues lingering here.  Grama never spoke well of her mother.  She insisted she was born in a toilet.  I never got the feeling they had a very connected or emotionally healthy relationship.  Grama seemed to be a bit of a whiner, and I was often the one on the listening end of her complaints.  


But she had so much creativity, so much determination, and a wonderful way of hiding her pain as well.  She had back surgery down here in Texas when it was brand new.  I remember when she got home and had many massages on a massage table under a white sheet in the hall off her boudoir. Her bedroom suite had a large bedroom, a bathroom, and a dressing room off the same hall.  The hall was not really like a hall, because it also housed a few dressers, including the highboy Mom eventually inherited.  In her dressing room she had her choice of at least twenty drawers opposite a large walk in closet.  At the end of this dressing room was a vanity where she often could be seen using her curling iron, or as the case may be, trying to use it on me.  I tired of this quickly when she burned my ear the second time.


Grama took up ballroom dancing soon after her back surgery.  Arthur Murray himself danced with her.  She took to this so well, she became active in competitions and won the statewide contest against mostly twenty year olds when she was in her early fifties.  She wore the crinoline slips under flowing Ginger Rogers gowns and professional dance heels covered in sequins and glitter.


All the while Grama kept up her beautiful rose garden and often found me following her as she greeted each one with a morning kiss.  One time Mrs. Brinks asked me if I were to be a gardener like my Grama, and I said, "Oh, no, I am going to be a ballerina," brushing my hair away from my eyes with hands covered in dirt and sweat.  Grama took me with her when she began ice dancing lessons.  I remember pushing a little brown, wooden chair across the ice in my tiny skates as she took her warm-up laps around the rink.  But Grama's roses were her pride and joy, more than her dance awards


Grama also loved to go down to Quarton Lake at midnight and ice dance under a full moon. This is not the only nighttime activity she did with me.  She often took me skinny dipping in the Gulf on our trips down to Naples (before it became the Hollywood of the South.)  I can remember the phospherous gleam of the tiny creatures that glowed in the dark.  I did love the feeling of the water against my skin with no clothes.  It wasn't overly sensuous, but just a free sort of feeling.


Grama and Grampa divorced after thirty five years of marriage.  It was a rocky, scary time for everyone in the family, especially Aunt Kathy and to an extent, Aunt Gretchen.  I was on the receiving end of Grama's frequent expressions of disdain and hatred of men.  She pounded it into me that men were not nice, clean or trustworthy.  She also may have been the catalyst for Mom to have such a hankering for books by Freud or Betty Friedan.


Grama did receive Jesus as her saviour and forgave Grampa before she died.  I know, because I was there when she professed faith and forgave him simultaneously.  I was so happy, I felt like jumping up and dancing, and my heart did just that, if my body didn't.


Grama moved out of the Puritan Road house over to Baldwin Court into a small, modern house with a nice yard for her garden.  She stayed there a few years and found a nice semi-Victorian house on Willets close to town.  This house had a bigger yard and more potential for what turned out being a tour garden.  From this home she also worked for the city of Birmingham growing prize winning roses.  These homes were much smaller as were the pine trees in front.  I will never forget how those big, colored lights looked on the big spruce trees on Puritan Road at Christmas time.  We also seemed to have more musicales, with Kathy playing the harp and Gretchen accompanying our carols on the grand piano in the spacious Puritan Road living room.  Downsizing is always part of the cost of divorce.


No matter what house Grama inhabited, she always loved good music playing on the record player.  She taught me to polka through the halls to Chezh music or Norwegian dances.  I know my love for classical music came first from hearing it at Grama Rosie's.


I had to be careful not to knock any of her beautiful, colored glass off the shelves when dancing through the house.  Grama had a lovely collection, always kept by a window so the sun could shine and disperse its splendid rays through each pretty piece.  Grama felt at home no matter where she was when she had her antique furniture, glass, music and  good soil in which to grow her darling roses.


This was why she failed at living on a thirty five foot motor sailor with her second husband, who changed her name to Vienott.  She did try, and I was brave enough to join them out in Quincy, Massachusetts, for a ten day vacation.  After steering her (Liebchen) through the Cape Cod Canal,  I got sea sick and had to finish the trip at a friend's home near the marina.  This was an experience in and of itself, because these people, the           Fischer's, were Jewish and it was Passover; ah, but that is another story for another time.


Grampa Vienott helped Grama keep her home on Torch Lake.  It was my favorite place in the whole wide world, and it was called, "Trollhaugen."  The lake was always a beautiful tourquoise color, very cold and clear.  The house was an A framed style with a huge kitchen and fireplace which also opened into the living room.  Upstairs included an open loft and what we called the bunk room, because it had 4 bunk beds built into the walls with drawers underneath to house all the grandchildren.  The loft had a double bed and dressers, as well.


One thing I learned from Grama Rosie was the fact that divorce doesn't solve anything.  If one divorces, their problems will only follow them into a second marriage.  Grama and Grampa Vienott also argued and left things hanging, with no real chance at honest emotional connection and caring.  Interestingly enough, both Grama and Grampa Ruhl ended up marrying Easterners, both from Massachusetts.  Neither were happily married the second time around.  I know, because I was a first hand witness to their wretched fighting.  This definitely contributed to the fact that I was married late in life.

First Memories

Most of my early memories were loaned through photographs and overheard famiy conversations.  I, for instance, was born in St. Joseph's Catholic hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and handed to my mom by a nun who dubbed me, "Your little Pocohantas"; My dad forever thus called me, "Pokey" and still does today.

The first family home I remember was a small, two bedroom bungalow on Washington Street in Birmingham, Michigan. We, (my brother, Steve, who was sixteen months older than I,) were given an attic bed by default at the appearance of our little brother, Andy, soon after we settled in our new home.  

We also were sent to, "The Apple Orchard," a nursery school owned by some people my parents knew pretty well.  I don't remember it well, other than that I disliked the place.  It was old, musty smelling and dark.  I did not like being away from Mom, but I did like the nap times, which were introduced by snacks of apple juice and graham crackers.  I enjoyed the quiet time because I knew in an hour our parents would come to get us.

Our first Christmas withnew baby brother, Andy, found us up and opening (sans parents) at daybreak.  Steve told me which presents had my name, so boy, did we rip!  Mom and Dad were not any too pleased to find we had opened everything before they got up.  I remember getting a doll baby and carriage.  But it was not long before a nap was needed, since we had stayed awake  as long as possible Christmas Eve waiting for Santa by playing, "Blow a peep and go to sleep." It was a silly game Steve made up that kept us laughing until we finally succumbed to slumber.  Mom always cleaned while we napped, so she had plenty of time to clean up the effects of the unwrapping cyclone we had brought to the living room.

Winters were fun in the suburbs when Dad or Mom pulled us around the block on the sled.  Being bundled up was a time consuming, but comforting affair. Greeting neighbors was always an important activity for the folks, so our winter walks served that purpose, bringing many people out on the coldest of days.  Family played a large role in our lives as well.   We often went down to Dad's parents on Wisconsin Street, in Detroit on Sunday afternoons. Grampa Edwards, Dad, and Uncles, Tom and Bob always watched sports, usually baseball, football or hockey.  Grama made the most delicious homemade white bread, cakes and roast beef with mashed potatoes and dark gravy.

After Andy was born, we also spent a considerable amount of time at Grama Ruhl's house with Aunts, Kathy and Gretchen. They were only four and six years older than me.  Naptime rarely came for me at 963 Puritan Road.  Kathy and I and sometimes Gretchen would play with their Madame Alexander dolls.  Whenever Grama or the maid came to check on us, we hid the dolls under the covers and closed our eyes in feigned sleep.  If caught, the dolls were confiscated, but we stayed awake by whispering, "And..." stories, where one person had to pick up the story line when the first narrator said, "And..."  We couldn't wait til 'naptime' was over so we could jump on the pogo stick in the basement or play on the corner vacant lot next to Oak Street and the dog run and Grama's beautiful rose garden.  

I still loved coming home, especially after Daddy got home, or on weekends, so he could help me learn to hang by my knees on our swingset.  He also set up the wading pool where I coaxed our springer spaniel, Daisy, to cool herself off on hotter summer days.

I disliked kindergarten just about as much as nursery school and remember the day Mom took me to Pierce School to meet my new teacher.  I had only half day kindergartenl and was always happy to go home at lunch time.  Steve walked me there in the mornings, and I think he may have walked me home at lunch time as well.  Mom's sister, Margie, used to teach first grade at Pierce, but that was before Steve and I attended.

Sometime during the summer between kindergarten and first grade Mom and Dad went out to look at a house on Pine Lake.  It was on Middlebelt road and had a long rectangular back yard with the gravel driveway in the middle.  The house was just past what we called, "Andy's Apple Tree."  It had one of those white benches circling it.  I always wondered how they did that.   The garage had an attached guest house and the bigger section of the back yard was adjacent to our house. We rented the guest house to some very interesting people, especially Mr.          , a French architect.  


There were only two bedrooms in this house as well, but there was a large dressing room with all cupboards and closets instead of walls right next to the master bedroom, which Mom and Dad made into my bedroom.  I could lie down at night and see the moon and stars from a small window above the bed.  There was also a screened in porch off the dressing room, where I slept when the weather grew hot in the summer.

The back entrance to the home was through a sort of mud porch and went into either the large country kitchen or the small den where we watched tv.  The kitchen had a breakfast nook surrounded by a small bay window.  From it I could see one of my favorite tulip trees and the  McBrides house nextdoor.  The cupboards were yellow and may have had some hearts and flowers stencil painting done in red.  My room was above the kitchen.

On the other side of the kitchen was a formal dining room with a fireplace.  We ate many a, "Leave it to Beaver" dinner there.    The south wall of the dining and living rooms was a panel of windows overlooking the huge front yard that ended at the lake's edge.  The living room also had a fireplace as did Dad and Mom's room.  We had lots of trees and bushes surrounding the house.

We loved swimming in the lake as well as fishing off the dock at the edge of our front yard.  There was a bit of seaweed, but we knew just where to go to avoid it.  Winter fun began when the lake froze in December.  Sometimes it even froze in November.  But one particular Christmas Eve I remember the lake being as smooth as glass.  Below zero temperatures allowed for very little snow, so we skated almost all the way across the lake that night under a full moon after a visit with Santa, whom we knew to be Mom's daddy.  We often built a bon fire and made hot dogs and marshmellows to warm us after a long night of skating.

When school started in the fall, Steve and I went to a one-room school house about a quarter of a mile from our home. We could get there by walking down Middlebelt and Long Lake Roads, or cut across our elderly neighbor's front yard to a subdivision's beach and across Long Lake Road to the school.  Mom and Dad must have trusted Steve to get us there, since both these roads were pretty busy and the speed limit was not 25 mph like it was on Washington Street.

Later in the year, Mom would sometimes let me walk it by myself.  She always told me not to ever, under any circumstances, for any reason whatsoever, talk to strangers.  One time it was muddy, so I took the big roads home.  I had just about gotten to our driveway when a sedan came slowly up beside me, and a man rolled down his window and said, "There's a turtle up the road."  It scared me so much, I turned on my heels and ran back down the subdivision and through the muddy beach, to the McBride's yard.  Mollie McBride was like my grandmother, always eager to visit and Mr. McBride had many interesting tales to tell, so they were never angry when I cut through their yard.

Our neighbors on the other side had six boys!  Yes, and they played with my brothers and often made me into the Indian princess who was captured and tied to the nearest tree.  I also had two girlfriends, both of which lived in the nearby subdivision, but I did not get to play at their houses, except on an occasional weekend day.  So, I was stuck with the boys much of the time and did get to be somewhat of a tomboy, just so I could resist their meanness.

Whenever spring came around, those boys would always race to see who would be brave enough to jump in the freezing lake water.  I was very blessed to be able to live on Pine Lake and always loved summers, especially when Mom let me entertain the Brownies.  Mom was a den mother and sent me to camp.  I was assigned,"Dukki Patrol" cleaning the outhouse and got a bad case of impetigo, so Dad had to come and get me after only three days.  I was never so glad to be going home.  It was right after this episode Mom threw the Brownie party.  I snuck her razor and tried shaving my legs for the very first time.  Unfortunately, I cut my legs badly and showed up on the front lawn in thick, wool, knee sox.  It didn't take Mom long to figure out what I had done when I said I did not want to go swimming but only play badminton instead.  Mom, always the gracious hostess, let it slide and only gave me a soft reprimand after all our guests had left.  After all, I was going to be in fifth grade soon!

I always looked forward to visiting the summer cottage Grampa Edwards made for Grama in Amherstberg, Ontario.  It was close enough for a day trip, being only thirty miles south (yes,  south!) of Detroit.  But I cherished the times our whole family would stay there for the entire weekend.  Mom and Dad had the guest bedroom downstairs, and we kids got to sleep up in the attic where there were two double beds and a single bed in the middle.  The attic fan would always suck out the hot, summer air, and bring in the cooler night air, just right for sleeping.  Often we stopped at a vegetable stand and bought fresh corn, beans, tomatoes and cucumbers.  Grama made delicious ice tea and let us have Nehi or Faygo pop, usually orange or root beer.  In Amherstberg there was a little china shop where we got ice cream cones for a nickel.  A dime would get a double dip.  The ice cream tasted homemade.  Mom loved to peruse the antiques while we ate our cones. 

When the weekend was over one of us got to stay for the week.  Sometimes two of us got to stay.  I had a Canada, "Best friend" named Debbie Grace who lived three houses down.  I walked over through the back yards, stood outside her door and called, "Deeeehhhbie" until she came out or her mom said to come in.  We played in their barn where there were annual barn dances with many of the Detroit Tigers attending.  It was exciting, because I was allowed to stay up until almost midnight on those nights.  At lunch time we usually went back to Grama's cottage to see if she had any extra bread to make peanut butter or cheese sandwiches for us, and if she didn't we sometimes coaxed scrumcious corn fritters out of her. Sometimes we just had to eat separately, but we inevitably got back together to go swimming in the hot afternoons if someone was willing to go across the road and down to the river with us.  There was a strong current in the Detroit River and the regularly scheduled freighters drew a large suction and were never very far offshore.  The crew always waved at us.  We could also see the freighters while eating breakfast at the kitchen window.

When it rained, we went on the front porch and swung on the couch or played Sorry or Tiddlywinks on the table.  We also loved reading such books as, "Paddle to the Sea" or "Little Toot."  But our favorite was, "Nurse Jane and Uncle Wiggley."  Sometimes we went to visit Debbie's grama, Nellie, who was also a friend of my Grama.  These ladies always reminded me of Aunt Bea on the Andy Griffith show.

Our time of innocence at the lake came to a screeching halt soon after my brother, Andy was hit by an oil tank as he followed Dad around one morning.  I don't know how it happened, but Grama Ruhl had to come to get us from school, because Mom and Dad were at the hospital.  Andy was not quite old enough to go to school.  The tank had pinned him down, and he underwent surgery on his pelvis bone.  We spent a lot of time at Grama's in Birmingham while he recovered.  Mom had her hands full.  This, in addition to problems with the septic tank, was the reason we had to leave our lovely country reprieve.