Memories of Grandparents

A significant part of my early memories of Grandma Palmer include her exclamations of how some of us had grown- each time we visited. Though I was soon sent back to “the back room,”  to work on getting the ball out of the rubber duck for the next several hours, I knew she loved and cared about me because of the initial hug, kiss, and exclamations. I looked for the day when I would grow taller than her, because she made such a fuss over the older ones who had passed her up.   I remember well the cozy feeling of being packed in like sardines around the kitchen table, and the not so cozy feeling of giving mom a panicked look as I was served up cooked onions.  As I snuck over to whisper to her that I couldn’t eat them at the end of dinner, mom looked as panicked as I did.  The table seemed to go silent as grandma scowled and told me not to bother mother. “What is the matter?” said the sharp voice. “Oh EAT them.”  I gagged on my food for the first time ever, and mom somehow disposed of the rest of them without grandma noticing. After those tense moments, everyone would relax there in the crowded kitchen after dinner- the boys and dad sprawled on the green couch by the window, telling stories. That, or when the dishes were done, some of us would go in the living room, and Dad would hold grandmas hand as they sat in the rocking chairs that sat next to each other, telling stories or sitting in companionable silence.  Grandma looked happy during those moments when her children so affectionately held her wrinkled hand…that is- until I crept in from the back room to whisper in mom’s ear, or to quietly sit on her lap.  Then, the scowl returned and a sharp, “quit botherin’ your mother!”  I wasn’t offended.  I knew from a young age it was just her way, and I’d slink back to what seemed “outer darkness.”

  When Uncle Joel and Aunt Lois were visiting or staying for the summer, the house came alive with jokes and overflowed happiness.  Who could keep from feeling happy with the energy that seemed to cheerfully bound from Aunt Lois, as she firmly instructed all the children where to go and what to do, and as uncle Joel tried to stomp on “barking spiders,” control his teasing boys by, “milking the mouse,” and told jokes and stories with such jovial and sincere enjoyment? He would wipe at the tears running down his cheeks, and the rest of us would find ourselves doing the same- it truly was contagious! How happy I was when Holly stopped waiting around for Katie to play with her, and settled for me!   We had such good times playing in the barn, climbing trees, eating “cheese its,”(some kind of weed,) playing “statue,” and exploring the upstairs. We dreamed in Aunt Pauline’s bedroom and wished we had dolls to put in that cool old cradle. We made beds of grass in the field, picked ripe plums and green apples that would supposedly make us sick.  I was a little envious sometimes that those cousins seemed so comfortable there, and busy and useful, since I felt very underfoot most of the time.  But Aunt Lois and Melanie never let the grass grow under our feet for long.  As Shawn and I got older we would usually stay a few days in the summer to spend time with Holly and Nels, and to work on the Butler farm-(I’m sure mom just wanted us to experience some hard physical labor.)  We were instantly put to work picking berries, pulling “Dyers Woe,”(?), cleaning house, gardening, cooking, etc.  Most of it we liked- it was great to feel so needed and useful, but my energy waned after a full day of pulling weeds in the field.  I was shaky and weak, hot and filthy…but then came the reward that Melanie had been encouraging us with all day- “The Flume.”  I never knew something could be so fun! Getting sucked through that man-made canal thingy was a rush! One of those first summers, tragedy struck while Shawn and I were staying with the cousins.  Lena Clark (our neighbor from across the street,) was killed in the car accident.  Joel and Lois had to leave, and mom and dad couldn’t come and get us because they were busy helping the Clarks, and Shawn and I were alone with Grandma.  It seemed like we were there for a week- I’m sure it was only two or three days.  We were so homesick, but we tried to comfort each other the best we could.  We watched “An American Tale,” and “Where the Red Fern Grows,” until we were truly depressed, and tried to stay outside, busy, and out of Grandma’s way as much as we could.  When dad pulled up to get us that last day I don’t think he’d ever had such a warm reception.  We leaped off the porch into his arms then waited impatiently while he visited grandma.

I can’t leave Grandma’s house without mentioning the barn. The dust that floated on the light streaming through the cracks in the barn was beautiful to me- it represented “The farm,” past and present.   It represented my grandparents and dad and uncles and aunt Pauline , “back in the old days,” doing daily chores of feeding and milking and all the other wonderful things that seemed to go hand in hand with the era I thought I should have been born in.  My imagination was always stimulated as I saw the old baby buggy in the loft, the dusty old green car in the other side of the barn, and climbing to the top of the hay stack and peeking through the cracks in the barn.  The milking stalls were still stinky and fun to explore.  They made me wonder, what dad was like as a little boy?  What did he do?   As for the rope swing, I don’t know how long it had been there, but for me, it represented timeless enjoyment that may have been enjoyed by many a little farmin’  Palmer.  I remember that first thrill of climbing into the loft, catching the rope and swinging across the barn to the opposite wall.  Someone would toss it up from the bottom, and my heart would race as I would hope that I wouldn’t fall off the loft wall in the act of catching it.  The swing across was pure joy.  I loved it. 

Here’s a few more one liners.  No more details.  I’m not very good at the happy medium. 

Cookouts out in the driveway; “Kickin mule;” Rodeo weekends;  Sleeping outside in the sheds on old mattresses with Palmer cousins, and  getting soaked with mosquito spray.  Leaving Grandmas house scratching like crazy.   Jumping on the tall bed upstairs;  Snooping in drawers and closets- the romance and mystery of the past was hidden somewhere there.  I just knew it.  Katie found dad’s old uniform and other things in a trunk in the boys upstairs room; Was there some old teddy bear or something in the tiny back porch behind the living room that talked?;  Grandpa sitting in the corner. Scared to kiss him.  Scared not to; Doing dishes with Benton and Holly- grandma getting after us for splashing water everywhere when Benton tried to smack us with wet dishtowels; Climbing to the tops of the pine trees. Loving the feeling of people not seeing me.  Dropping pine cones to get peoples attention; Picking apricots at an old neighbors of dads, with dad.  Again, feeling like a real farm girl as I climbed high in the tree to drop fruit to waiting hands below;

It seems appropriate that I should end my memories of Grandma Palmers house with Grandma always coming out to the front porch when the weather was good, to wave good bye as we left, or rest her hand on the small of her back and lean against the pole and smile.  It was a nice picture I keep of her in my mind.

Memories of Grandpa Craner-

    My earliest memories of Grandpa Craners actually involve Grandma Birdie.  My memories of her are vague…Knowing she wasn’t healthy, her  long stringy hair always looking so unkempt, and feeling even at a young age that there was somehow strained relationships with her. No one seemed at ease  when we visited.  I remember visiting her in the nursing home just before she died and being surprised  that she didn’t remember  us- then rationalizing that, after all, she wasn’t really  my grandma.  Even I knew that.  After she died it seemed that visits to grandpas were longer, and it was then I discovered all the treasures of toys hidden in the coat closet where the folding chairs were, and in the basket in the closet of the back bedroom.   It was exciting to realize that going to grandpas could be really very fun. It seemed like grandpa brought out a few more things every time for a while; it was so fun to have new things to play with.  The already mentioned toys and games will be repeated for my posterity’s sake…  Mr. Mouth; Hungry Hippos; the toy cash register; Mr. Potato Head; the top; the stuffed poodles;

    Then there were the summer toys and games stored in the garage, always brought out on memorial day.  The carosel, the catch and toss games; the bounce  ball horses we’d have races across the yard on; badmitton; the rocking horse; etc.

    I longed for the day when I could sleep in one of those beautiful blue ruffled beds in the back bedroom. They were so pretty and romantic – and why would grandpa have them if not for his grand-daughters to sleep in?  What waste! My opportunity didn’t’ come until many years later when as a young teen, we stayed over because mom had to take grandpa to an early morning operation of some sort.  I remember washing my face, and feeling around for the hand towel to dry my face.  How soft grandpas towels were! (I thought.) Imagine my surprise upon opening my eyes to see I’d dried my face on his washed out socks, hung to dry.  (I washed my face again!)  The romance of finally sleeping at grandpas house was dashed as I noticed all the underlying dirt and smells that had once evaded my childish eyes and nose.  (Or maybe he was just a better housekeeper when he was younger and healthier.

     Every memorial day I go on a sentimental journey, reminiscing about our special traditions with grandpa.  He truly had “reverence and respect,” for the dead, and was sure his nearest  and dearest were not forgotten. The flower preparation consisted of cutting lilacs off of Vicki’s bushes, or any other blooming flowers grandpa had, loading the hot house flowers in the trunk, getting the wire to stick them in the ground so they didn’t tip over, and filling Sunny Delight bottles with water. We then proceeded to   visit graves.  After  that solemn and sometimes sleepy affair we looked forward to  the lunch preparation of rubbery jello salad, dry potato salad, silver dollar hamburgers, potato chips, and creamies for dessert.  I loved that things were always the same. Growing up is sometimes hard, and it’s nice to feel that there is a constancy somewhere in your world. This was one of my constancies.  I loved getting to see the older kids and nieces and nephews  who came home to visit for the tradition.  I loved playing with the yard toys and having races and enjoying spring weather.

    Christmas dinner was another constant when I was younger.  I felt a little resentful sometimes that I was always at the kids table and longed to be with the older family who came to visit…it was a  happy  day when  I got to sit in the kitchen where all the life and excitement was.  Creamed corn seemed such a delicacy – the sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top made me gag-(I love them now), and chocolate covered peanut clusters weren’t my favorite, but everyone else seemed thrilled by them, so I forced myself to try and like them. More than being at his home around Christmas, I always fondly remember the magic of “The Festival of Lights.”  As we stood waiting for the turning on of the lights and the parade to begin, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation, with happiness and love.  Everyone seemed happy and Christmas was on its way!  Afterwards we would sometimes visit grandpa and pick up our gifts.  It seems like this was one of the times I remembered Grandpa waving us down just as we were leaving so he could wipe off our headlights. Then we would drive to the Hollingsworths on the way out of town to see their Christmas light extravaganza, then fall asleep to the radio singing the first Christmas carols of the season.    Grandpas gifts usually doubled the pile under the tree, and when he would come on Christmas day, you could see the pleasure in his eyes when we’d open an especially silly gift like a roll of toilet paper, or an actual box of corn flakes.  There was a little tease left in him yet!

    Yet another constant was the rodeo and rodeo parade. The waiting lawn chairs by the seminary building were always there, whether  we were or not. It seems like people were always stopping to say hello during or after the parade, to praise grandpa and his good deeds, or to reminisce about his influence on them when he was teaching Ag. One of the best parts of the rodeo was the 2$ grandpa would give us to spend on a burger and root beer.  To this day, I wonder if those burgers really tasted as good as I remember them, or if it was just the atmosphere.  When I was younger, he would come with us, and lay out his Indian looking woven blankets, and he carried his own square folding chair with a back, with him. 

I remember one year grandpa brought huge garbage sacks of corn to our house.  Since we couldn’t grow a garden well up the canyon, this was really a novelty!  As we sat husking it in front of the garage, we loved that we’d have fresh corn on the cob.  Most of it, however, was soon prepared to be frozen.  Our usually scary storage room became steamy and cozy as the older kids helped mom prepare the corn for freezing, and I was proud this corn came from my own grandpa’s garden.

    I also remember Grandparents day at the elementary school.  Of course, grandpa was my only grandparent there, and I began to recognize   that my grandparents were older than most.  Everyone else seemed so spry and young, but I was  glad to have grandpa there…even if he did wear a pink shirt and checkered pants.  It felt good to know he would travel so far just for me…and Katie and Shawn of course.

    Once grandpas toys lost their novelty, I began to notice the older kids consistently looking through the photo albums.  I also became  anxious to see pictures of myself, and tried not to feel left out and jealous as I recognized how many things the rest of my family had done without me.

As I got older and came to Preston for clogging with Katie, we enjoyed stopping to visit him, and were always gratified with cash and specific  instructions as to whether we ought to go to  to Big J’s to get a chicken burger or Burger King to get a shake. I think sometimes he thought the only reason we stopped was for the money, when he would hold up his empty hand and say, “No money today!” I’m sure that even with our assurances that that wasn’t why we stopped, he probably didn’t believe us.

I was proud of grandpa Craner (though perhaps unsure weather or not he really took any notice of me until I won Jr. Miss.:)  I always knew he loved me.  He came to my few ball games, watched me in cheer leading, remembered my birthday and Christmas every year with cards and gifts, and took my picture occasionally!  However I felt like until I announced my engagement with Shane to him, I never knew how much he really cared.  I told him the news and when he seemed not to hear me, I showed him the ring.  He threw down my hand in frustration and emphatically said, “Oh Hell, you’re too young!!!” At dinner afterwards, poor Shane somehow got the seat next to Grandpa.  After dishing up, Grandpa barked, “You’re insulting the cook!” as he salted his funeral potatoes.  Bewildered and unsure what to say, Shane was even more startled to hear Jeff say in his comfortable, normal voice, “Don’t worry, he’ll be dead soon.”  He looked at Grandpa a little panic stricken, then realized he hadn’t heard.  Or, so we hope! (His hearing those last several years made it so one almost had to shout to be heard.) Soon after I was married grandpa sent several of his type written letters to me, the first apologizing for his outburst when I had told him of my engagement.  Those letters are very precious to me now.  I felt like when I wrote him and he wrote me, we had some of the first real conversations we’d ever had. I look forward to really getting to know him and the rest of my grandparents when I get to the other side… I know I haven’t even scratched the surface of getting to know who they really were.