Grandma's daughter and her only child could not have been more different than chocolate and vanilla, night and day, soft and hard, ice and water, up and down. Grandma was a dreamer and a believer in all the fantasies and fun that life can bring. Her daughter thought she was dramatic and took the practical approach to all she did.
Grandma always felt that people just shouldn't have to die, so much that she kept a journal of so many born and died, famous, and infamous, the date and year. Her daughter didn't understand why she didn't accept the circle of life and realize that death was normal. Grandma kept letters and cards from people she loved; her daughter didn't see the need to keep the clutter. Grandma missed all who came before her; her daughter felt that it wasn't how she wanted to spend her time.
Grandma primped, colored her hair until the day she died, loved makeup and style; her daughter was naturally beautiful but wore only red lipstick, colored her hair briefly, and while always clean and neat, clothes and style were not her thing.
Grandma believed in a bit of manipulation of the opposite sex; her daughter was always straightforward with everything on the table.
And yet, when I was a little girl and through my teen years, I saw them talk nearly everyday, talk about the grandchildren, talk about marriage, fight about lots of stuff, grocery shop every week together religiously, plan holidays for us, and always, always find their common ground. And that common ground was love for each other, linked to surviving tough years when it was just the two of them and Nana, surviving the depression, WWII, and then onto better times. Their mother/daughter bond was challenging as each sought to not be the other and yet they sought each other out constantly. It seems that we all seek to improve upon the last generation yet defend our own generation--therein lies our conflict.
If you are as lucky as I am, one day you may realize that if you can do it all as well as your Mom, with a few lucky improvements along the way, then you'll have done well. I have three mother/daughter relationships in my house, each one a treasure, each one a contest. And each relationship with such promise and each so much fun. Happy Mother's Day to My Mom and all Moms (and to me, too).
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Grandma and the Fights
Around the time I developed an interest in boxing after the 1976 Summer Olympics, the topic of fighting came up. All kinds of fighting. Grandma found it interesting that I developing this interest in boxing. Eventually, when talking about fighting, Grandma's mind wandered to the kind of fighting she knew. Like when her sister-in-law was mad at her and my Grandpa and didn't talk to them for a bit. Or fighting with my Grandpa if the issue warranted it in her mind. But Grandma wasn't a fighter, she said. And as I grew up, I think I formed the opinion that she was an avoider, as I like to call some people. Avoid the people and the issue, avoid the fight.
Grandma sometimes talked about how she and her first husband never fought. She found that so romantic that they were always moving in the same direction and that they didn't need to fight. She said their romance was so easy; they mutually looked forward to their quick wedding and honeymoon, and they always got a long very well. She said she had no problem going along with most of the things he wanted or chose. By the time the infidelities started, however, she started realizing that not speaking up was an issue, that it was she who'd always gone along, and it felt like it was too late to change that. While Grandma was never a woman of conflict, she did learn to speak up for herself when it meant that much to her.
Her lesson in this story was this, she said: She (and my mother after her) always said that if a couple never fights, it simply means that one person gives in most of the time and that the other person isn't considering his or her feelings. Over time, it wears down the person who gives in with resentment, and the other person ends up not having respect for the person who never stands up for himself or herself. And without trust and respect in a relationship. you can't have true love and friendship.
Grandma said it applies to all relationships in some form; I agree. It doesn't mean you have to duke it out daily; it does mean that you should expect healthy conflict in a true relationship. Fight it out, figure it out, compromise, and move on. Words to live by.
Grandma sometimes talked about how she and her first husband never fought. She found that so romantic that they were always moving in the same direction and that they didn't need to fight. She said their romance was so easy; they mutually looked forward to their quick wedding and honeymoon, and they always got a long very well. She said she had no problem going along with most of the things he wanted or chose. By the time the infidelities started, however, she started realizing that not speaking up was an issue, that it was she who'd always gone along, and it felt like it was too late to change that. While Grandma was never a woman of conflict, she did learn to speak up for herself when it meant that much to her.
Her lesson in this story was this, she said: She (and my mother after her) always said that if a couple never fights, it simply means that one person gives in most of the time and that the other person isn't considering his or her feelings. Over time, it wears down the person who gives in with resentment, and the other person ends up not having respect for the person who never stands up for himself or herself. And without trust and respect in a relationship. you can't have true love and friendship.
Grandma said it applies to all relationships in some form; I agree. It doesn't mean you have to duke it out daily; it does mean that you should expect healthy conflict in a true relationship. Fight it out, figure it out, compromise, and move on. Words to live by.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Grandma and Loving Her Daughter
In 1938, as Grandma told me more than once, she had a "nervous breakdown." I often wondered why she told me this story more than once as I grew up. That was ok, though. I didn't mind hearing it. I believe now she knew it needed to be passed on.
At the time, her daughter was 3 years old, her husband was leaving her and coming back frequently, and she got to a point, she said, that she couldn't handle any of it well. She was embarrassed, had no confidence left, and was giving up on herself. She had a "nervous breakdown." The website http://www.mayoclinic.com/ says "The term 'nervous breakdown' is sometimes used to describe a stressful situation in which someone becomes temporarily unable to function normally in day-to-day life. " The website goes on to say that it's not a clinical term and it may be related to depression or when stress is too overwhelming. That seems to fit what she'd described to me.
She said she got to a point where her mother, siblings, aunts, and uncles were worried about her mind. They pooled their money together for her to receive help in a reputable institution. She told me she didn't care about anything or anyone and only felt sorry for herself. She wasn't able to live day to day.
After a couple of weeks of therapy and family visiting her often to show support, she said she was standing at her room window one day after a family visit, overlooking the parking lot. Her sister was in the lot with Grandma's beautiful blond-haired little girl. Her little girl was laughing, playing and running around, looking as though she had not a care in the world, and not even knowing why she was there.
Grandma said that it was right then, looking at her daughter, she'd decided, "I'm going to get better. I want to get better because I want to raise my daughter no matter what happens." It hit her all at once, she said, what it meant to her to be her little girl's mother, no matter what the future held. That was the turning point for her, she said. From that moment on, she did get better emotionally and apparently never looked back.
Perhaps she had some outstanding counseling that she didn't describe to me. I never thought to ask those questions. Perhaps she found inner strength and self-worth she didn't know she had. And now as a mother myself, I think perhaps she also was passing on to the next generation that when you love your children, you find a resolve and a strength in you that you don't even know exists until it's challenged. You don't give up. When focusing on that love, you can move forward through anything difficult. And she did.
At the time, her daughter was 3 years old, her husband was leaving her and coming back frequently, and she got to a point, she said, that she couldn't handle any of it well. She was embarrassed, had no confidence left, and was giving up on herself. She had a "nervous breakdown." The website http://www.mayoclinic.com/ says "The term 'nervous breakdown' is sometimes used to describe a stressful situation in which someone becomes temporarily unable to function normally in day-to-day life. " The website goes on to say that it's not a clinical term and it may be related to depression or when stress is too overwhelming. That seems to fit what she'd described to me.
She said she got to a point where her mother, siblings, aunts, and uncles were worried about her mind. They pooled their money together for her to receive help in a reputable institution. She told me she didn't care about anything or anyone and only felt sorry for herself. She wasn't able to live day to day.
After a couple of weeks of therapy and family visiting her often to show support, she said she was standing at her room window one day after a family visit, overlooking the parking lot. Her sister was in the lot with Grandma's beautiful blond-haired little girl. Her little girl was laughing, playing and running around, looking as though she had not a care in the world, and not even knowing why she was there.
Grandma said that it was right then, looking at her daughter, she'd decided, "I'm going to get better. I want to get better because I want to raise my daughter no matter what happens." It hit her all at once, she said, what it meant to her to be her little girl's mother, no matter what the future held. That was the turning point for her, she said. From that moment on, she did get better emotionally and apparently never looked back.
Perhaps she had some outstanding counseling that she didn't describe to me. I never thought to ask those questions. Perhaps she found inner strength and self-worth she didn't know she had. And now as a mother myself, I think perhaps she also was passing on to the next generation that when you love your children, you find a resolve and a strength in you that you don't even know exists until it's challenged. You don't give up. When focusing on that love, you can move forward through anything difficult. And she did.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Grandma and the Cheerleaders
Oh, this is just a story of Grandma at her best and putting up with some of the worst. Grandmas have infinite patience for their grandchildren to do what would drive those same children's parents crazy. In fact, it was my best friend who reminded me of this great memory that touched her, too.
Grandma was always fascinated with the generations after hers. She was amazed at what we young women were doing and how we had the relative freedom to do it. Grandma didn't go to high school and no one made her go back in the 1920s. Many young women did not. She regretted that decision and had fun talking to us about our high school experiences, our grades, boys, and our activities. One of them was cheerleading.
Yes, cheerleading. I had neither intention nor courage to try out for anything back then, but my best friend, Jackie (still to this day), convinced me to try out for cheerleading because she needed a partner in the tryouts. Oh, also because we had to be like our idol in the book, The Cheerleader, a paperback that forever changed our lives as 8th graders. It was practically a handbook to boys and high school in general, we thought.
The problem was the partner cheer--about which we both knew nothing. We hadn't been cheerleaders for Jr Football like some others. We did figure out that to get it right we should be in a mirror watching each other over and over again to make sure we were in synch. The problem was we didn't have a mirror that wide.
Grandma did! It was in one of the unused upstairs bedrooms where I liked to snoop. She had a mirror that spanned more than half of one of walls. It's another question I'd like to ask her: "Why did you have a mirror that big?"
It seemed like everyday for weeks, we showed up at Grandma's house in the afternoon when it was time for her to watch her soap operas and have her English afternoon tea. We shouted our guts out to the same cheer over and over again until we were convinced we were in synch in voice and arms and legs--'til we were convinced the judges would believe we were worthy of being high school cheerleaders. Not once did Grandma ask if we were done or when we'd be done or how many days were left 'til the actual tryouts. So we kept showing up and shouting and flailing until the day of tryouts.
Yes, we made the squad, thanks to Grandma. When we talk about those tryouts, Grandma, her mirror, and her patience are always, always brought up. May we pass that patience and encouragement on to our children and grandchildren.
Grandma was always fascinated with the generations after hers. She was amazed at what we young women were doing and how we had the relative freedom to do it. Grandma didn't go to high school and no one made her go back in the 1920s. Many young women did not. She regretted that decision and had fun talking to us about our high school experiences, our grades, boys, and our activities. One of them was cheerleading.
Yes, cheerleading. I had neither intention nor courage to try out for anything back then, but my best friend, Jackie (still to this day), convinced me to try out for cheerleading because she needed a partner in the tryouts. Oh, also because we had to be like our idol in the book, The Cheerleader, a paperback that forever changed our lives as 8th graders. It was practically a handbook to boys and high school in general, we thought.
The problem was the partner cheer--about which we both knew nothing. We hadn't been cheerleaders for Jr Football like some others. We did figure out that to get it right we should be in a mirror watching each other over and over again to make sure we were in synch. The problem was we didn't have a mirror that wide.
Grandma did! It was in one of the unused upstairs bedrooms where I liked to snoop. She had a mirror that spanned more than half of one of walls. It's another question I'd like to ask her: "Why did you have a mirror that big?"
It seemed like everyday for weeks, we showed up at Grandma's house in the afternoon when it was time for her to watch her soap operas and have her English afternoon tea. We shouted our guts out to the same cheer over and over again until we were convinced we were in synch in voice and arms and legs--'til we were convinced the judges would believe we were worthy of being high school cheerleaders. Not once did Grandma ask if we were done or when we'd be done or how many days were left 'til the actual tryouts. So we kept showing up and shouting and flailing until the day of tryouts.
Yes, we made the squad, thanks to Grandma. When we talk about those tryouts, Grandma, her mirror, and her patience are always, always brought up. May we pass that patience and encouragement on to our children and grandchildren.
Grandma and President Nixon's Resignation
When you're 12, the last thing on your mind is the President of the United States. At least that was the case with me. I do remember the year clearly, however. It was 1975, and President Nixon had a big impact on my Grandma and on my summer vacation.
You see, Grandma was a diehard Republican, and now that I have an interest in politics, I would love to ask her why. I would love to hear her describe her positions about the party and the country. She was a relatively young woman when FDR was President through the Great Depression and WWII. FDR had a great friendship with George VI, father to the current Queen Elizabeth. Grandma adored the English royalty, since her mother and father grew up there. Republican, though, was her stance in her later years and perhaps all her life.
Grandma just loved President Nixon and made sure she watched him whenever he was on television. She listened intently to his speeches, much to my boredom when visiting her house. No one could change that channel or her opinion.
We were at Grandma's house in Pt. Pleasant, NJ, in July. What I remember clearly was my mother and Grandma arguing intently, until I heard my mother say, "He's a crook!" Now that got my attention, and my mother was talking about President Nixon. I didn't care who she was talking about--the discussion had just gotten interesting. Grandma defended him vehemently with arguments I no longer remember, probably because I didn't understand the discussion details in general.
Later that day President Nixon was on TV. At 12 years old I was old enough to know that somehow it was a big deal that the President of the United States was resigning from his job before his time in office was up. He didn't want his problems to be a distraction to the country and apologized to the country. Grandma sat there and cried; my mother did not.
As an adult, I think I understand how both their views represented the country in general; and I think I now understand why Grandma must have cried. She knew, just from living as long as she had by then, that it was a pivotal point in our nation's ability to believe in itself and its government. My mother was young enough to have an appreciation for the change or discovery of the dishonesties that lead to his resignation. And I was too young to understand any of it well at all.
Grandma and Mom's reactions--so opposite--left a deep impression on me, however, and especially how they handled it with each other. Not because they disagreed with each other, but because they accepted that they disagreed with each other. A great lesson for me.
You see, Grandma was a diehard Republican, and now that I have an interest in politics, I would love to ask her why. I would love to hear her describe her positions about the party and the country. She was a relatively young woman when FDR was President through the Great Depression and WWII. FDR had a great friendship with George VI, father to the current Queen Elizabeth. Grandma adored the English royalty, since her mother and father grew up there. Republican, though, was her stance in her later years and perhaps all her life.
Grandma just loved President Nixon and made sure she watched him whenever he was on television. She listened intently to his speeches, much to my boredom when visiting her house. No one could change that channel or her opinion.
We were at Grandma's house in Pt. Pleasant, NJ, in July. What I remember clearly was my mother and Grandma arguing intently, until I heard my mother say, "He's a crook!" Now that got my attention, and my mother was talking about President Nixon. I didn't care who she was talking about--the discussion had just gotten interesting. Grandma defended him vehemently with arguments I no longer remember, probably because I didn't understand the discussion details in general.
Later that day President Nixon was on TV. At 12 years old I was old enough to know that somehow it was a big deal that the President of the United States was resigning from his job before his time in office was up. He didn't want his problems to be a distraction to the country and apologized to the country. Grandma sat there and cried; my mother did not.
As an adult, I think I understand how both their views represented the country in general; and I think I now understand why Grandma must have cried. She knew, just from living as long as she had by then, that it was a pivotal point in our nation's ability to believe in itself and its government. My mother was young enough to have an appreciation for the change or discovery of the dishonesties that lead to his resignation. And I was too young to understand any of it well at all.
Grandma and Mom's reactions--so opposite--left a deep impression on me, however, and especially how they handled it with each other. Not because they disagreed with each other, but because they accepted that they disagreed with each other. A great lesson for me.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Grandma and the Crochet Lessons
Grandma made beautifully crocheted blankets, several of which my mother has to this day. I watched her crochet complicated stitches with bright yarn colors that seemed so easy as her aging hands just flowed through the yarn and around the needle and back through the spaces to create beautiful patterns.
It seemed like every female in our family knew how to crochet but me. I couldn't wait to learn and by now I was about 9 years old. Of course, being the youngest, it was natural that everyone would learn before I did. It's just that I had an extra problem: I was the only lefty in the family so who was going to teach me? My mother, to her credit, tried many times to show me but I just couldn't get it by watching her right hand and transferring the movements to my left hands. My big sister tried to show me, still to no avail.
One day, I sat in Grandma's kitchen with my head perched on my hands, in sheer frustration. "Grandma, I just can't learn how to crochet and I think it's 'cuz I'm lefty. I just can't get it." Well, I believe the day Grandmas become grandmas their brain power doubles when they are in the presence of their grandchildren. At first Grandma just sat there while I whined. Then she got up and came back with two crochet needles, some yarn, and the biggest handheld mirror she owned. She said, "I think today is the day you'll learn how to crochet."
Very slowly, she crocheted in front of the mirror, whose reflection looked to me like her left hand was holding the needle instead of her right hand. I was able to mimic her movements one at a time until finally I'd completed a stitch --a real stitch! From there I eventually completed a whole chain. Then she taught me (still in the mirror) how to return to create a second row.
It's a lesson I'll never forget. On many levels.
It seemed like every female in our family knew how to crochet but me. I couldn't wait to learn and by now I was about 9 years old. Of course, being the youngest, it was natural that everyone would learn before I did. It's just that I had an extra problem: I was the only lefty in the family so who was going to teach me? My mother, to her credit, tried many times to show me but I just couldn't get it by watching her right hand and transferring the movements to my left hands. My big sister tried to show me, still to no avail.
One day, I sat in Grandma's kitchen with my head perched on my hands, in sheer frustration. "Grandma, I just can't learn how to crochet and I think it's 'cuz I'm lefty. I just can't get it." Well, I believe the day Grandmas become grandmas their brain power doubles when they are in the presence of their grandchildren. At first Grandma just sat there while I whined. Then she got up and came back with two crochet needles, some yarn, and the biggest handheld mirror she owned. She said, "I think today is the day you'll learn how to crochet."
Very slowly, she crocheted in front of the mirror, whose reflection looked to me like her left hand was holding the needle instead of her right hand. I was able to mimic her movements one at a time until finally I'd completed a stitch --a real stitch! From there I eventually completed a whole chain. Then she taught me (still in the mirror) how to return to create a second row.
It's a lesson I'll never forget. On many levels.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Grandpa and the Pool Table
This past weekend I taught my girlfriend, who recently got a pool table (billiards), the basics of playing pool. She caught on right away, and she'll be beating her grown sons in no time!
Grandpa Backhus had a 9-foot championship-size pool table in his basement. The story goes that he discovered it in his Uncle Herman's barn in Califon, NJ. It became his, he refurbished it, and he suddenly had a good recreation room in his basement. He installed a bar and put a piano down there, too. When I was about 5 or 6, he started to teach me how to play, one step at a time. I used a small cue stick that was for tight shots, but he told me it was made especially for little kids like me.
He taught me how to apply chalk to the stick and why, curl my index finger around the stick, but not too tightly, and to balance my other fingers on the table for support. Hitting the cue ball into any ball was the first step. Then hitting the ball you intended was the next step. Sinking a ball on a straightline into a side pocket was the next and finally moving to angle shots. It was a years-long process, I'm sure, as my brain developed to understand the geometry behind the game.
As you can imagine, at 6 years old, I was too short to be that effective, so Grandpa had a stool for me. When it was my turn, I simply moved my stool from place to place and took my shots. He taught me early on how to use the bridge (something to lean the stick on when you can't stretch that far), because I'd needed it often back then. And it was a great day when I could play a whole game without scratching (sinking the cue ball when it wasn't supposed to go in). It was an even better day when I could win a game. I'm sure, however, I didn't really ever win against him, my father, or my uncle. It was fun thinking I did, though!
Am I that good? Oh no, but I can hold my own in most games played by ordinary people. As a high schooler, our town recreation hall where the teenagers hung out had a pool table. Back then it was regarded as more of a man's game, so the boys made it clear they didn't really want me to play, which annoyed me. So, I'd wait my turn, and on my first few shots, I'd act a bit uncoordinated and get the, "See? You're a girl" comments. That was my "cue" to just clean up and leave them in the dust. You see, none of them knew that I had a Grandpa who didn't think I was "just a girl." He taught me all tricks I could absorb and how to hustle anyone who made fun of me.
Thanks, Grandpa.
Grandpa Backhus had a 9-foot championship-size pool table in his basement. The story goes that he discovered it in his Uncle Herman's barn in Califon, NJ. It became his, he refurbished it, and he suddenly had a good recreation room in his basement. He installed a bar and put a piano down there, too. When I was about 5 or 6, he started to teach me how to play, one step at a time. I used a small cue stick that was for tight shots, but he told me it was made especially for little kids like me.
He taught me how to apply chalk to the stick and why, curl my index finger around the stick, but not too tightly, and to balance my other fingers on the table for support. Hitting the cue ball into any ball was the first step. Then hitting the ball you intended was the next step. Sinking a ball on a straightline into a side pocket was the next and finally moving to angle shots. It was a years-long process, I'm sure, as my brain developed to understand the geometry behind the game.
As you can imagine, at 6 years old, I was too short to be that effective, so Grandpa had a stool for me. When it was my turn, I simply moved my stool from place to place and took my shots. He taught me early on how to use the bridge (something to lean the stick on when you can't stretch that far), because I'd needed it often back then. And it was a great day when I could play a whole game without scratching (sinking the cue ball when it wasn't supposed to go in). It was an even better day when I could win a game. I'm sure, however, I didn't really ever win against him, my father, or my uncle. It was fun thinking I did, though!
Am I that good? Oh no, but I can hold my own in most games played by ordinary people. As a high schooler, our town recreation hall where the teenagers hung out had a pool table. Back then it was regarded as more of a man's game, so the boys made it clear they didn't really want me to play, which annoyed me. So, I'd wait my turn, and on my first few shots, I'd act a bit uncoordinated and get the, "See? You're a girl" comments. That was my "cue" to just clean up and leave them in the dust. You see, none of them knew that I had a Grandpa who didn't think I was "just a girl." He taught me all tricks I could absorb and how to hustle anyone who made fun of me.
Thanks, Grandpa.
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