Family Matters

Many of my favorite memories from childhood arise from my close relationship with my grandparents. They were quiet, family-oriented people who lived down the street, and whose door was always open to the many brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, grandchildren and cousins, nieces and nephews who lived nearby.

They always had time for the children in their life. Grandma was a middle child in a brood of twelve, ten of whom survived to adulthood; Pop was one of seven children. With five kids of their own too, I guess it just seemed natural to them to be surrounded by little ones. They always had time to spend with us, often over a glass of homemade lemonade and a game of canasta. Pop made his special Saturday night spaghetti and meatballs every week, and it was always open house for the family to come for dinner and a card game.

It's a rare day that I am not reminded of them, because there are so many things they shared with us. Grandma loved making quilts, building jigsaw puzzles, and watching the wild birds that would stop at her feeders. We'd sit on her porch swing or at her dining room table and talk for hours while she tended to the many small tasks of a busy household. In younger days, I remember running to meet Pop walking home from work in the evening. He always had some bit of candy or a nickel in his pocket for me, but it was his friendly company I always treasured most. He loved to cook, and in his later years he took up woodcarving and made many small figures that he gave to various members of the family.

So many small traditions, foods, interests, and memories blossomed in the little home that they built and shared with all of us. But when you add them all up, what they truly gave us was time, and a legacy of love: a rich heritage of family life passed down from generations before. Grandma loved to tell stories of the happy childhood she had shared with her family, and she made the past and the people come alive with her reminiscences. This is one of her stories....

Grossi was ninety years old the year I was born. She was a tiny lady, only about five feet tall and slender. She lived with Grandma and Grandpap and assorted aunts and uncles. She came from Germany with three daughters when she was about thirty years old. Her husband had come over earlier and established a men's hat shop on the North Side. As soon as he could afford it, he sent for Grossi and his children. (By the way, Grossi's name was Barbara Arnold. Grossi is short for Grandmother.) When her husband died, she moved in with her oldest daughter, who was my grandmother, Anna Lutz.

They lived on a farm on top of a hill, and we lived in the hollow below. I was up to Grandma's three or four times a day. When Uncle Albert's wife died, Grandma took his son and daughter to raise, Eugene and Mathilda. Tilly was a year older than I, so we were great playmates. Though there were ten kids in our family, I was in the middle of the boys -- three older and one younger.

Grossi wore soft leather high-topped shoes and dresses that came down to her ankles. She always wore an apron tied around her waist, and the apron had two big pockets. Often when I would go to visit she would wink her eye and incline her head toward the back of the house. There she would reach into her pocket and bring out an orange, which was a real treat in those days, or some pink lozenges, or a stick of gum. We had to do this on the sly, because we were not to be spoiled.

She had a big chow dog, Towser, who walked with her everywhere. The farm was mostly hills, except for a few small spots and the very top where the orchard was. There was the cherry row on one side, and apple and peach and pear trees in the middle, and grape vines and a big level spot where tomatoes were raised on the other side. Below the house there was a flat spot where Grandpa grew corn, cabbage, carrots, radishes, beans, and lettuce. There was one lonely apple tree, a maidenblush, that grew along the path that went through this garden. I've never seen or heard of another apple tree with this name. The apples were yellow on one side and pink on the other, hence the name.

Grossi always walked alone. She would not tolerate anyone with her. Everyone was afraid she'd fall and break a hip. In those days, that confined you to bed for the rest of your life. As long as Grossi took her cane and Towser she was free to travel as she wished. One day as I was sitting on the back porch, Towser came home with a piece of Grossi's petticoat tied to his collar. Grandma and a couple of aunts rushed out of the house fearing the worst. When they got to the pasture, they found one of the cows had just given birth. Grossi was fine.

Grossi and my Dad had a little game they played. Papa had a pint of whiskey in the kitchen cupboard. Every so often, Papa would fill a one-ounce medicine bottle with whiskey and put it in his pocket and head for Grandma's. I usually accompanied him on these trips. When we got to Grandma's he would stand below Grossi's bedroom window and give a little whistle. On cue, Grossi would let a string out the window and Papa would tie it around the neck of the bottle and Grossi would pull it up. I think everyone knew about it, but Grossi felt she was pulling a fast one. The doctor said it was okay, so what was the harm?

Grossi loved to pick cherries. When she was 96, she fell off a ladder and broke her collar bone. I remember going to her bedroom to see her. She looked like a big doll on a pillow. She slept on a feather tick, and it billowed out around her. She had a sand bag on her collar bone, but otherwise she looked her feisty self. Everyone thought she'd get pneumonia and die, but she fooled them all and lived to be over 100!