Back-Page Bridge
My mom called me a couple of days ago and read a news clipping to me, which came from an old newspaper from my grandpa’s hometown, Hardin, Illinois. Hardin is a very, very small town on the Illinois River. When I was younger I used to go with my Grandma first to Hardin to visit my great-grandma Mildred and then on to Pleasant Hill, a little further down the road, to visit my other great-grandma Velma.
Mildred is big woman with big boobs. Big boobs alternate from generation to generation in my family; e.g. my grandma and I have small apples; my mom and great-grandma are very well endowed. Mildred is also blind, or so she says. My mom claims to have seen her pick up lint from the floor upon seeing it from across the room. Mildred also once refused to get a glass of ice water for my mom, who was pregnant with me at the time, because, she said, she didn’t have any made.
Velma is a smaller woman whom I never got to know very well. She drank a lot. One of my few memories of her is going to her house in Pleasant Hill for a family dinner. She made chicken and noodles from scratch. Usually she used yellow food coloring to enhance the visual appeal; she chose the wrong bottle this time, and we had pink chicken and noodles for dinner. There is also a tale of Velma being found down by the river, wearing her bra on the outside of her shirt while fishing, drunk. Eventually she ended up in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s Disease. I visited her regularly on the weekends with my grandma. By the end she didn’t know who anybody was.
Memories of the nursing home: Once a lady who lived there, also with Alzheimer’s, thought I was her granddaughter and gave me a red hat she’d knitted, filled with chalky pastel mints. Another day an old degenerating man flashed my grandma as she walked past his room down the hall. I guess that’s a memory of a report. Still a memory.
We drove over a large bridge—large to me at the time—to get to Mildred and Velma. Sometimes we had to sit in the car for a long time and wait while the bridge was up for barges to pass through. I liked this part.
Here is the text of the news clipping, headline and all. Jack Etter is my grandpa, no longer with us after suffering four heart attacks over a number of years. I don’t have a scanner in my office at work or I’d be more appropriately higher tech.
CELEBRATES 10th BIRTHDAY
Jack Etter, son of Mr. and Mrs. Lee Etter, of Hardin, celebrated his 10th birthday Sunday, and his mother treated him to a sumptuous dinner. His dad treated him to a new suit, with long pants, his first pair, and Jack was proud. Mr. and Mrs. Chris Ledders and family of St. Louis were guests at the Etter home during the day.
On the phone my mom said my grandma had explained that poor Jack’s dad always made him wear short pants, until this day. It must have been a special birthday.
Mildred is big woman with big boobs. Big boobs alternate from generation to generation in my family; e.g. my grandma and I have small apples; my mom and great-grandma are very well endowed. Mildred is also blind, or so she says. My mom claims to have seen her pick up lint from the floor upon seeing it from across the room. Mildred also once refused to get a glass of ice water for my mom, who was pregnant with me at the time, because, she said, she didn’t have any made.
Velma is a smaller woman whom I never got to know very well. She drank a lot. One of my few memories of her is going to her house in Pleasant Hill for a family dinner. She made chicken and noodles from scratch. Usually she used yellow food coloring to enhance the visual appeal; she chose the wrong bottle this time, and we had pink chicken and noodles for dinner. There is also a tale of Velma being found down by the river, wearing her bra on the outside of her shirt while fishing, drunk. Eventually she ended up in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s Disease. I visited her regularly on the weekends with my grandma. By the end she didn’t know who anybody was.
Memories of the nursing home: Once a lady who lived there, also with Alzheimer’s, thought I was her granddaughter and gave me a red hat she’d knitted, filled with chalky pastel mints. Another day an old degenerating man flashed my grandma as she walked past his room down the hall. I guess that’s a memory of a report. Still a memory.
We drove over a large bridge—large to me at the time—to get to Mildred and Velma. Sometimes we had to sit in the car for a long time and wait while the bridge was up for barges to pass through. I liked this part.
Here is the text of the news clipping, headline and all. Jack Etter is my grandpa, no longer with us after suffering four heart attacks over a number of years. I don’t have a scanner in my office at work or I’d be more appropriately higher tech.
CELEBRATES 10th BIRTHDAY
Jack Etter, son of Mr. and Mrs. Lee Etter, of Hardin, celebrated his 10th birthday Sunday, and his mother treated him to a sumptuous dinner. His dad treated him to a new suit, with long pants, his first pair, and Jack was proud. Mr. and Mrs. Chris Ledders and family of St. Louis were guests at the Etter home during the day.
On the phone my mom said my grandma had explained that poor Jack’s dad always made him wear short pants, until this day. It must have been a special birthday.
5 Comments:
Such good storytelling, Sara. Really. Effortless. What’s was it with the short pants in the old days anyway? I think my Mom was genetically connected to the Summer Solstice, at which time I’d have to wear short pants whether I liked it or not. All the long pants disappeared overnight from the drawers. Where had they gone? Guess I got to know the contours of my knee-caps better.
Cheers,
Alberto
Alberto is right about the story telling. Wow.
Thanks, fellas. And I don't know about the short pants. That they were so significant makes me laugh, though. It was something worth telling the whole town.
Kate, let's change our names to something unique and behave as only people with those names would behave. Paint the town purple and such.
you do tell great stories. this must be a real small town to print an article about a 10th b-day dinner and pant length. or maybe you illinois folk stop to smell the roses more... :-)
ok, i just re -read the beginning and realized this was a real old paper. sorry!
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