JOTS & JAUNTS

IN HONOR OF VALENTINE’S DAY

Reflections on Grandma Walter

I realized early this morning that today, February 15^th, was my grandmother’s birthday.  Meta Marie Henne was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in 1897.  If she were a centennial woman, today would be her 129^th birthday; she died at 80 in 1977.  In 1922, a few years after graduating from college a Phi Beta Kappa math major, she married my grandfather, Erich Albert Walter. She was his staunch helpmeet throughout their 55 years of marriage.  In 1972, extended family gathered in Ann Arbor to celebrate their 50^th wedding anniversary.   

With contributions from all of us, my mother created an elaborate scrapbook stuffed with photos, cartoons, family memories, and plenty of humor.  Appropriately, it was designed as a mock yearbook, since Grandpa spent his entire career at the University of Michigan as professor, dean of students, and then administrator.  I think Grandma complemented his whimsical and outwardly more breezy approach to life with solid good sense and a shared love of reading and education.

She was the soul of patience, or so she seemed to me as a child.  She always had time for her grandchildren, taught us girls how to tat, was glad to cut out paper dolls, and was good at explaining the ways of the world or the requests of our parents in words that we could understand.  Grandma said more than once, that she hoped to grow old with grace. And she did.

She was also an accomplished baker and cook.  We especially liked the little soft rolls she made, her bread and butter pickles, and dishes such as veal in a mild paprika sauce (Paprikafleisch) and Hollander dumplings (a glorified name for beef stuffed cabbage rolls in tomato sauce). Both my grandmothers laid their dining tables with white linen tablecloths and linen napkins; there was an expectation that our manners would live up to the setting.

Exercise & Gardening

A woman who wore her black hair in braids curled on her head, she never went completely gray and always wore dresses, stockings, and sensible shoes.  In the 1960’s, during the early fitness craze, she would stand in front of the TV in her dress and follow along with Jack LaLanne doing the exercises.  When visiting, we joined in.  Grandma was also a dedicated gardener.  She was especially fond of her rose bushes, delicate lettuces, and different herbs.  She made a wonderful salad of those greens dressed with a vinaigrette of oil, lemon juice, and fresh lovage from her yard.

Communicating

We lived 500 miles away in upstate New York and only saw these grandparents once or twice a year.  Fortunately, Grandma and Grandpa were inveterate letter writers.  Hers, in precisely formed penmanship, detailed the state of the garden or the most recent music or theater event at the university.  Grandpa’s letters, written in a bold scrawly manner, were hard to decipher and almost always included a newspaper or magazine clipping about something of note.  Long distance phone calls were expensive and infrequent; when they happened, we four kids had to pass the phone around for a brief greeting after our parents had their chance to talk.

Theater in Ontario

As the eldest grandchild on both sides of the family, I was named for my grandmothers: Jean after my maternal Grandmother Hancock and Marie after Meta.  When the Chief Penguin and I were first married, we enjoyed several summers of attending the Stratford Shakespeare Festival in Ontario with Grandma and Grandpa.  We were their guests, and with two plays a day for several days in a row, we had a surfeit of the bard occasionally leavened by a more contemporary work.  

After seeing Othello one year and finding it too much and definitely not our favorite, Grandpa grabbed my hands, got the four of us in a circle, and had us vow “never to see Othello again.”  Grandma, always more serious on the surface than Grandpa and not wanting to call undue attention to herself, went along with his silliness.  Knowing these grandparents as I did was a treat and a source of fond memories that I treasure still.  Thank you, Grandma, for your love and kindness and your graciousness!

RECENT READING

A WINTER NOVEL: LOVE AND FREEDOM IN CANADA

Fireflies in Winter by Eleanor Shearer

Fireflies in Winter is a beautiful novel set near Halifax, Nova Scotia, at the end of the 18^th century.  Cora is part of a group of Maroons, exiles from Jamaica, who live in a kind of community with former slaves and others.  Fleeing the pressures of that life and an expectation that she would marry a widower, she escapes to the shadowy woods where she connects with Agnes, another young woman.  

Shearer graphically depicts the beauty and the hardships of living in hiding in the woods, particularly during harsh winters.  She delicately reveals the growing trust and developing relationship between Cora and Agnes.  These women are not literate, but they possess depths of feeling and sensitivity to the creatures and the environment around them.  Much of what has marked each woman in her past remains sketchy or unknown; always there are undertones relating to who is free and what freedom really means in daily life.  

I loved the annual appearance of the whales and liked how rounded a character the dog Patience is.  I was also drawn to Thursday and his quiet caring ways.  Some explanatory note about the Maroons, prefacing the novel, would enrich the reading experience for those like me who were unfamiliar with this independent group of Jamaican Blacks.  Recommended for fans of historical fiction and book clubs.  (~JWFarrington)

Note: A version of this review appears in Bookbrowse.com.

Note: Unattributed photos ©JWFarrington (some rights reserved.)