My Grandparents

I have some wild and crazy grandmas. I guess that would make sense considering traits like wanderlust are surely genetic, but it seems more apparent now that I am older. I look back and appreciate it more. I was very lucky growing up and was blessed with four “grandparents” who loved me.

The first two were the “normal” Grandma and Grandpa. They lived about 5 city blocks from us, although that is a really rough estimate considering we lived on dirt roads. Maybe it would be more accurate to say they lived two houses down. They hosted huge family reunions and large holiday feasts. We made strings of popcorn and cranberries for their Christmas tree every year. If Grandma made a sandwich it was cold cuts on white bread cut into quarters and placed on a folded napkin for us to devour…neatly.

We all lived in a small town and my Grandpa owned the glass shop. He also scared me when he snored at night and any time I tried to sneak past his chair to get upstairs. I remember them dancing, then my Grandpa danced less and my mom was left to dance with my Grandma more. My Grandpa passed away when I was in high school and it wasn’t until college when I learned more about all their travels across the country and wild escapades.

In 2007 I was living in St Augustine, FL and Grandma came to visit. Turns out she lived in St Augustine too when she was younger. She traveled to Florida, Texas, and everywhere in between before she was married. My sweet, little, traditional Grandma was more daring than I knew. That spring we played putt-putt, went to the beach, rode a scooter around town, and took a helicopter ride. She was 83 at the time.

Now the other two I always knew were a little different. I never knew my dad’s dad; he passed away before I was born. Instead I had Oma and Clara and they were awesome! They lived in Tennessee and Oma sent costumes that she made for us to play in. If Oma made a sandwich it was all the necessities spread out on the table: meat on the bone and a block of cheese kind of ingredients with a knife in the mayonnaise jar. They would pull up in the “bat mobile” and we would go on ADVENTURES. State parks, museums, civil war memorials…we went anywhere we wanted to go. Clara drove and Oma rode shotgun. Anytime we were off-track it became clear that there was no such thing, “Oh we’re not lost! We’re on an adventure!” I loved it. Clara also passed away when I was in high school and now I wish I had a better memory. I just know she was very kind and loving to us all and when I think of her it makes me smile.

In 2007 I also embarked on my journey across the country. My first stop was Oma’s house. Listening to old stories made me wish I could record every word as she recalled her life so I could always remember how strong she was. Full of fire and sharp as a tack, she could battle to the death in a political debate and slaughter anyone in trivial pursuit. The stacks of books are not just decoration. It was the perfect reminder to be open to learning.

This year has been hard. For the first time since high school, I am reminded of mortality and it is scary. A big part of me (selfishly) cannot picture them gone and hearing of their physical decline has made the distance from home seem twice as far. The other part of me is just grateful and inspired. In two totally different styles, they have showed me so much support throughout my life. Both are open and honest and I have never had to censor myself or my thoughts. Neither one has ever questioned me, my motives or my desire to wander. They just keep loving me, unconditionally.