Memories

My grandmother and I had a somewhat uncomfortable relationship. I'm sure she loved me, and I loved her, but we didn't seem to like each other very much.
I spent every summer on my grandmother's farm in New London, Iowa, from the time I was 9 or 10 until her death in 1979. The first several summers, my older sister, Marcia, also stayed there. She and my grandmother were very close and seemed to close ranks against me; at least that's how I felt at the time. I remember how much it hurt to hear grandma talk about "my girl" and know that she wasn't referring to me.
Since there wasn't really any room left for me in the house with Grandma, who was pretty much housebound due to heart problems (her bed was in the kitchen with an oxygen tank at the ready) and arthritis (she needed a walker to move about), I ventured outside to spend time with my dad's older brother, Clarence, and my cousin Bill.
Uncle Clarence farmed his entire life, though what he had really wanted to be was a veterinarian. He was the first adult to ever treat me as an equal. I followed him everywhere on the farm, apparently so stealthily that he would often turn around and run right into me! Some of my best memories are of riding on the tractor with Uncle Clarence, holding onto the back of the seat and leaning against the tire guard, while he mowed weeds. Oh, the conversations we had!
My cousin Bill is only 1 1/2 years older than I am, and I never had more fun than when the two of us had pillow fights in my grandma's living room, plotted against my older sister, dueled outside with sticks or built toad houses in the rock pile outside the yard.
I lived for my summers in Iowa.
As I got older, unfortunately, my relationship with Grandma didn't improve. How I wish now I had listened more closely to the stories of her childhood, asked questions about her early married life, really gotten to know her.
I was the youngest of the youngest of the youngest by far. My dad was born when my grandma was in her forties, my grandfather was born when his father was in his 50s, and I was the youngest grandchild by decades; I'm 44 and my oldest cousin is in her mid-60s.
My grandma was born in 1888 and died in 1979, when she was 91 and I was 15. Imagine what I could have learned from her!
Thinking back, there are a few things I remember, like her teaching me to make hollyhock dolls.


I think Grandma would have liked the adult me. I know I would have appreciated her much more than I did as a child.
I've been thinking about you, Grandma, and wishing I had known you better.