Reflections on the Fifth Week of Fall – Tied by Written Words

Grandma Lohse's Diary

Grandma Lohse kept a journal?

I reread my cousin Julie’s September 16^th email.

I recently found a journal of Grandma's . . . It was 1957 . . . she had an entry on the day I was born . . . It was a great find. It is pretty basic. One sentence entries . . .

What would those sentences reveal about our dads’ mom in her sixty-sixth year? I emailed back. I'd love to take a peek at her journal – if you could bring it when you visit in October.

Last Sunday Julie, as bright as a tulip and wrapped in a gray winter coat, stepped inside the log house. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a paperback size, green leather book that had lost its spine. Gold letters labeled the front―Five Year Diary.

My pulse scissor-kicked into lap swimming speed.

Julie and I sat side by side at the kitchen table. Like a youngster about to divulge a secret, she held the book between us and opened to the middle then flipped pages. “It’s a five year diary. Grandma mostly wrote in fifty-seven and fifty-eight.”

I poured tea. Whiffs of licorice fragrance rose from our china cups. Fifty-seven and fifty-eight were years Grandpa and Grandma rented a room from Betsy in Louisville, Kentucky. But Betsy, I’d learned on a family visit, was more of a friend than a landlord.

Julie stopped flipping at November 7, smoothed the page, and read.

Went to Covington Dayton & Carrolton.

Jim called Baby Julie

born at 11.15 7 lbs

We giggled.

Julie turned back to mid April and I read.

Betsy went to Indianapolis

Worked

“Grandpa worked at GE in Louisville,” Julie said and turned the page.

Each of us held one side of the book and took turns reading Grandma’s words out loud.

Bot blue dress $10 black and white dress $17

I put my finger under Bot. “She simplified words!”

“Seventeen dollars was a lot for a dress back then.” Julie sipped her tea.

We kept reading. Throughout the next two months Grandma listed symptoms.

Dizzy . . . vomited . . . headache . . . Dr said niacin

“Niacin?” I put the book down, bit into a blueberry drop cookie, and savored the cookie’s light almond flavor mixed in with Wells Wood blueberries.

Julie said, “Vitamin B.”

I took Vitamin B supplements for vertigo. Putting together the symptoms Grandma had listed on various pages, I wondered if I’d gotten my vertigo from her.

Several pages later, Grandma’s 1958 entry of new Mercury dampened my enthusiasm. Voice quavering, I said to Julie, “Dad drove that Mercury after Grandpa died.” I flipped pages back and forth. “Grandma doesn’t mention Grandpa dying. When did he die?”

Our eyes met and the dread I felt about not finding the answer reflected in Julie’s eyes. We couldn’t ask our dads―they had died along with all the others in their generation. Would our older sisters know? Our older cousin Joe?

I racked my memory. “Grandpa died in the summer. We’d driven from Pittsburgh to Erie for the funeral, but I played with my little brother in Grandma’s front yard while the family attended the funeral. I wore a new summer dress. But what year?”

A spark erased the dread in Julie’s eyes. “There’s a copy of Grandpa’s obituary in Dad’s old desk. I’ll email the date to you.” And she did―June 28, 1960.

Grandma Lohse's Diary - November 7

But, reassured at the time, we continued and discovered patterns.

Tornado . . . rain . . . HOT HOT HOT . . . snow

Permanent LaRue . . . nails LaRue . . . hair cut LaRue

Ate at Glass House . . . ate at race track . . . ate at Leonharts . . . ate at Bolands . . . coffee and pie at Mason Dixon after church

“Who’d have thought they’d eat out so often?” Julie said.

What impressed me were Grandma’s repeated entries about letters.

Letter from Marge . . . Letter from Jane . . . Letter from Dorothy . . .

My husband, who’d been typing away at his computer in his indefatigable pursuit to save children from lead poisoning, called to Julie from his great-room-sofa office. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner. I’m making pizza with homegrown tomato sauce.”

Julie set her side of the diary on the table and turned to face Spence. “That sounds delicious, but I don’t have time. I’m working two jobs now so weekend time is precious.”

While they discussed her new job with Aetna and her old job counseling private clients, my mind ruminated on letters. Grandma had valued letters.

On my computer, a Keepers folder stored special emails. And in the loft letters from friends and family crammed a file cabinet drawer. The latest came from Lori, a cousin on my mom’s side of the family.

I’d sent her a postcard, Adventure of Tea Cup Rock – Part 1 [See “Adventure at Tea Cup Rock” September 30, 2018], ending with Spence and I locked out of our rental car without cell phone service and needing help. I’d sent her daughter Ellie part two of the saga so that Lori wouldn’t be left in suspense.

After Lori had read the postcard, she wrote me a five page letter.

What a great story! It so sounds like something I would do. Ellie is out for the evening so I can’t get episode II until she gets back.

Snuggled in my Adirondack chair, I’d read Lori’s news with relish.

Ellie is still at home. She is trying to find full time work that she will enjoy. But isn’t being 22 and undecided what being 22 is for?

Twenty-two? It seemed like just a few years ago that Spence and I had visited the cousins in Toledo, and I’d played swimming Barbie dolls with first grade Ellie in Lori’s kitchen sink. I read on.

As I write this her mini pig, Pigby Proctor, is walking around the family room grunting hello to you. He is a 50 lb, pot belly mix . . . very handsome . . . all black . . . kind, loving, sweet and sometimes very pig headed. He was of course a rescue animal . . . I’m still retired. I’ll help out at fund raisers for animal rescue groups doing psychic mediumship readings and animal communication. Work is much more fun when you’re doing it to help someone else . . .

Lori’s five pages, like Grandma’s diary, Keeper emails, and filed letters, were written words that tied others’ lives to mine―like threads securing the layers of a quilt.

The movement of Julie turning in her chair and picking up her half of the diary pulled me back from my letter reverie.

Julie and I finished reading through New Year’s Eve then started back on January first. When we’d nearly finished, we found a reference to me―not flattering―on April 4, 1958.

Bob & kids came

4:30

Janet got sick

Maybe, if my nine-year-old self had treasured letters as much as my adult self, I could have made an entry in Grandma’s diary for writing her a letter instead of for getting sick.

Grandma Lohse's Diary - April 4