The First Write-Through Completed

On the rainy afternoon of November 26, 2016, I typed the words “The End.”

Anyone who is a writer knows that this signals an accomplishment, a completion of sorts. I finished what I call “the first write-through” of Scandalous and Remarkable, the fictional biography of my paternal great-grandmother Leta Marie Scott, who was born in 1894, the youngest of six children of David Scott and Julia Snyder, and died in 1984, two days shy of her 90^th birthday.

In between, she grew up, lived through two World Wars (and several others), the Great Depression, the introduction of electricity, indoor plumbing, home telephones, the automobile, the radio, the television, motion pictures, record albums, 8-Track tapes, cassette tapes, the washing machine, the dishwasher and even the computer. She had two children, seven grandchildren and twelve great grandchildren. She lived through eight husbands and countless other short- and long-term relationships. She held jobs and spent time as a homemaker. Sometimes she was poor and sometimes she was comfortable. She could sew.

The idea of writing about her life sparked in me after she had passed away. I recall I was at a party with friends in New York City where I was going to graduate school (in theater). Shortly before that, my grandfather/Leta’s son-in-law shared with me that she was much-married and “didn’t really know she had a daughter” for part of her life. He handed me some newspaper clips and told me a couple of stories about her, including the first time he met her. At this party, I was talking with my friend Esther and another fellow. In the midst of the conversation, I told them that I had just learned that my great-grandmother was married seven times. The other fellow chose to continue with whatever he was talking about, and Esther stopped him. “What? Jerry, did you just say that your great-grandmother was married seven times?” She wanted to know more.

And so did I. While I knew my great-grandmother for twenty years, I knew nothing about her, not even that her last husband died the day before I was born. I remembered visiting her in her duplex apartment in East Toledo, that she had parakeets, that she gave us candy on occasion, that at some point she moved into a care facility, and that she converted to Catholicism. But her life before me had never come up, nor had any curiosity about her last name, which was different than anyone else’s in the family. But with the advent of this new information, the spark of some kind of creative work began to germinate. And I began to gather some information in bits and pieces. Finally, in September of 2010, I started writing. Over the subsequent two years, I have been simultaneously researching her life (and our family) and writing the story of it.

Over the ensuing years, I have spent countless hours at Oakland’s Family History Center, in the Toledo Public Library, in Ohio’s Lucas County Court House, on Wikipedia and a dozen other Internet sites, and countless hours speaking to family members on the telephone. My intention is to be as authentic to my great-grandmother’s life as I possibly can, as well as historically accurate. I have recorded my findings, organized my thoughts, speculated ideas and written actual pieces of the book as blog entries. This entry is #363, each one at least one page long.

And now here it is—the first write-through of the book. Eleven chapters (one for each husband, her childhood, her independent years and her senior years), and 397 pages (single-spaced, double-sided).

Now comes the rewriting. I believe that the best writing comes from contemplation, energy, the writer experiencing the story and re-writing. That is the craft. So I will begin.

Dear readers, thank you for journeying with me thus far. Over the next months, blog entries will diminish. I will endeavor to write one per month, but it all depends on how the rewrites go, as well as the status of the novel itself.

Onward!

Reliving the Impossible

I wasn't there.

On March 2, 1976, my fraternal grandmother, Vivian Faye Chetister Metzker, was laid to rest at Willow Cemetery in Oregon, Ohio. She was only 62 years old and died unexpectedly from a blood clot. She was on blood thinners, but she had ceased to use them, temporarily, when she went into the hospital for hip replacement surgery the week prior. From all accounts, the surgery went well. She was up and moving around. Then on Friday morning, February 27, she started to share that she was having trouble breathing and feeling weak. She returned to bed and died shortly thereafter.

I was 12 years old and in sixth grade. My brother Jeff was 15 and in ninth grade. My sister Michelle was 10 and in fourth grade. Our parents were separated at the time. My dad was not living with us. We learned of her death on Friday after school. We were devastated. Her funeral home showing was all afternoon and evening on Sunday, February 29. (It was a leap year.) I remember many things from that day—standing before the open casket for the first time, all the flowers (including bouquets from the mayor, City Council, School Board and police department), the funeral wreath for the “grandchildren,” so many people that we expanded into another room, my Uncle Larry touching her hand, Grandma Eckman sitting on one of the couches and telling anyone who talked to her that “You never expect your children to go before you,” wondering why my grandmother’s best friend stayed so long and behaved as if she was one of the family, my mother being there but not coming with us, and my dad’s girlfriend showing up.

Jeff remembers thinking she was moving and telling everyone, which resulted in a firm talking to. Michelle remembers that no one thought about having snacks for the family and for a short period of time, Dad took us to the garage of the funeral home, where the funeral director, Mr. Meinert, gave us each a can of generic pop.

That is the end of my memory. My grandmother was buried on Tuesday, March 2, 1976. I was at a weeklong camp with the rest of my grade at Starr Elementary. I am sure this was not an easy decision for my parents to make or for me. The previous year another elementary school in the district booked their sixth graders for a week at camp. The event was so successful that my school decided to do it, too. While neither remembers, my parents undoubtedly made the decision on the basis of what else would I do for the entire week. My siblings went to school on Monday. On Tuesday they went to the funeral, and then they were back in school for the rest of the week. Had I followed this same schedule, I would have spent my week sitting in the principal’s office alone. So I went to camp.

I don’t remember that I talked much about my grandmother’s recent death while at camp, but I carried it with me and some guilt that I wasn’t with my family. I remember that on Tuesday morning, I felt some sadness. But the week was very busy, and I enjoyed myself.

As for what happened with regard to my grandmother, I have interviewed five people—both of my parents, my brother and sister, and my aunt. The most comprehensive answer was, “It’s a blur. I just remember being so sad.” But I could piece some of their memories, scant as they were, together. My sister remembered not wanting to leave the funeral home for the cemetery. My brother remembered that the funeral procession had a police escort and was the longest one in my hometown’s history. My mom remembered that she did not attend. My dad remembered that after the funeral, they went to a roast beef restaurant. The little card they had noted that our former pastor officiated.

Then I got to writing this section of the book. And it took some time to recreate the scene based on the limited memories of my family, my own experiences of other funerals, and what I could draw out of my heart. I also had to write from my great-grandmother’s perspective. She lost her daughter; I lost a grandmother. I didn’t expect this to be easy. But I also didn’t expect that I would only be able to write in 20-minute sections, because my eyes would fill with tears and my heart begin to hurt. But I wrote, and it is my sincerest hope that if I haven’t re-created the funeral exactly, I have done a respectful and admirable job in loving memory of my grandmother—Vivian Faye Chetister Metzker.

Leta Becomes a Roman Catholic, part two

Leta waited long enough, 30 minutes more than the usual drop-in time of her Lutheran pastor. He was not coming. He was not bringing her communion, he would not ask after her health, he would not pray with her. He had not telephoned. She had been waiting in the lobby for him for the better part of two and a half hours.

It was 4:30 in the afternoon. The residents of the senior home were starting to make their way to the dining room for supper. While they weren’t served until 5:30pm, some of the women liked to be ready. And many of them had little else to do.

Leta walked back to her room slowly. She felt more tired than she had in a long time. There were several other residents sitting in the hallway. Two were moaning for no obvious reason, only their way of expressing their unhappiness of being uncomfortable all the time. Usually she would get their attention and instruct them to cease, which was successful for a while. Today she didn’t care. Another lady, who was barely 80 but degenerating quickly, was hunched over in a wheelchair and drooling. If Leta’s nose was accurate, she had also soiled herself. Again, Leta’s practice was to inform one of the staff, but this time, she felt the pain in her heart and walked on.

For most of her time in the nursing home thus far, she had separated herself from many of the other residents. After all, she could still walk. She had her faculties. She took care of herself. She was nearly 80 years old and in good shape. But for the first time since arriving, she felt old and forgotten.

While she had been considering all the implications of converting to Roman Catholicism, she had not made up her mind to do it. Circumstance and a neglectful Lutheran minister had done it for her. The next morning, she went to the priest’s office.

“Father Anthony,” she said, “I want to be a Catholic.”

The priest didn’t flinch. He had heard such intentions before from residents. Some were serious about adopting the Roman Catholic faith. Others feared a rapidly approaching transition to the afterlife. Some were already people of faith, unable to attend services or activities at their prior places of worship, seeking a religious community.

“Tell me, Leta,” he inquired. “What brings this on? Aren’t you a Methodist?”

“Lutheran,” she corrected.

“Ah, yes, that’s right.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time,” she continued. “And I want to be a part of a religious community. I miss going to church. I miss praying.—“

“—Now, Leta,” he interrupted, “you can pray any time anywhere. You don’t need to be in church to do that.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, raising her voice slightly. “But it doesn’t feel the same as being in church. I need to go to church, and I need to take communion.”

“I see,” he said, folding his hands together. “And you think you can do that as a Catholic?”

“Of course,” she answered.

The priest eyed her for a few minutes.

“Let me give you some information on what it means to be Catholic,” he said. “You can read it, think about it, talk to your family and then if you’re still interested, we can talk more.”

“Father Anthony, I do not need to read anything or talk to anyone,” Leta declared. “I have thought this over. I have prayed about this. And this is my decision. Now, how do we get this process started?”

Five months later, Leta joined the Roman Catholic church. The process, she was told, took up to one year, nine months at minimum, but, she pointed out, at 80-plus years, she didn’t have that much time. Interestingly enough, only one of the members of her family objected strongly. If the others, those on Vivian’s side, did, none told her. Her son-in-law was as grim as always, but he had disapproved of her behavior—and sometimes of her—for years. Her grandson Larry, however, became angry and protested. In his thinking, being a Catholic was tantamount to joining a cult. He vowed that he would take her to church every Sunday, even though he rarely attended himself. For two months, he refused to speak with her, and whether or not he actually grew to accept the situation, Leta never knew. His mother put a stop to his behavior and her faith choice was never discussed again.

As for Leta, she was pleased to be able to attend services once or twice a week, interact with a faith community and maintain her relationship with God. Even as she declined in her late 80s, being able to participate in the religious life of her nursing home was a great blessing to her.

Leta Becomes a Roman Catholic, part one

Leta missed going to church. All her life she had been a practicing Christian, and while she never considered that going to church was the beginning and end of a person’s faith, she did miss the worship. For Christmas and the following Easter she went with Vivian and Ed. Their parish had an early morning service that better suited Vivian’s temperament. Her grandson Don’s family attended the same parish, but went to the second service. The early service was too early for her, and she would never impose upon her granddaughter-in-law Pat to take her with them. In fact, if she understood Pat’s Sunday morning schedule correctly, it began with taking the children to Sunday school, where she taught one of their classes, and then they attended the later service. The younger two sang with the children’s choir, which performed twice per month in the service. Afterward, they would have a hot lunch. Pat would make them soup, macaroni and cheese or grilled cheese sandwiches, foods they could not have for lunch during the week because of school. “We like welsh rarebit,” her oldest grandson Jeff told her. “That’s our favorite.”

Before she moved into the nursing home, Leta used to attend a Lutheran church regularly. However, as the Home was owned and managed by a Catholic order with strict rules, she was not welcome to the weekly services held by Father Anthony Cuthbert. There was a chapel in the residence that she could use for prayer or meditation when it wasn’t being reserved for morning matins, evening prayer, the weekly Sunday service or funerals. She attended many of the funerals. This enabled her to participate in some worship. Once per month her own pastor arrived to serve her communion. He would ask her how she was doing, pray with her and then fidget until his twenty minutes had concluded.

She also had the opportunity to watch religious programming on the shared television in the lounge. There were two different television lounges, and on weekend days, the staff left the broadcast of various preachers and Bible studies. Leta preferred Billy Graham, but he did not broadcast regularly. She found some of the other preachers to be overbearing and judgmental, but others delivered wonderful messages. Sometimes she participated in the televised Bible studies, using a Bible her sister Mabel had given her.

Still, she wanted more, and she felt like there was more available to her at the Home, if only she were allowed.

Would God be angry with her if she became a Catholic? she wondered. There were Roman Catholics in her family. Her son Dale converted years ago to marry Kathryn. They were raising their children in that faith.

If she became Roman Catholic, she would not be allowed to participate in the Lutheran communion. This was a tremendous change. Members of her daughter’s family would no doubt be unhappy with her if she followed through with her conversion. They were staunch Lutherans, partly owing to her son-in-law’s German heritage. She also wondered if she would be required to pray from the rosary or learn the names of saints or other things that Roman Catholics did that she had always considered rather pagan.

At the same time, she knew that she did not need to attend church services to be a faithful Christian. She also knew, as her pastor told her, that after attending church so regularly throughout her life, she had “done her part.” She could still lead a prayerful life even if she did not attend church. However, it still seemed to her that she was not properly practicing her religion. To do that, she needed to go to church. After all, that was the basis of a Christian life.

This perplexed her, but not all the time, so she continued to think about it and go about her life for some time. She had many other activities in her life to occupy her time and thoughts.

One Tuesday afternoon, she was up and dressed, sitting in the lobby of the home, just near the entrance and waiting. This was the day her pastor was scheduled to visit. She was hungry for payer and communion.  He usually arrived between two and four, depending on his schedule, so she got herself ready after lunch. She checked her watch every ten minutes or so, even though there was a large grandfather clock that kept good time in the corner, right in her line of vision. At 3:30pm, she started to feel anxious. She also grew tired of sitting in the same chair. She rose, told the receptionist her intention and then took a walk around the interior of the facility. Ten minutes later, she returned to the facility’s entrance, where the receptionist told her that no one had called for her. They chatted for a few minutes, and then, it was 4:00pm. This was the latest her pastor had ever arrived. She sat and waited another 30 minutes, growing more despondent with each passing second. The grandfather clock chimed, the receptionist started to pack up her things to leave, and Leta stood.

To be continued.

Leta Gets a Parakeet, part seven

For her 71st birthday, Leta's gentleman friend Delbert Henderson gave her two tiny birds in a cage.

“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed on the evening he left the covered cage outside of her front door and she took away the cloth to reveal the two creatures. “What is this?”

Immediately, the birds began to chirp.

She squatted to get a closer look. One of the diminutive creatures was bright green with a yellow head, tiny blue beak and tiger stripes extending from the back of its head down to its tail feathers. This one was hopping around the cage. The other was sitting on a perch. It was primarily white with small patches of sky blue feathers on the top of its head, just above its shoulders and near its rump mostly hidden by its wings.

“They’re parakeets,” Delbert said. He had appeared out of nowhere, although she suspected he was somewhere close.

“They’re beautiful,” Leta whispered, as if raising her voice would disturb the joy and love she suddenly felt. “Hi, budgie,” she said, waving one finger at the creatures.

“Since you like birds so much, I thought…” Delbert explained haltingly. He realized he didn’t need to go any further. Leta was enraptured.

“They’re wonderful!” she exclaimed and stood. “Thank you so much.”

Leta could not remember a more enjoyable evening. Once she could tear herself away from her new pets, they proceeded to a birthday dinner and then returned to her apartment for dessert, conversation and gin rummy. While Delbert preferred to play whist, Leta always won, so to keep his spirits as lively as her own, she insisted that since it was her birthday, they play gin.

They talked about many things, but mostly family, and their concerns about their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Delbert was looking forward to baseball season. He and one of his sons were fans of Toledo’s farm league team, the Mud Hens, and had season tickets.

“I’d like to take you,” he said apologetically, “but my son won’t ever miss a game.”

“That is very thoughtful,” she said, “but I learned long ago to never interfere between a man and his son, especially around sports.”

She also admitted that she was more of a Cincinnati Reds fan, and he declared that he would take her to a game before the end of the season.

By the time he left later that night, well after midnight, Leta was convinced that he would soon ask her to marry him, and she would definitely accept. However, the proposal never came. Instead of spending more time with each other and growing closer, he began to call on her less and less over the next two months. It was a gradual rather than an abrupt dissolution of their relationship. A week after Leta’s birthday, one of their card-playing friends died unexpectedly of a stroke, which resulted in that club being disbanded. Delbert came down with bronchitis shortly after that, and after he recovered he was unable to drive for several weeks.

At first, Leta thought she would be dismayed and lonely, but as the days passed and she did not hear from Delbert, she learned that she was content with her life the way it was—grandchildren and great-grandchildren, watching a little television, keeping her house clean, reading the morning and afternoon newspapers, and going to church. This was fulfilling enough for her. She did not need the company of a male companion, whether husband or lover or even friend to give her life value and purpose. She was 71 years old, and she had two adorable parakeets to keep her company. That was enough.

Leta Gets a Parakeet, part six

After the New Year's Eve stumble of 1964, Leta’s friendship with Delbert Henderson grew. By March, they were spending two or three evenings per week together. Since he liked steak so much, they ate frequently at Bill Knapp’s, which he avowed had the best steak in the area. A couple of times they dined there with Leta’s daughter Vivian and her husband Ed. Ed agreed with Delbert’s assessment and would become a regular patron over the next two decades. Sometimes Leta cooked for them, although at age 71, she was weary of cooking. Still, Delbert wasn’t too demanding. He liked a pork or beef roast and potatoes. That was fairly easy to make.

Delbert also liked to play cards. They belonged to three card clubs and played with other couples as well. Sometimes they sat at Leta’s table and played cards together. Delbert was also fond of whist, although she almost always beat him at the game. This sometimes made Leta feel badly. When she asked him if he would rather play a different game, he would shake his head and tell her that he liked her competitiveness and to see her so victorious. He liked to see her smile, he said, and hear her laughter.

One early April morning, they decided to go for a drive and then picnic at a park along the lake. Leta prepared their lunch, and Delbert picked her up at the appointed time. She was ready and listening to the songbirds in a tree at the front of her apartment. Following his usual practice, Delbert parked the car on the street and then walked up to her.

“Good morning!” he said cheerfully.

Leta held up her hand.

“Listen.” After a pause, she continued, “Isn’t it just beautiful.”

Delbert looked at her quizzically.

“The birds,” she said. “They make such lovely music. I could listen all day.”

“It’s definitely pretty,” he agreed.

“Their singing reminds me that we’re all alive.”

Of course, Leta thought nothing of what she said. In fact, if someone would have quoted her, she would have nodded and agreed, not remembering that she posited the idea in the first place. For her, singing birds was simply a good part of the world and listening to them was a natural thing to do.

Her birthday that April was fairly inconsequential. She went shopping and had lunch with Vivian, and would spend the Saturday following with her son Dale. In the evening, she had dinner and card playing plans with Delbert. They would eat at Bill Knapp’s and then return to her house for dessert.

She had just finished preparing when she heard the doorbell. She liked how Delbert always came right up to the door to escort her to the car where he would open the door for her and make sure she was comfortable before closing it and moving into the driver’s seat. When she opened the door, however, he wasn’t standing there. This startled her, and she looked around a moment. Perhaps he forgot something related to the car. Although the car was parked on the street where she could see it, she could not see him. Then in her peripheral vision she saw the package.

“What’s this?” she said aloud.

It was a strange shape, almost square with a rounded top, and covered with a cloth. She bent over to pick it up, but didn’t see a handle. She had no idea how heavy it was, so she was hesitant to pick it up. The cloth was loose, simply dropped over the package. She gently grabbed a part and pulled.

To be continued.

Leta Gets a Parakeet, part five

Leta stepped back from the front door of her apartment to let her caller inside. It was New Year’s Day, 1965, late in the evening. Leta was in the midst of preparing for bed when her doorbell rang. She hurriedly put on her robe and ran to the door to find that her friend Delbert Henderson was waiting outside in the cold.

Delbert stepped into the apartment and she closed the door, but not before a draft of cold sent shivers up her spine.

“Do you want to sit?” Leta asked. “Take your coat off?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, turning toward her just inside the door. Then he went silent for what seemed like an eternity. The quiet was long enough for her to remember their last few moments together the previous night—New Year’s Eve—when she joined him for an evening of card playing with two other couples. She behaved badly. She had too much to drink, became too loud, laughed inappropriately, and maybe was overbearing.  When he took her home, he spoke not a word. She spent the entire day vexed about it, wavering between telephoning him or letting him go. She spent the day with her daughter Vivian’s family, and did not have the opportunity to telephone him. When she arrived home, she determined that it was too late.

And now, here he was.

“Leta,” he started nervously, “I know it’s late, and I apologize for that, but I couldn’t want no more to speak with you about last night.”

Leta’s heart jumped.

“Things didn’t go so well,” he continued. “It was supposed to be a nice night of company and pinochle, and, well, I’m sorry. I didn’t treat you so good.” He took a deep breath. “I should’ve remembered that it was a year ago, almost to the day, that you lost Richard. Instead, I spent the entire time missing Beatrice. It was just that she loved New Year’s. I wasn’t sympathetic to you, and so I’m sorry.”

For a few moments, Leta did not know how to respond; however, she felt as though the burden had been lifted from her. While Delbert’s confession did not refute her own behavior, it did reduce her anxiety about it. While she missed Richard, the pain was not so raw that she had to numb it. She had simply been enjoying herself. Since he had made the first apology, she determined that it was appropriate for her to make her own.

“I have a confession of my own,” she said.

He looked at her quizzically.

“I wasn’t on my best behavior last night either. I—“

“No, no, no,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to apologize. In spite of all that you were going through, you were delightful. I won’t hear another word.”

Leta wondered if she should continue or not. She gritted her teeth for a few moments. Then she smiled at him.

“I know it’s late, but would you like a piece of pie and coffee?” she asked.

He relaxed instantly.

“No pie, please. I’m sure it’s delicious, but I’m stuffed from supper,” he protested. “I could use a cup of coffee though. It’s a cold night out there.”

“Then take your coat off and come on in,” Leta said.

Over the next hour the two enjoyed coffee, conversation and a small sliver each of leftover cherry pie. Leta confessed that Vivian had made it.

To be continued.

Leta Gets a Parakeet, part four

Leta arrived home at nine in the evening after spending New Year’s Day with her daughter Vivian’s family, and if she was to be entirely honest, she was tired. She had been up late the previous night, playing Pinochle and celebrating with her friend Delbert Henderson and two other couples. More tellingly, she drank to the point where she became overly gregarious, so much so that when Delbert drove her home, he spoke not a word. He was cool and aloof. She believed that he was unhappy with her, and she may not hear from him again.

Throughout the day, she regretted her behavior, and determined—and then not—that she would telephone him and apologize. Why should I apologize? I was enjoying myself? I was in control of my faculties. Yes, I was a little boisterous and loud, but we were all laughing and having fun, weren’t we?

The truth was that while she was positive that she was enjoying herself, she was not certain that her companions were. And, most importantly, Delbert did not seem to be.

After she removed her coat and hat, she stood near her hall closet for a few minutes. One minute she talked herself into telephoning him, and the next minute she was certain that it was too late or an inappropriate thing to do. It was a chilly night, and her apartment was cool. She needed her sweater. No, she told herself, she needed to go to bed.

Without a word she walked into her bedroom and started to undress. She sat at her vanity and first removed her shoes. Then she stood. She had to be on her feet to remove her panty hose, which she had only started wearing a few months previously. Prior to that she wore stockings and a girdle. The stockings could be removed while she was seated, but the panty hose required the wearer to stand. Once finished, she sat again, stretched out her feet and slipped on her slippers. Then she began to remove her jewelry—earrings, necklace, broach and rings. Each item had a special place. Once she finished, she took a tissue and wiped away what remained of her make-up. She wore very little, but she wore some. Her lipstick had already nearly faded away. She had some rouge and eyeliner. Her process was to do a quick wipe with the tissue and then wash her face in cold cream before going to bed. Sometimes she applied a lot of cold cream and let it soften her face all night. This happened rarely, because she liked to sleep on her side.

She was hanging her dress in the closet when someone rang her doorbell. This startled her, and she took a minute to confirm with herself that she heard what she heard. After all, it was past nine in the evening, and she wasn’t expecting anyone. It also made her nervous, being an older woman who lived alone in a big city. She quickly wiped off her face with a towel, wrapped herself in her robe and proceeded cautiously to the door. As she did not want anyone to know that she was at home, she kept the lights off and peered through the valance. With more light on the outside, she could see that her visitor was a man, dressed in a trench coat with a hat, his breath flowing like smoke in the cold. He seemed unfamiliar, so she looked harder. After he adjusted his position, she could see that her caller was Delbert.

She unlocked and opened the door quickly.

“Delbert Henderson!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Quick, come in from the cold.

To be continued.

Leta Gets a Parakeet, part three

Leta had spent several evenings in December of 1964 with Mr. Delbert Henderson. She was a widow, having lost her husband Richard Eckman a year earlier, and he was a widower whose wife passed away in September. The couples had been friends prior to their respective losses, and subsequently the surviving partners started spending time together. Leta was 78 years old, and Delbert was 76.

On New Year’s Eve, they had supper and played cards with two other couples, but even as she was doing it, Leta realized she was enjoying her vodka tonics too much. When he drove her home, Delbert was obviously unhappy, if not embarrassed, by her behavior. He walked her politely to the door, but then left her without so much as a good night handshake.

She spent New Year’s Day with her daughter Vivian’s family. As was appropriate for the occasion, Vivian prepared spare-ribs and sauerkraut with mashed potatoes, green beans and corn, but Leta was not very hungry.

“Are you all right, Ma?” Vivian asked as she and her daughter Linda started to clear the table. “You barely touched your food, not even your mashed potatoes.”

“I’m fine,” Leta lied, “just a little tired.”

What else could she say? That she had reverted to her old behavior, and in a drunken state alienated a good and kind man, leaving her not only with a hangover, but also cast aside once again? That she had behaved in such a way that she closed off a large social outlet for her and could lose friends and activities? That maybe the way she had lived much of her life was truly wrong? After all, she spent many years of her life, drinking alcohol and meeting men in bars. Many of those men used her, but she also used them. While she had been married for many years, she had also been unmarried for nearly just as many. Further none of her marriages lasted very long—for several reasons: Albert, Bob and Richard died; Ora, Leech and Claud were drunken bums; Curtis and Ralph were dominating and cruel. Although she had chosen each for different reasons, she had not chosen well. Several of them she chose when she was drinking too much alcohol herself. The previous night she had inadvertently reverted to prior behaviors, and this time she was with someone who she knew was a good and kind man. Now, she was feeling the unpleasant effects of her behavior, both physically and emotionally. This also disturbed her.

 “I’m too old for this,” she whispered to herself.

“What did you say, Grandma?” Linda asked as they were cleaning the kitchen after everyone had a piece of pie.

“Nothing, darling,” Leta answered.

‘You were just thinking loudly,,” Linda decided. “That’s what Mom calls it,” Linda said.

“That sounds about right,” Leta said.

By the time they finished their chore Leta had decided. She would telephone Delbert as soon as she returned home. It would be a bold move, but she would do it. If she could resolve the situation, then all would be well. If Delbert was finished with her, then she would know and move on.

She never liked to dwell on such things.

To be continued.

Leta Gets a Parakeet, part two

Delbert Henderson liked steak. "It's my favorite meal," he told Leta, “steak and a baked potato.”

Leta liked the same meal, although it was beyond her budget to have steak more than once or twice a week. However, she preferred mashed potatoes to baked. She ate baked potatoes, she told him, but give her mashed potatoes with a pat of melting butter sprinkled with salt and pepper over any other kind of potato any day.

“At least we both like potatoes,” Delbert laughed.

“And steak!” Leta added, laughing as well.

They were enjoying what was to be the first of many suppers they would spend together. Leta and Delbert had known each other for several years. She met him and his wife Beatrice through her husband Richard Eckman. But now Richard and Beatrice had both passed away, leaving their respective spouses to reconfigure their own lives without them.

At first, they met occasionally. After all, it was December when they started spending time together, and they each had family obligations for the holidays. Still, they managed. They had their pensioners’ club, and both were on the Christmas party planning committee. Also, as they weren’t the primary planners respectively in their family activities, they were able to meet a couple of other times. Christmas week was very hectic for Leta. She spent Christmas Eve with her son Dale, daughter-in-law Kathryn and their family. She spent Christmas Day with her daughter Vivian, son-in-law Ed and their family. Three days after that was her great-grandson Jerry’s first birthday and the following day was Vivian’s birthday. Delbert had his own family activities.

On New Year’s Eve, they joined three other couples for a meal and card playing until the wee hours. Delbert loved to play Pinochle. He and his late wife participated in two different card clubs. When she passed away, he did not join his fellow card players for months, but once he learned Leta could play, he invited her to join him. Leta liked his friends, and was a shrewd player. They won all but one of their games.

However, she did have more to drink that New Year’s Even than was advisable, and as the evening wore on, she became more boisterous. She knew she was speaking too loudly, laughing too easily and being aggressive, but she had no capability to stop or slow down. She even sang “Auld Lang Syne” with relish. At 1:00 am, Delbert drove her home and was incredibly silent and stiff. While she wasn’t sobering, his mood quieted her as well. As was proper, he walked her to her door and without so much as a “Happy New Year,” he turned around and went back to his car. She stood just inside the door and watched him until he was out of sight.

The next morning she felt badly and wondered whether or not she should telephone him and apologize. She didn’t. Instead, she finished her coffee and toast, cleaned the kitchen and prepared for the family dinner at her daughter’s house. At noon, her grandson Larry arrived to pick her up.

To be continued.

Leta Gets a Parakeet, part one

When Delbert Henderson gave her two parakeets for her birthday, Leta was certain that he would soon propose to her. They knew each other through their pensioners’ club. Leta had been a widow for more than a year, her husband Richard having died two Decembers previously. On her birthday, she became 72 years old, and according to most people, was beyond marrying age. She was the grandmother of six (three boys and three girls) and great-grandmother of three little boys. What business did she have getting married again at her age?

Four months after her Richard died—from a heart attack—Leta moved out of the house, which upon his death, became the property of his children, and into an apartment in East Toledo. This put her close enough to her two children for any need she may have and to make their visits convenient, but far enough away that she could continue to live independently.

Delbert and his wife Beatrice were longtime friends of Richard’s. Leta met them shortly after she met him. They played cards with each other every couple of weeks and once took a car trip to southern Ohio together for a few days. Beatrice was talkative but very dependent upon her husband. In nearly all of their important decisions, she deferred to him. Delbert had worked for the Wonder factory in Toledo for 45 years before he retired. Aside from being a paper delivery boy and helping his uncle out in a hardware store, this was the only job he ever held.

Five months after Richard died, Beatrice fell while sweeping the kitchen floor. She broke her hip, but more devastatingly, the doctors learned that she was in the advanced stages of leukemia. She died three months later. Delbert spent the next three months in a daze. He hardly spoke to anyone. He would sit in their living room, clutching the quilt that she had made for their bed and staring at the television, which he didn’t turn on. His daughter came by daily to bring him food and clean the house. He lost 30 pounds.

She next saw him at a Christmas party planning meeting for their pensioners’ club four days after Thanksgiving. He told them that he was sorry for being absent for so many months, trembling slightly throughout his speech from the loss of his partner of 55 years. “It was like losing my right arm,” he told Leta later. “I felt like I lost more than half of myself, and the other half didn’t know how to operate on its own.”

Leta patted his hand. “You’re doing fine,” she said encouragingly. “You’ll make it.”

At the end of the meeting, he drove her home. She invited him into her apartment for a cup of coffee, but he was weary. The socializing took a lot out of him, and it was rather late.

“How about I take a rain check?” he said. “Or better yet, may I take you out to supper later this week? That is, if you are not too busy.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “I’d like that.”

The meeting was on a Monday, and on Friday night, he took her to his favorite restaurant.

To be continued.

Connie's First Baby, part three

“I think this is the quietest he’s been in a week,” Ed noted.

Leta and her husband Richard were visiting Leta’s granddaughter Connie, her husband Ed, and their new baby Christopher. The child, they learned, was a crier. When he was content, which was very rare, was when either his mother or grandmother, Leta’s daughter-in-law Kathryn, was holding him in the rocking chair.

This time, however, Leta was holding him and sitting on the sofa beside her husband. She noted earlier that he had opened his eyes a couple of times, but for the moment was asleep.

Connie had recently gone into the kitchen to make coffee to accompany the pie that Leta had brought.

“I’m going to help Connie in the kitchen,” Kathryn said, as she rose. “Richard, how do you like your coffee?”

“Just black is fine for me, Kate,” he answered.

A couple of minutes later, Kathryn and Connie returned with coffee and slices of pie on plates.

“I can take the baby, if you want, while you eat your pie, Grandma,” Connie offered.

“How about you eat your pie first, and then we’ll trade,” Leta countered.

“Connie can take the baby, Ma” Kathryn said. “You don’t want your coffee to get cold.”

Leta was surprised by how irritated she was with her daughter-in-law, who seemed to her to be overly involved in the baby’s movement. Even though Kathryn had been there twice already that day, she came again in the evening, knowing that Leta and Richard planned to spend time with the young family.

“I can sip my coffee just fine,” she said. “Connie, eat.”

Connie ate hurriedly and clearly winced every time she sipped her scalding coffee. The men ate leisurely, and Kathryn didn’t eat at all, but sipped her coffee, as did Leta. When she finished, Connie stood and held out her hands.

Throughout the dessert, Chris had been a quiet, joy-bringing bundle in her arms. Leta loved the warm of him and his soft breathing. She was reluctant to give him up, but she was true to her word, and handed him over to his mother.

Sensing the change, the baby started to fuss, and whatever ease Connie had been feeling was gone, just like that.

“Here, Connie,” Kathryn offered, relinquishing the rocking chair. “Sit here.”

Connie sat and the baby quieted.

“That’s what he likes,” Ed said. “Sitting in that rocker or riding around in the car. The other night we drove around for two hours, didn’t we, honey?” Without waiting for her agreement, he continued, “While we drove, he slept. Every time we stopped, he woke up. It was a challenge.”

“One of my grandson’s was like that,” Richard shared. “Drove his parents to distraction. But after a few months, he grew out of it. After that, he slept so much they had to wake him up to eat.”

“I’d give my right arm for that right now,” Ed said wistfully, and Connie sighed.

Leta noticed that Connie was falling asleep and stood. She returned her plate, cup and saucer to the tray and began collecting other things.

“It’s about time we head home, Richard,” she said.

Kathryn rose, too. “Ma, don’t do that. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll just put everything on the tray,” Leta said and continued with her task. “Then I’ll leave it up to you.”

While Leta finished, Richard and Ed stood.

“Connie,” Leta instructed, “you stay put now. You don’t have to get up.”

Connie sunk deeper into the rocking chair, accepting her grandmother’s instruction with an easing of her body.

For her final act of the evening, Leta leaned over and kissed her granddaughter on the forehead. This was unusual. She had not kissed Connie in years. Connie stifled a gasp.

“You’re doing great,” Leta said.