This morning I woke up thinking about my paternal grandmother, PapaWeese. I don't know why she would be on my mind. I haven't thought about her in a long time. She died when I was 15, almost 60 years ago. I hadn't matured enough by then to be able to see her as anything but my old-fashioned granny PapaWeese.
(How that name came about, by the way: We called my grandfather PapaFrank, but my sister, the first grandchild, fumbled MamaLouise, which turned into PapaWeese, and it stuck.)
I can still call to mind the smell of their apartment on Sawtelle Blvd., a fragrant combination of mothballs, face powder, PapaFrank's cigarettes, and whatever PapaWeese was cooking. I remember her playing the piano while we sang. She was a professional piano player, used to play at the USO and for silent films. She was so skilled, she could change keys without blinking in the middle of a song. She wrote poems, some of which were published in the local newspaper. She always pretended to take an interest in whatever my siblings and I prattled about. I know she belonged to a lively bridge club. This morning, though, I found myself wondering about her as a person. She was certainly always cheerful when my family came visiting, but was she happy? Did she enjoy her life? Did she have dreams she wasn't able to fulfill?
PapaFrank was nice to us kids, but had a stern visage, and was very private behind his eyes. I believe he was not successful in any kind of business. In fact, my dad didn't seem to know what his father did for a living. I remember him saying something about PapaFrank selling gloves door to door at one point. They lived through the Depression, with creditors banging on the door. They were probably poor even into their old age.
I really don't know why I'm thinking about this now, but for some reason, I am wishing I could talk to PapaWeese woman to woman and ask her how she felt about her life and her marriage and how her children turned out.
And I realize that I'm part of the last generation that will remember her and PapaFrank. My nieces and nephews didn't know them, and have probably only heard of them as distant figures who used to be part of the family. And so it goes, and so it must go. I know that. I just wish I had known her better. I hope she was happy.
I have lots of letters from PapaWeese that I would be happy to share with you. In one of them, she writes that she was an atheist. I wish I had been old enough to talk with her about deeper subjects. She cared for me when Mom was working to put Dad through UCLA, so she and I were very close all my life until her death, but I wish I had known her when we were both adults. Like Mom, I think she was much deeper than she appeared to the world.
ReplyDeleteBabs, I guess we have to get to this place in our lives and realize truths about ourselves before we can imagine and wonder how our parents and grandparents felt and what they thought -- or even that they "had a life." xoA
ReplyDelete