My 1000th Post -- Making Love -- No, this is NOT a Sex Thread.

[moriah]

This is going to be long.

Pardon the pun, but dialogue I wasn't present for has been embroidered. But all events and facts are true. Last names have been changed, some first names have been omitted.

(And pardon the other things I haven't fixed in this, I wrote this over the last three days, but it was my 1000th post and I wanted it to be good.

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Making Love

My maternal grandmother was a seamstress. She worked for Tuff-Nutt Jean Factory for many years, and then went on to make draperies in a warehouse for even longer.

My mother, sister, and I lived with her and my grandfather from the time I was three years old. Mom was an only child, a very long time in the making for no lack of trying, and very wanted -- there were no others only because both Mom and Granny nearly died from what they used to call "kidney poisoning", and Mom was very lucky she lived at all being as premature as she was for the time. The doctor, after trying to not scare them until it was clear that, to his disbelief and shock, both mother and baby were out of the woods, very sternly impressed on them that it would be a foolish risk to have more children and left them with "Be grateful for the one you've got, and for the fact that she still has two parents."

After making it perfectly clear what the facts of life in this instance were: that it was only Granny realizing something was wrong, two bottles of castor oil and a hell of a lot of luck that saved Granny, that he had no idea what other than a true miracle saved their child, that in his long professional experience he had never before seen a case as severe as they had where one of the two was not lost, that also in his professional experience women who have even mild cases of "kidney poisoning" had only once before not had another case in their next pregnancy, and finally, that every single case of repeat "kidney poisoning" was much worse than the previous one, occurred earlier in the pregnancy, and over half of the women he saw with a repeat case of even borderline "kidney poisoning" in a first pregnancy at her age died.

They both thanked God that He hadn't required they lose each other until He chose for them to meet again, and that God had deemed it right to let them keep the child that both had wanted so badly -- and even let Grandpa's wish for his firstborn to be a girl come to pass -- even if neither were very religious at the time, as neither had gone to church since they were very young.

Granny still had the training of her family instilled into her that S-E-X was two flesh becoming one in celebration and reaffirmation of a blessed marriage, and always to be approached in the spirit of unconditional welcoming of all of God's gifts. As she lay in her sickbed in the hospital alone, she thought. The rewards God gives for martial congress, she remembered, are and should be a lot more immediate for both sides of that flesh than babies, but babies are God's gifts of the spirit, both only to be and divinely given when conceived in a true marriage, and it was required for both to welcome them if she was to continue to have a true marriage. She knew that her husband wanted a lot of children when she married him, even if she herself had helped too much to raise her siblings to embrace the idea as enthusiastically as he had. "Birth control" was awful chancy back then anyway unless you had major risky surgery and she could not contemplate deliberately killing a divinely sent child, a Gift of the spirit directly from God, just to save her own life.

Her duty was to perfectly submit to her husband in perfect obedience God to keep her marriage. While Granny didn't want to believe that God truly wanted her to die trying to do what she believed was right and moral, the fact that just one decade before this so many people had done the exact same thing -- died trying to do what was Right -- just because they happened to be male and were a certain age. It was hypocritical, and I think more than a "Christian" my grandmother was a true woman of faith who felt that it was incredibly wrong to go against deeply held beliefs, regardless of if you ever express them to another human being or not, and that betraying those beliefs is a grave sin. Only a freak of genetics saved her own husband from a lesser risk of suffering the same fate she might face -- an abnormality that he had no idea of until he enlisted to go fight in the Good War, as it was starting to be called. She didn't think it was right to value her own life above doing what was truly Right just because she was female and of a certain age when she just happened to be fertile and her husband, miraculously to her, was colorblind. She may have been German and her father may have been born in the Old Country, but her parents had whispered about the news when they were in their room next to hers at night, and seemed to have had more of an inkling than most that the atrocities that started to come to light just recently for her likely could have taken place. Truly, her husband was Right to have volunteered.

She'd come close to losing her husband not once, but twice, and she couldn't imagine being closer to any person on the planet, except perhaps her new daughter, who she was too sick to take care of or even hold, even then. She was scared of what might happen to her, but knew that her husband would care for their baby girl and if she prayed, God would help him be the best he could be at it. Besides, she wasn't about to act ungrateful now, after all that God had given her.

If obeying God's commandments and honoring her marriage to mean her life would be shorter, it might as well be him she was truly married to for as long as it was God's will for her to be alive at all.

Grandpa wasn't going to risk his wife again for anything. As he watched his daughter, the daughter he had wanted so much, on her first night home from the hospital laying on the bed she was conceived in, rocked to sleep by the nurse who brought her home in complete barrier nursing gear and laid down there where he slept so she could learn the scent of her parents for the first time in the more than two weeks she had been a true separate independent being from the woman he married, he couldn't stop staring at her, watching her breathe, wanting to feel her hair, and thought. Seeing her through the glass, still hidden by infection prevention equipment, didn't seem real at all now. Once the nurse got into the bedroom, removed all of the nursing gear from his daughter's transport crib, then picked her up, laid her down on that same bed, and started to remove her clothes, and said "At least you don't have to worry about the mec!" as she started to change her diaper, right there, without even a towel....

"What???"

Was this a derogatory term for a new child or a sick mother? He was worried about everything! As the nurse looked at him, then laughed, and said "Oh, I get it. She's not only your first, and premature, but you've never seen a newborn up close before, have you?"

There was no way he would risk the woman he married. Not now, not after God let him keep her here with him a little longer, and gave him such a beautiful, tiny baby girl he wanted from the moment he began to learn who his wife was, he wasn't going to push his luck with The Big Guy Up There. The irony did not escape him that it was entirely due to the inbreeding in his family now coming to light in his generation may very well have saved his own life, especially when he volunteered for what he thought simply was his duty as a man and an American to do.

His duty was to protect his nation, his family, and his wife from something that looked to be getting really dangerous for America. He couldn't believe that the things the new, irresponsible radio and television media were saying about what may have been happening in Europe -- it was inhuman, and more than an "American", I think my grandfather was a true Humanist who felt that it was incredibly wrong to betray the very nature of our continued existence by harming another human being who has not sinned already against humanity, and that unprovoked war is a grave sin. He thought it was a pity that their only child appeared to have inherited his, in his mind and only truly in comparison, inferior looks but hoped that God would let her be the same kind of woman inside as his wife. He knew he was darn lucky to have his wife and hoped that his future son-in-law would appreciate and value his daughter the way he appreciated and valued her mother. While he certainly didn't have the same ideas about sex and birth control that she did, he knew what it was all about long before he met her -- oh, did he ever, for someone who had never been married before.

She'd spoiled him for any other woman, in every way imaginable, and now he had risked losing her not once, but twice, and for her to give to him in repayment the only person he ever planned to be anywhere near as close to ever again -- his beautiful baby girl who was, then, solely his to care for. He was scared to death of such awesome responsibility, but surely he had to try and pray that he could get some advice on babies somewhere. Besides, he wasn't about to act ungrateful now, after all that God had given him.

If he wasn't going to have sex like that again until his still very beautiful wife hit The Change in maybe another ten years, it might as well be her he wasn't having sex with until they could again.

When he was able to go to the hospital to see his wife, they both started to talk at once.

"Marvin, I've decided, I want to keep trying to have more kids --"
"Opal, I will never knowingly risk losing you again --"

Then they talked together.

Problem solved. They would find another way, or ways, to celebrate and reaffirm their marriage, and while it might not be as instantly gratifying as "making love", they were sure that God, whatever the true meaning of idea of God was, it would certainly bring other Gifts of the spirit that would be truly edifying. They would welcome those gifts, and value them all the more for the gifts that sexual intercourse had given them for the time they had it in their marriage, until they could have it again. For their own reasons, neither of them could tolerate the idea of any other sexuality they had shared with each other either until they could have the real thing together again.

They never could.

And they were not sorry. They were grateful. They were thankful. They were more in love, and could never have loved each other more, the day they parted ways temporarily, after more than 51 years of the truest marriage I know in every sense of the term, than even at the peak of their time they could share that Gift with each other, the one that the Bible said was so sacred and therefore made only for marriage.

They felt so lucky that only my grandfather ever felt comfortable explaining the way they did it to me -- on his end, for fear that he would jinx things. I think on hers, she believes it's obvious and doesn't need to be said.

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The word love wasn't used much in the house my mother and I grew up in. To be honest, both of my grandparents had a difficult time discussing strong emotions if it was for or about them, unless it was with each other in private, and never really did otherwise except to say something rather vague in response to a direct question.

If they were together, the statement would be immediately followed by the exchange of knowing looks that said better than anything else "You can't know until you've been there, but once you have you'll never forget or doubt." Mom never had a problem finding a husband who said he loved her, but the first time, even by then birth control didn't work any better if you don't use any, so that marriage started on a rather surprising and awkward foot, and the second time she married a man who definitely knew how to use. Granny tried to explain to Mom when it was time for The Talk (which she'd never had in any other format than the one that led to so much guilt for not wanting to do what was Right) that she knew for a fact that true intimacy between two people does not come from sex -- it is a completely separate matter that sex can help enhance, but not ever truly replace, and in her opinion there were many other ways to enhance true intimacy that were safer and better than sex.

My mother never understood.

My grandfather had been disabled since before my mother was in high school. My mother's first memory seared into her brain, unlike most first memories -- seeing the father she adored beyond reason under an oxygen tent, finally being allowed to give him a hug and a kiss while wrinkling her nose at the smell in the awful place they were at where people ran around and did scary things to her Daddy, then her Mommy left him there all alone in a scary BAD place! She was taken back home without her Daddy by her Mommy, who fixed her supper and tucked her into bed early without even being told how good she'd been that day and that she was loved. It was so unfair, she'd been really good all day, not getting in the way at all, doing what she was told, and doing her best not to cry, even being real gentle like Mommy said when she gave her Daddy that hug when she knew Daddy loved her big energetic hugs so much!

Mommy was so mean to us both! Daddy had to ask Mommy for everything and she wouldn't even let him have a real hug.

She thought Mommy had gone to sleep, too, but she woke up in the middle of the night to find a neighbor lady asleep on the couch and Mommy gone. At night! She knew she was never supposed to go into her parents room at night without knocking, and only then if it was real bad important, but she never remembered them ever BOTH leaving her alone! Where did she go? Mommy was there when she woke up in the morning, fixed her breakfast, and took her to the neighbor lady's house as usual when she went to work.

Why didn't she stay home with me like that lady does with her four annoying brats? She says I'm an angel and my parents are so lucky to have me, so why does Mommy hate me, and hate Daddy too? I'll never treat someone who loves me like she treats him; I'll never be a mother like her!

Somehow, perhaps simply exhausted by emotions too big for her little body, she fell asleep.

Going by the calendar, she wasn't more than three years old.

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As Granny sat down at the sewing machine that had given them so much, wishing she knew how to explain to her daughter that she was scared too, it was okay to be scared, but that she was sure that God would make everything all right, she started sewing the outfit she had promised the lady who had taken care of her daughter from truly her first day home from the hospital, who showed her husband that babies, even tiny ones, were not made of glass and that poop and pee and vomit and crying were normal and expected. The person who she was so lucky she had known she could trust with her very overwhelmed and scared husband the moment she came over and offered to help, that first night her little girl came home from the hospital without her mother, like an answered prayer.

She rushed "Mr. Opal" back to the hospital to see his wife and let others watch the baby while both she and they slept, because they were "never going to get enough sleep again and trust me, I'm an old pro at this. Dear Opal will know the minute she hears my maiden name that you can, too." Her dearest friend from when she was trying to finish high school, the teacher who helped her finish, who she hadn't seen in more than a decade, had lived next door for a year and neither of them ever knew or suspected. Neighbors were neighborly, but "neighborly" meant staying out of their neighbors business unless something looked wrong. Their husbands knew each other's names but never mentioned anything but married names when discussing the neighbors.

The lady I had always known as "Mrs. Cadberry" noticed the house next door had been completely vacant for over two weeks, well before she thought the neighbor lady was supposed to be due, so thought whoever lived there was on vacation. When she saw a strange vehicle outside it earlier that evening then saw lights on in the middle of the night, woke her husband up, and made him investigate. He brought his bird rifle, when Grandpa heard someone on the front porch in the middle of the night he grabbed his bird rifle and strode straight to the door with it loaded and aimed, shouted "I have a gun, who in the hell is that out there???" and got to meet his neighbors wife.

Once Granny got well enough to sew again after she gave birth to her usually angelic but sometimes exasperating daughter who, in the end, was too much like her, they had bartered clothes for childcare, as Mrs. Cadberry now had four kids of her own so she had to stay home, and was investigating whether she could start teaching again once her youngest entered school.

My grandmother's deft hands, which had never been stranger to hard work, guided the fabric through the machine almost without conscious direction. When the outfit was finished for her oldest friend's oldest son who was growing like a weed, she very carefully folded what she had made, took down the sewing machine in a quiet, practiced fashion, and closed the lid to the cabinet. She quietly slid the matching stool where she kept all of her machine's hardware, attachments, oil, and extra needles she managed to salvage from work when someone complained they were "too bent to work in the serger anymore!" under the cabinet, and hoped that this wouldn't be the next time she accidentally woke the baby by ceasing to sew. That machine had put her daughter to sleep for years now almost as soon as it came on.

She walked out on the front porch, which was the signal that had been arranged when the commotion at the house that afternoon had drew Mrs. Cadberry outside with my mother running up into the middle of attempts to resuscitate her father.

Mrs. Cadberry walked over, accepted the carefully folded outfit from her student, unfolded it, and said what she always did when she was given another one of a kind outfit for her children. "Your work is too good now, Opal. You need to get out of doing jeans and start designing baby clothes. You're not the only one with an adorable little girl on the block, you know!"

"I do what I can. Thank you so much for doing this. You have the keys, if the phone rings once, get her dress off of the dresser in our room, wake her up, get her dressed, and get Mr. Cadberry to bring you all to the hospital, then call the prayer chain. If it rings more than that, I'm on my way home. Otherwise I'll see you in the morning. You know there's food for you and her in the fridge, take the fresh casserole back home with you so you don't have to cook as much today. You are truly proof that God hears prayers, Sammy."

Granny then got into the car they both saved so much to buy but she only drove in emergencies, Grandpa usually used it for business but made sure she no longer had to walk to the garment factory every day. She buckled up, checked mirrors, closed her eyes, and said the same prayer she said every time she got into that car. "God, you know I hate this blasted piece of steel. Please, oh please, don't let me kill anyone with this thing." Then she tried to start it, hoping that this one time she wouldn't flood the engine. It started.

She arrived at the hospital, greeted the security guards, and pulled the letter from Grandpa's doctor that had been in her purse since she came home from the hospital herself -- the twin was in Grandpa's wallet and had been there longer. They had instructions to throw this letter at any recalcitrant security guard at a run if necessary with their daughter in arms to avoid having to say that their daughter's parent was dying.

Granny got up to the nurse’s station with a similar letter since it was the first night in the hospital this go-around, and was lucky enough to see the head nurse recognized her. She was waved on to her husband's room, where she snuck in as quietly as she ever had to check on her daughter when she was teething, pulled the chair she had put on the side of the bed furthest from the door before she left earlier up a touch as she sat down in it, and laid her head on the bed next to him in the tent they were all too used to coming between them could most safely be raised four inches. She smoothly laid her head on the bed underneath the tent with him, said a short prayer, and shut her eyes to try to get some sleep before she needed to wake up in time to be home, showered, and dressed before their extremely loved daughter woke up that morning and wondered where her Daddy was. “Kids forget almost everything at this age,” she thought, and was grateful for it.

They thought it was his second heart attack at the time, but learned years later from relatives the first had happened when he was close to five years old.

The one they knew of had happened before my mother was conceived.

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Grandpa had done well for his family while he could -- when he had the first heart attack he had to quit his job as a laundry delivery man for people who could afford to send out their laundry. He cut back to just doing the laundry and hired a young man with a strong back and a family to support himself to deliver it, and had to raise his prices to give the person whose laundry machines he had been using a bit more equity in the business -- they were 50/50 before but for awhile to keep the business going the man who owned the machines had done the laundry too. Grandpa never really liked to have employees, however. It was too much effort and stress and responsibility.

He'd spent his youth traveling after all, running off to start following the circus and taking care of the animals -- after his mother died and his older sister who had been watching out for him lost her mind from a combination of bad genes, stair-step kids, and no sleep because she had to work and take care of her kids at the same time while her husband drank away all the money. He and one of his brothers took her to the State Hospital in Little Rock, and the kids were adopted by a distant relative, and then he was offered the job while in the city and wasted no time in taking it and moving on. After all, he was a man on his own at the great age of fourteen and had to find some way to take care of himself, and he had no desire to be a burden to anyone. He was the baby of 12, and by the time he was born six of the older children were dead. His died very shortly after he was born. He missed school but never stopped learning, and he loved animals despite the way they made him wheeze.

He loved the life, and the only thing that settled him down to responsibility was meeting my grandmother on his first-generation German immigrant boss's farm while he was working to help get in the cash crop -- cotton, still picked by hand because they couldn't afford any new-fangled machine to take in the few acres they had of it -- and prepare for the long winter of taking care of cows while they gave little or no milk by making hay. He arrived late in the afternoon. The girl working beside him picking cotton was clothed in fourth-hand britches and shirts from her brothers and cousins that day in 1937.

He was amazed that this woman who had worked harder than he'd ever seen a woman work before, cheerful with a loud laugh, mischievous grey-blue eyes, an accent he couldn't quite place, certainly looked full grown under the boy clothes she wore but was unfailingly feminine in a way he'd never seen a girl doing migrant work before -- the total opposite of "loose". Completely oblivious to his attempts to charm her, she laughed at his slightly off-color jokes but didn't seem to understand them.

By the time she stood up when they were the last two workers in the field and the sun was low, he was smitten in a way he'd never imagined before. She wiped her hands on her filthy clothes to shake his hand, introduced herself as Opal, and said she had to run back to the house and get cleaned up before Ma got onto her for not helping with supper, but said she was a great cook and then ordered him to "go get a bath, get into some clean clothes -- there's some up in the loft in the barn if you don't have any that should fit you well enough, and join our family for supper, I won't be able to stay downstairs long after the meal because I've got to help Jo with her homework then study myself, but you better hurry so you don't miss your first meal here! Oh, and be careful about your jokes, I don't think my daddy would appreciate them."

If you didn't guess, she was the boss's second oldest daughter. The oldest had gone to college and was already teaching school at the age of 19, soon to marry an alcoholic and have a baby. My grandmother was fifteen and a half, and the only reason she hadn't followed in her sister's footsteps was a bad episode of malaria as a child. It lasted two years, and every other day running a 103 fever is not good for a developing brain. My grandmother could read and write, slowly, but couldn't spell at all. She could do math, but it was very difficult for her. She loved to learn, but it was so hard for her.

She was smitten too, but she'd sworn that she wouldn't get married until she was 18. She wanted to finish school, and knew that no girl who got married before they finished ever did. She prepared supper, told her mother that she'd invited one of the new hands to supper and asked forgiveness for the presumption, but she wanted her to meet him. She sat at her normal place at the table, noticed the uncouth lout with the twinkling eyes and the great sense of humor actually had table manners, then cleared the table as her father and the new hand went into the living room to smoke a pipe and discuss his future at the farm. She brought an ashtray to them, handed it to him pointedly, then said "Have a good evening, Mister, and I hope you enjoyed supper. It was nice to work with you," then departed for her usual duties, thankful that her younger siblings hadn't picked on her about her crush while at the table.

Grandpa, who had never stayed in one place longer than a few weeks, asked his new boss if there was any work close by after harvest was in, and if they ever needed any year-round help. "We'll see." He worked there for over a year. My grandmother was not at all "easy" to court, and he didn't want to lose his job, but finally one night he asked to speak with her on the porch.

"Opal, it's hard for me to get the courage to say this, but I love you."

"Oh, I know, and you've been a real help to the family, I don't know what we'd have done without you when the cows had trouble birthing this year."

"Glad to.... wait, you know?"

"Of course, it's obvious. I never thought you would want to be a farmer, I expected you to be wandering on."

"And how do you feel about me?"

"Isn't it obvious? I hate cooking, you're the first hand I ever invited to supper. And I don't like to be prideful, but your appetite that night tells me I was right about my cooking!"

"You sure were. Well, I'd like to move us you to Little Rock if you'll leave the farm, there is more work and we could raise a wonderful big family...." She cut him off.

"I won't marry a drinker."

"What?"

"I've seen you! You've shared wine with Daddy! Alcohol is the spirit of evil, my grandfather died of drunkenness in the pond on this very land, you let your own sister be locked up in a hospital and took her children away from her for no other reason than trying to be a good wife to a drinker, and I won't do it!"

"Opal, you can drink without getting drunk. A sip--"

"Not if you want to marry me."

"All right then, I won't drink."

They were married December 23, 1939, when my grandmother was just 17. She had just finished high school.

Two weeks before the wedding, Grandpa couldn't help himself. Out on the front porch, where they had talked for hours sitting across from each other, he walked over to her. She stood up, and he pulled her close to him. She felt him, pushed him away -- more like a shove that nearly pushed him over.

Shaking her finger, she tsked. "Have you no patience?"

She helped him essentially get his education up to high school level, even if he never graduated. He joined the Masons and ended up lecturing out of Albert Pike's "Morals and Dogma" -- and he actually understood that darn thing! When they moved to Little Rock, Granny found work in a garment factory, her experience with her mother's treadle being her only real marketable skill in a city. On their first anniversary, Grandpa suggested that they each write down what they wanted for their anniversary presents. Granny's piece of paper said "A sowing maschen". Grandpa's said "A baby." Granny's choice was there the next day, the best he could find, and she was thrilled, reaching through her customary reticence outside of the bedroom to run over and give him a big kiss.

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At first Granny ignored his nights up at the firehouse playing poker. He came home one night with the deed to their house in his hand, and said "We can buy a new house, I just doubled our money!" She said, "Good for you, but I won't be in it, I'm moving back home to my mother, I won't be with a gambler anymore."

"Opal, if you've made up your mind, all of this money is yours, but I'd really like it if you'd stay here. I will let you have all of the money I ever make and tell me how to spend it."

He stopped gambling.

When my grandparents were able to purchase a car, he started another business, as a door-to-door salesman. He was one of the few businessmen he knew who decided the best business he could start was selling needful things to the working poor on credit. He didn't care that, due to the neighborhoods he saw the opportunity in and Little Rock's rapid white flight that his customers were almost exclusively Blacks, recent immigrants, or Irish. His family was English, but his ancestors had been here so long they didn't see themselves as anything but Americans, and he'd always found that if you treat people with respect and do right by them, they'd do right by you. His fellow businessmen and Masonic brothers didn't care, he always did right by them, and they told him about the different ways he could get his products on the cheap.

His inventory consisted of small items -- pins, needles, thread, fabric Granny might have left over from various projects or remnants from work that could be useful. Laundry soap. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, shaving cream/soap and razors. Tons of promotional items for things that were luxuries, like cologne, which he said when they asked about the prices on them since they weren't marked, "Oh, those I got for free and had the room in my car to bring with me today. Help yourself, but I'd like to make sure everybody gets at least one." And bigger things -- he knew how to get sewing machines, he knew how to get appliances, he knew how to get all sorts of useful things. The only luxury items he kept and sold were engagement and wedding bands. The rocks weren't real, and were not the best metal, but he never called them real. But he sold them at half of the price that he paid for them, and never told his customers that, because the price of the ring shouldn't matter and the point is that the person is giving it. If they said they wanted a "real" diamond, he first asked if they thought a fake diamond meant their love was fake. If they gave the right answer but still insisted, he offered to drive them to a Masonic brother who was a reputable jeweler with his same beliefs, and they usually got a very good deal at Grandpa's usual terms.

His sales pitch and terms were straightforward -- "Hey there! How do you do?" "Fair to middlin' myself. My name is Marvin, it's a pleasure to meet you." He put out his hand. If they gave their name at all: "Truly a pleasure, and thank you. I'm knocking on your door today because my business is to try to help people get things they might need. I know it's sometimes hard to get things your family needs, and I'm not able to walk all that far anymore myself. If you have time now, would you like to walk a little bit with me and see if there's anything I have you might need? We'll work something out."

If they couldn't afford it right away: "All right, sir, you say you have a steady job, what day do you get paid?" "What can you afford a week to buy this?" "Okay, here is what I can do. You can have this now. After every ten payments you make to pay for this, the next payment is going to go to help feed my family and buy more things. I'll come by here every ______. Here is some change for that pay phone down the street, and here's my number. If anything happens that even might make you not able to pay me when you get paid, call me -- I don't care what time it is, I'm always home at night. If you can't get through, call this number, and leave your name and say you're looking for me. Oh, and I'd like to meet your family soon!"

He was a believer in insurance, and before the first heart attack he had while married, he had bought a policy that if he couldn't work anymore or if he died, that it would pay off the house. When they bought the house I grew up in, my mother was about six years old, and he did the same thing. When he started getting really bad neck pain and the shakes, he talked to Granny, then went to his Masonic brothers and asked them if they would hold on to some money for him that he wanted to put away for when his daughter when she was grown, so she could go to college.

When his darling daughter came home to tell them she was pregnant, she wanted to keep her baby, and the Air Force mechanic who was the father wanted to marry her, he bought them a brand new, good car instead, and gave them the rest to start their family. Mother never failed to find a man who would tell her he loved her.

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We never wasted money on clothes for the Barbies from the thrift store I dressed and played with after the preschool my grandparents found for me and on weekends. While my mother was taking the classes at the university my grandparents found a way to pay for and insisted she take, my sister was out with friends or in her room talking on the phone, listening to rock music, and whining on about how awful adolescence was, and my grandmother was working making draperies, my grandfather took care of me. I was a very active child, but they were grateful that I was. Mom and I nearly died due to a cord complication, and I had come with warnings that I would likely be mentally retarded and have cerebral palsy since I had no oxygen for over five minutes, and both Mom and I required massive blood transfusions.

He was just happy they'd been able, with Granny's parsimoniousness with money, to have had enough to pay for the hospital bill. They joked with me that I had gotten "an extra shot of oxygen to the brain" and that's why I was so smart. I often decided I wanted to run in the street, and Grandpa would come as fast as he could after me, telling me "Little girl, you are going to hurt yourself someday!"

What I loved more than anything, though, was sitting on her freshly waxed (once a month like clockwork) hardwood floor while she worked on her (even then) antique black enameled Singer in its cabinet that could be converted to treadle but was designed for electric. She would make clothes for me, my sister, and my mother (she already had a very large wardrobe of her own and never had an issue with fluctuating weight.) She would make draperies for friends in exchange for the fabric to make things for our household. I would make dresses for my dolls from her scraps, my clumsy stitches made by hand.

I watched my grandmother cook every day from scratch, and helped her cut out the biscuits my grandfather loved in the mornings. My mother, when she first got married, attempted to make them the first time and her husband laughed and said "Oh, cookie biscuits!" But he ate them, they were still good, and Mom asked Granny what her recipes meant when they said "self-rising flour". Granny never let Mom help in the kitchen because she was left-handed. It wasn't that Granny thought being left-handed was a bad thing, but she had only learned how to do everything right-handed and couldn't figure out how to adapt her very well organized kitchen to accommodate a leftie. Besides, her daughter had more important things she needed to do with her childhood than clean or cook, she needed to get an education and have fun.

I had a little plastic kitchen that they found at a garage sale, and I would bring air tea and air coffee and air baked goods to my grandfather, who always thanked me and pantomimed drinking and eating. When I had to get glasses due to a lazy eye, he encouraged me to wear the patch by pretending I was a pirate, and encouraged me to put two chairs together and pretend it was a pirate ship. To keep me from not wearing my glasses, anytime I had them off he refused to call me by my name, but said I was "Seniorita" (my sister was learning Spanish in high school), and I played along, calling him "Mr. Obermeier" in a heavy Southern accent, and pretended to me a Southern Belle who was stopping by to see her favorite person. He was.

My grandmother made all of the dresses for my sister's bridesmaids and me as a flower girl at age 8 and my sister at 18. Grandpa walked his oldest granddaughter down the aisle, his body twisted and shaking from pain the entire time, then sat down and put back on the mask from his portable oxygen tank. Granny, sitting next to him, split her attention between watching her first grandchild marry the man she would divorce less than three months later and watching the gauge on the oxygen tank, hoping it'd have enough in it so she wouldn't have to leave the ceremony early to get the spare.

After the wedding, my grandparents stayed at the reception long enough to give the first toast to the new couple, took a sip of their non-alcoholic wine, and prepared to get Grandpa back in time for his medication, which required a machine just like his oxygen, and that one wasn't portable.

I was the one who taught Granny how to maintain his home oxygen machine. By age 10, when my mother and I moved out to our own place but I was with my grandparents every weekend, all summer, and every Wednesday night so I could go to church and choir practice on Wednesdays, I maintained the machines and gave him his medicine when I was there. All except for the narcotics, which I was told when I first moved into that house -- and was climbing up on cabinets already -- that if I ever opened that particular cabinet I would receive a switching, because I could hurt myself. I'd never received a spanking before, let alone a switching, so I promised I never would.

When we cleaned that cabinet out after Grandpa died, there were Quaaludes in there from the '70s, tons of benzodiazepines and barbiturates, and more types of pain medicine than we could count, most so old they crumbled. Depression-era couples never throw anything away. we moved back in with Granny after that, because less than two months before he went into kidney failure from the cancer that had spread from his lungs with a viciousness, the malaria that caused so many learning disabilities for my grandmother had also caused her to start having seizures from the brain damage.

The first time I ever saw my mother, my sister, or my grandmother cry was when he died. We had been trying so hard to be strong for each other, it took about 24 hours before we let each other see it, and eventually all cried together.

Mom insisted on a few minutes alone with her Daddy to say goodbye, and was glad she hadn't worn makeup to the funeral.

-------------

Granny made my prom dress. I was going to my fiancé’s senior prom -- I was already in college, had accepted early admission so I missed my own.

This was the first time many of his school friends had ever met me, and the first words from the mouth of the first female friend of his I met that night were "WHERE did you find that dress? It is SO perfect for you, the color, the style, everything! Oh, my name's Trish, you're Moriah, right? I thought so, I've heard so much about you. But you just HAVE to tell me where you found such a great dress, I couldn't find anything I really liked and I looked EVERYwhere!" (She was a sweet girl but just a bit loud.)

People had a very difficult time believing them when I told them my grandmother made it.

We worked together on the design -- I'm a very pale, very short redhead with a disproportionately short waist, a very large bust, and plump. I bought a corset and we took measurements in it, once a week over the course of two months to make sure that it had the opportunity to "learn" my shape and I learned how to breathe, and also to see which measurements stayed the most constant so that when it was time to wear it, we could see which parts would be least accommodating to last minute alteration and where we could make the changes to the pattern I had in mind besides just getting it to fit right without sacrificing the ability to alter it if I gained or lost weight.

I picked a strapless but not truly low-cut, princess-bodice formal dress pattern with a long full skirt. Using the measurements we cut muslin to create the true pattern for the dress, and then confirmed the fit and drape of the basic dress pattern. Then the changes came in.

I wanted something to make my waist seem visually narrower without making my bust seem fake by comparison, and have always loved the peasant-blouse lace-up look. So we created a mock-under-blouse bodice with grommets down the front, and a bit of slightly loose material for the "under-blouse" so the front could be laced and look convincing, with suitable modification to the neckline of the dress that was originally designed to be lightly boned at all seams to be truly strapless. Both because the adjustments to the bodice made it easier for the top of the bodice to move, and to create interesting contrast between my exposed skin to make the "busy" factor assist with downplaying my bust, we added straps, three to each side, that came up toward the neck like a halter, joined at the neck and attached to a fabric-covered plastic ring, and coming down my back to support the back of the bodice at six equidistant points. I'd wanted to have straps anyway, so this was absolutely perfect.

The skirt we left completely plain, no alteration whatsoever to the original pattern except to make it proportional to my leg length and height in general, and to keep it off of those slightly dusty hardwood floors -- the first muslin cut skirt pieces, when put together and attached to the bodice, dragged the floor even with the appropriate "petite" version of the original pattern. I'm less than 5'. We chose ballerina-length because it's more practical and more elegant when you're short.

Granny played the role of tailor and supervisor through these parts. Since I was "so insistent" (she knew I was really excited, and she always had a grin when she said that) and wanted such a complicated dress, she was just as if not more "insistent" that I learn how a custom, one of a kind ball gown was truly made. She had me sew the original muslin, sew the modified bodice, rip it apart except for the bodice, re-sew the skirt and bodice together on the vertical first the whole way, then attached at the horizontal to make sure that the dress flowed smoothly. Once we had the fit perfect she then had me baste each seam over, carefully by hand, using charcoal-coated thread to contrast on the unbleached muslin. Then we removed all of the stitches, Granny slowly cut down the pieces to what she thought would be appropriate seam allowances to give room for last-minute alteration, explaining the whole time, and I carefully cut the pattern we just made out on more muslin. Then I sewed the entire dress in muslin, including some boning and cheap grommets.

Only then, when the fit was perfect, the seam allowances were perfect, and we knew exactly what we would be getting out of the real fabric did we even open the package that had the fabric (in very generous quantities, I still have a few yards of each), correct boning, laces, zipper, and grommets we would be using. I gave her the biggest hug I could without I unzipped the back of the dress I'd just sewn, stepped out of it, got that blasted corset I'd finally learned to breathe in off, then got dressed and helped with the final removal of the threads from the muslin. It was getting hard for her to rip stitches out as carefully anymore.

-----

The final dress was black and green -- black matte satin with a shade of darkish green lighter-weight satin-like material with a bit more gloss but a different texture. I picked the shade based on the colors in my hair I preferred to be emphasized (natural redheads never have uniformly colored hair and it's an effect that no dye or hairdresser can emulate successfully -- I have decided to not dye my hair as I age at all, but I may use henna when my color starts changing with age to avoid the orange that a few relatives of mine with my kind of red hair have gotten on occasion when the hair is trying to figure out how to turn white).

The skirt was of the green, the sides, back, and straps of the bodice were in black, the grommets for the laces were silver, and the laces were black. The same green material from the skirt was the under-bodice. It came out so well I cried when I finally saw what Granny had been able to create for me. She refused to let me watch as she sewed the real dress, doing it only when I was at school, but had to work that day, so she left it in the closet and called to tell me where it was.

My hairstylist put my hair up securely with loose curls covering just how secure he had to make the blasted updo to keep my thick hair UP and I got the "American" version of a French manicure (cream and translucent rose instead of white and cream.) I wore no jewelry other than my engagement ring and the heirloom ring my paternal grandmother gave me when I first saw her as a young lady (I was 12 when we first re-met after my toddler-hood.) I took care of the "unmentionables", laced the corset for the last time, made sure I could still breathe enough to dance, put on my black fishnet stockings (my mother laughed when she heard I was insistent on wearing fishnets but they worked out very well), did my own makeup in a very non-dramatic natural style that would still let people be able to see my features in dim light, nearly ruined that makeup by almost crying again when I stepped into my grandmother's labor of love that she simply called "that complicated frock", slipped on a pair of cheap full-soled black ballet shoes in a comfortable size for walking and dancing, and the belle (only because I'm Southern) was ready for the ball.

I did cry when she came home early from her job to see me before I left, arranging with a neighbor to watch the lady dying of liver cancer she took care of for payment under the table, in exchange for a new set of cushions for her bedroom. She walked in the door, said "Oh, you are so beautiful!" and a tear slipped down her cheek too. I'm glad I never use much makeup, it didn't take me long to redo it, and I didn't get too much on the shoulder of her blouse when I gave her a big hug.

Thank God my fiancé' didn't have to be hinted to have purchased a white rose wrist corsage (or if he did, everyone was discreet in making sure he knew to get a wrist corsage and not a pinned one -- he knew my favorite flower was white roses and there was no evidence to suggest anyone other than he thought of what to get.) I'd already gotten him a white rose boutonniere knowing his penchant for black and silver, and was not disappointed. His new silver-mirrored prescription sunglasses, which I'd never seen him wear before, were a touch amusing for the fact he was half-blind all night because he couldn't see well in the dim light, but they worked as well as the "daring" fishnets did for me.

---------

We had a great prom despite me being in college at another person's senior prom, and the total cost for everything involved in creating my look, including hair, nails, corset, and the endless yards of muslin, as well as his boutonniere, was much less than $300.00. I'd budgeted exactly $300, and I was able to cover our breakfast the next morning and still have money left over to get groceries for Mom and Granny that they wouldn't admit they needed.

I'm truly scared to think of how much he spent that night, because he had been working delivering pizza ever since he turned 16 and saved almost every dime, plus his parents had good jobs. He'd already been prepared to get me an engagement ring much more expensive than what I wanted. Fortunately before he made any kind of purchase he asked me to help him pick out a gift for me, I asked what kind, he said jewelry, and I said "If you really want to give me jewelry, let's go see my uncle." He wasn't truly my uncle, he was a jeweler. More importantly though, he was my grandfather's nephew, namesake, and the person I'd planned to ask to walk me down the aisle if I ever got married, since my grandfather couldn't.

"Uncle Mac", as he was called, was a year younger than my mother and started his own jewelry business when he got out of college. His wife, my "Aunt" Carletta, loved big jewelry, so he was lucky that he could supply her voracious appetite. She didn't care if it was fake or real, but he had done well over the years and every piece she owned was real. He also used his lab to make and fit dentures, because no one should base their entire business on luxuries. When he developed Lupus and couldn't work full-time, he never sold the business but stopped buying inventory.

When Grandpa died, his namesake was there by his wife and daughter's side like his own son, as his father -- who knew my grandfather would never have a son -- would have wanted. Their church provided the soloist for the funeral, who sang so beautifully that you would think being the minister's daughter was professional training. When his Masonic brothers performed their Last Rites, they went to the five women in Grandpa's life -- his wife, his daughter, his niece, and his granddaughters, and said that if we ever needed anything at all, to go to the nearest Masonic lodge, mention my grandfather's membership and his Lodge, and that we would get what we needed. At the burial, we each laid a red rose, his favorite flower, on his chest before they closed the casket the last time.

We called him and asked if I could introduce them to my boyfriend. I already knew exactly the type of engagement ring I wanted if he was going to propose then, and I knew that my uncle would not rip us off or try to oversell us regardless of what he wanted to get me, and I knew he still had privileges at the auctions to buy good quality rocks. We went over to his shop with my him, my Aunt Carletta had a charity function she had to attend. I had a pretty good idea of the prices for stones, so when he asked my uncle in front of me about diamonds, I gave him a kiss and said I wanted to look at earrings for a minute since I had been thinking about getting my ears pierced. When they called me over, my uncle had laid out huge, very white eye clean rocks mounted with in much fewer settings than there were rock -- rocks that would have dragged my hand down to the floor before they fell off, and had enough fire and brilliance to blind the sun, then asked me what looked good for a center stone for a ring.

My cheeks went from rosy to pale, and nearly choking, said "Uncle Mac, look at my hands. You've sized rings for me before. You know as well as I do that there is no way I can pull off Aunt Carletta's rocks, so you'd better give those back to her and let's look at something a little less likely to wear my hand if anything's going there at all." Then I grinned. "You're incorrigible, you know that? I love you anyway, but you and I both know Aunt Carletta loves those rings you gave her all years ago and she'd never let you do this behind her back like this, and I don't want to risk her temper when she finds out!" Then I turned to my soon-to-be fiance with a huge grin on my face, forcing myself to keep looking amused, and blinked a few times at the strangled expression on his. "Sweetie, are you okay?" Forced amusement turned to concern. "Sweetie?" "Sweetie?"

He blindly grabbed one of the rings off of the counter with no idea that it appraised higher than some homes, got down on bended knee, reached toward my hand. I, no longer grinning or amused but instead beaming, reached for his. He fumbled to get the at least three sizes too big for me ring to stay on my finger without turning upside down, then just grabbed the hand tightly in his, and proposed.

The diamond I wore to prom was bigger than I had really wanted when I thought about one over the many years a young girl thinks about those things, but was a very high quality, absolutely gorgeous, supremely elegant certified round brilliant in a traditional white gold solitaire setting with a bit of very delicate engraving on the band reminiscent of tasteful 1920s style wedding bands -- handmade by my "Uncle Mac". I usually wear very little jewelry -- not because I don't like jewelry, but more because I'm allergic to anything but silver, white gold, or platinum.

Negotiations about the ring ended when he pulled me aside and said "I love you, I'm not offering what I can't afford or don't want to give."

"I know that, but I'm not accepting what I don't want -- I'm accepting YOU because what I want is YOU, and that's what you're offering me. My preference about a ring is simply a matter of personal taste and you have shown you respect my taste by taking me with you shopping. I've shown you an idea of what I like. I would treasure and wear whatever you chose to buy me even if it was the tackiest creation a jeweler ever invented because it came from you on that bended knee, because of what you meant by offering it."

I was afraid I might cry, so I finished with "Well, as long as it didn't make me break out in hives -- and then I'd just get it plated if you didn't mind. How does this sound? You go pick out a rock, I will go pick out a band so there are no worries about hives, and let's see how they look together. You can buy something today, or later, here, elsewhere, or never. I'm just thrilled to have you -- more than I will ever be thrilled about an object, even one as cool as a diamond."

"Okay... wait. Why didn't you say you loved me too?"

"Didn't I by saying yes? Didn't you by bringing me here?"

-----

Things change.

That very sweet, intelligent, responsible, whacky but soulful young man I still care deeply about is married now to a very lucky woman and has two beautiful daughters. I insisted he keep the ring when we parted, even though it was his choice to part, because, as I said while refusing to let myself cry in front of him, "You promised me nothing less than you wanted to give. I promised you nothing more than what I could give. That ring means more to me than I can ever express, but if intentions count, it belongs with you. Keep it. Keep it until you need something, and then find someone who needs it, and work out a deal."

"But ... don't you love me?"

"You don't know I do? What have I done that showed otherwise? What haven't I done?"

-----

Mom is now married to a man who is a really great guy when he is sober.
Fortunately he confines his drinking to when my mother is home, as he stays home with my grandmother. She's still in her own home, with only two short stays in rehabilitation after breaking bones.

-----

My grandmother, who worked all of her life, had to finally quit working when she suffered a stroke at age 81. After my grandfather died, she decided to use her experience, and started taking care of elderly women whose families couldn't stay with them, so they could stay in their own homes until they died.

She had endured cataract surgery only so she could still sew; now her hands shake too much to do it. She tried to cook for the family, but now she can't stand up long enough to do much. Mom learned her recipes for Thanksgiving and has rearranged her kitchen to suit a leftie for major work but didn’t change it all.

She cries a lot. She hates feeling useless. My mother says she doesn't understand and is still heartbroken every time she sees it.

----

Mom, after going to college and graduating with a degree in Sociology with an emphasis in gerontology, started working for state government. She inspected nursing homes, then started working helping prevent drug and alcohol abuse (using her years in Al-anon as a basis), then finally ran the Arkansas Medicaid Waiver Program, helping make sure that children with severe disabilities could stay in their own homes with the parents that loved them but couldn't afford to do it all themselves. This is her third marriage -- after leaving my father, she refused to allow herself to get married again until her children would not be harmed by her inability to find a man like my grandfather.

She works now in the private sector, helping people with disabilities find work so they can have the pride in themselves despite their disabilities that my grandparents had.

I think she understands more than she realizes.

------

My sister is married to a very sweet man. They have two dogs and two cats that are their own, and foster other animals. They’ve been married for many years and have no children – at first they put it off, then when they started trying my sister didn’t conceive. They live on the same property as his parents, and take care of his mother now that his father has passed on. They don’t keep a clean house but neither care. He brews, but neither of them gets drunk. They work hard and save money, take care of their relatives and their animals, and love their life in the country.

------

I have been with a gentleman who has a few health issues now for four years. We didn't have to get married because my job has medical coverage for domestic partners, and even though he HATES going to the doctor and has hardly used it, I'm a believer in insurance even if you don't plan to use it. I use my marketable skill -- my hands, and what I learned by stealing every computer my mother bought from her as a child (never tell me that there is something really cool but that I can't touch it because I might break it) -- and work supporting computers. It's the best job I can find, my first job after college was as a transcriptionist, since I learned to type 80 WPM.

I hate to cook, but my gentleman is forgiving, although he compliments me always on how well I do it. I hate to clean, but he likes a clean house and we can afford to have a friend who needs the money come in and help out. I have always wished I was more creative -- not necessarily intellectually, but could make things. I still know how to sew, and my grandmother's Singer sits in my room. But it's cheaper now to buy clothing ready-made, unless you're making something special or one-of-a-kind.

We have no children. His back issues make intercourse painful, and while he would do anything in the world for me, I do not want to risk even pain, let alone possibly more damage, just for sex. We make it work, we don't fight, and while we keep our finances separate because I'm not as responsible with money as I should be, we have no need to commingle. He loves math and science; I love psychology, chemistry, and biology. If we ever do have children, we know they will be loved, but we aren't going to run off to a doctor yet. I'm still young and we want to be able to afford to give them everything we can.

We talk. We hold each other. We do say we love each other, but not as often as we did when we first got together -- we met at work, and I trained him on the particular job we did, but we refused to see each other romantically until we were no longer working directly with each other. Conflicts of interest are bad.
-----

We build computers for spare money.

------

My grandfather told me that the way he and Granny made their marriage work was this:

“She wanted to obey God. I wanted to keep her safe and make her happy. What we found was that there is something much more special than sharing our bodies -- sharing tears.”

I didn't understand it.

I do now.

[jeff30997]

1. Wow,that was long but really worth it.

Great story.Excuse me for not commenting more but I have to go to bed.I should have

done it 3 hours ago but I had something to finish and it took me longer than I expected.

Good night (Or should I say good morning ?) :hi:

[moriah]

2. I work nights, and am about to go to bed myself...

I accept your good night in the spirit it's meant. ;)

If I ever do have children, I feel it would be *right* to name my kid after my grandfather, but he would smack me from beyond the grave for cursing another child with the name "Marvin", especially in this day and age. He thinks his parents had just run out of names.

[bigwillq]

3. Congrats on 1000 posts!

:toast:

[fight4my3sons]

4. I wish I knew as much about my family.

I'm learning from my aunts and cousins. My father doesn't talk as much. My oldest son is named after my grandfather who died before I was born. I had HELLP Syndrome with my twin pregnancy. It was one of the scariest things that my husband and I have gone through together.

This was pleasure to read. Thank you for sharing it.

[moriah]

5. You're more than welcome.

We're not sure exactly what "kidney poisoning" meant, we know she had an issue with high blood pressure as she got older.

I think it may have been preeclampsia bordering on HELLP, but I don't know if she would have survived HELLP at all given that Mom was born in '51. She didn't seize so we don't think it was full-blown ecclampsia.

Mom was 7 1/2 months along, so it really was a miracle she survived. She is very small even today -- but she's an inch taller than me, so that may be genetics. She has short fingers and a few other oddities, including a heart murmur, but she is very lucky.

Sounds like you and your husband are lucky too.

Edit: Perhaps you might know from this what exactly she had -- her breast milk was not just insufficient, but actually toxic to my mother once it came in -- the nurses there had an inkling, despite the formula propaganda at the time, that breastmilk was best and had her start trying to express milk for her daughter that they would supplement with formula. It made Mom even worse.

[fight4my3sons]

6. I'm sorry, I don't know.

I had a load of problems with breast feeding and unfortunately not a lot of help, so I gave up. The prospect of breastfeeding twins was overwhelming and to be honest formula was easier, especially with a 20 month old running around at home already. Sorry I can't be of more help. They had me on all kinds of drugs after I delivered and I was out of it for a few days. I didn't have the tell tale signs (high blood pressure and protein in the urine). I only had a drop in platelets that was being followed by my hematologist (I have a blood clotting disorder that caused previous miscarriages). My hematologist actually diagnosed my HELLP, not the OB. I can't begin to imagine what your grandmother went through. All I can really remember is that day I was diagnosed I felt really crappy and kept falling asleep, but went to my scheduled appt with my hematologist in the afternoon. The doctors said that the babies and I would not have made it another 48 hours.

[moriah]

7. Sounds like you were very lucky!!!

And so were your babies!

At the time, Granny wanted to BF, but it was not out of a desire to "do the right thing" for her kid. "Why on earth should I spend money when God designed us to feed babies for free, and it doesn't look like we've suffered doing it, I don't care what you say about how formula is so much better for the kiddo, we can't waste the money when I and everyone else in my family was raised on the teat and we turned out fine." Granny never spent a dime she didn't have to.

When they had to formula-feed, people told them that God had given them a sign they were going to have to do everything they could right for their kid, starting with the food, and that they should thank God that she wasn't able to do it so she didn't expose her daughter to the horrible malnutrition that the "teat" caused.

I'm not aware of pre-ecclampsia usually causing a mom's milk to build up toxins like what would happen in true kidney failure or not. She did have high blood pressure, so that might have been how it was diagnosed as far as the doctor was concerned. I almost wonder if she had preeclampsia along with gestational diabetes -- she had always had low blood sugar otherwise, and both Mom and her have had seizures from LBS in the past.

I can't imagine twins, especially given how sick you were... I haven't even had kids yet but I've stayed with several new moms helping out for the first couple of weeks. (I think if a woman is planning to have children that it's one of the best things she can do for both herself and one of her friends, because with the dad, me, and Mom there for those first three weeks, none of us got hardly any sleep, and the Mom was still doing the most!)

But they're worth it all.