The End Of An Era

Well, my Grandpa Ronnie died the other day, at age 85. Out of nowhere, really. On my birthday, really. His own mom, who we all called Nanny, had lived to 98! So yeah, 85? He'd be around at least another 10 years I think we all thought. But, a stroke thought differently. Anyway, he went fast, and peacefully. And with all his nearest and dearest around him. This isn't about that. 

This is about the whole end of an era thing. And Grandpa Ronnie, and Grandma Mom. 

It's about the whole end of an era thing like graduations births marriages divorces moves new jobs deaths...that kind of stuff. See, Grandpa Ronnie still lived in the home I spent a lot of my childhood at, starting back around 1985. It's the only physical place like that left, from my childhood. And it's going to have to go now. I will inherit pieces of it, and treasure photos of it, but I won't be in it again.

I still remember the house they had even before 1985, with its wood paneling, its basement with a pool table, it's swinging western doors from the kitchen to the dining room, its pine tree-ed views, their dog Fred whose food I'd sometimes eat (or so I'm told), calling him "Fed"--my first, and only, true dog friend I'm sure. Sadly, Fred didn't live to the new house.

I spent so many summers at that new house, though! It was a 6 hour drive there, from Seattle/Olympia to Spokane, and often my mom or dad would take me halfway and we'd meet up with Grandma Mom in Vantage. We'd stop at a little restaurant right before the Columbia River gorge and then Grandma would take me the rest of the way to Spokane. Sometimes we'd listen to talk radio or music in the car. But what I enjoyed the most were the tapes of the old radio shows she'd play. Like "The Shadow" Knows!! We listened to those a lot. Jenny, my sister, would be with me too, sometimes, but sometimes not. She didn't like going there as much as I did, she and Grandma didn't always get along, and she would miss mom too much. She'd do things like stare at mom's picture and cry with homesickness while away. I was the opposite! I'd cry when I had to go back home!

Grandma had toys and dress up stuff and old barbies and interesting books and wow that house was so big! Three floors, cool stairway landings, a huge yard, a gorgeous deck to stargaze and watch meteor showers on (many summer nights I lay out there on the deck chairs with Grandma and Grandpa so we could watch the sky, the stars, the meteor showers), and down below there was a fire pit where we'd often have hot dog and marshmallow roasts. Ever since Grandma died from a short battle with cancer in 1999, at the young age of 63, I haven't been able to go out on that deck or down to that fire pit without almost crying. In fact, whenever I've gone to their house since then--20 years later!--I still have to go into the washroom and *have some moments* by myself. Not wanting to get choked up in front of Grandpa. It's just, his house was so well preserved. Like a museum of my own past, and I could never ever get used to the fact that Grandma wasn't there anymore. Whistling, humming, singing, raiding the pantry for marshmallows while at the same time complaining she was getting fat (she wasn't) and that she needed to start Counting Calories again (ha!) (she didn't), laughing, making weird noises, leaving messes (the absolute opposite of Grandpa, who was extremely tidy), telling me to stop shaking my leg on the couch, teaching me how to bake things, going through old photos, searching out the best garage sales to take me to Saturday mornings, taking me swimming or fruit picking or roller-skating or to her or Grandpa's real estate office or the car dealership or the school she later taught at. Never showing me off, but just bringing me along, side by side, accompanying her. 

Sometimes she'd make me go to her church. If she was in a church phase. Or she'd try to arrange for neighbour kids, who I didn't know, to have me over, or to come over. That was always awkward. I didn't need playmates! (Unless it was that friend of hers with the cute sons who let us swim in their pool and who I pined over PINED over PINED OVER a few summers in a row! Thanks Grandma.) But...maybe she wanted a break? Maybe she thought I'd like her arranging those things for me? Sometimes she'd take me driving around the city and tell me about the old places...the schools mom went to, the old movie theatres she and Grandpa would “neck” in as teens(!!), the trails, the forests, the carousel, the Garland Theatre (for only $1 double features!), the ice cream or frozen yogurt shops, the old tavern her mom and step dad owned. She (and mom) would tell me about how I myself looked like Grandma's own mom, who had passed shortly before I was born. When I was a teenager Grandma Mom gave me a hat her mom had made, and I still wear it every it winter. And I often think of the stories I heard about Grandma Mom's Mom's struggles with alcohol, the bottles she'd hide in random drawers all over the house.  

I'd hear that along with the stories of how Grandpa Ronnie's dad had been a gambler, and had left Grandpa Ronnie's mom (Nanny) to raise Grandpa and his brother mostly on her own. How she'd wanted so badly to be with him, but he kept ditching her for his gambling addiction. So she made it on her own, a single working mom in the 1930s and 40s. And then he died--suspiciously falling or being pushed out of a window at a hotel in downtown Spokane. We were NEVER to speak of it around Nanny, at least that's what mom and Grandma Mom said. Ahhhhhhhh how I wish I'd tried, though. Cause, what a story! And from the photos wow he was handsome as a movie star, that man, Grandpa Ronnie's dad. Just like Grandpa Ronnie.

Oh the stories! We all have them! 

Grandma gave me my first perm, I think. (Sorry, mom, if that was you! Haha I'm getting old too, see?) A home perm. She was the one who made leg shaving clear to me--she had the prickliest legs and when we'd go swimming the stubble would always kind of stick up. When I was little I'd feel her legs and say, "What's that?" and she'd say, "That's The Curse!" every time. She kept lots and lots of her old lipsticks in one of the bathroom drawers, by the guest bedroom I'd sleep in, and I'd spend lots and lots of time trying them on and wiping them off and trying them on and wiping them off. She gave me some of those lipsticks, when I got older, probably knowing I was secretly using them. And probably she's why I love lipstick so much. And some brands, when I wear them, take me right back to her.

She had one of those old hair dryers where you sit under it. She let me try her old electric leg shaver, for my own The Curse! She listened to me when I was a teenager, complaining about my mom (as teenagers do), and she explained things to me, helped me to understand things. Like why my mom would go psycho (sorry, mom!) when I'd pluck my eyebrows, for example. "Oh that's cause Kath plucked hers too much when she was younger and she doesn't want you to make the same mistake"...you know, that kind of thing. 

Grandma was only about 17 years older than mom. And Grandpa, only about 20 years older. They had a shotgun wedding at the courthouse once they realized they were having a baby! They were young! Grandma a mom to 3 kids nearly before the time she was 20. And they were soooo 1960s hip forevermore, even though they did move with the styles of the times. They were classy. Their clothes, their taste in music, their shoes, their decor, their movie choices. They used to smoke too, you know, when it was The Thing, but Grandma quit before Grandpa. He stopped too, when I was pretty little. And, I've mentioned before, I know he's the reason why to this day I don't mind at all if a man smells like cigarettes. 

My first mix-tapes were from Grandma and Grandpa. When I was just a little kid they made me tapes with jazz and show tunes, especially. And especially for the long car rides between our homes. As I got older, and after Grandma died, Grandpa would send me albums he'd burned onto a CD for me, and he'd write things like "Have a nice day!" in sharpie on them. Probably thinking, while he wrote that, "What the hell, I don't know what to SAY!" I always appreciated those CDs. Probably he was lonely, and making them gave him something to do, maybe reminded him of making the tapes for us with Grandma all those years back--he loved sharing music with people. Rather than only sit alone in his home listening on his great system, he would now know someone else (me!) might be doing the same, with the same album.

Music, though important, wasn't always on loud in their home. If it was, well that meant it was time for everyone to just hang out and listen. It meant--this music is important! A few times there would be thunder and lightening storms there in the summer, and they'd blast Phantom of the Opera to spook my sister and I! It worked! Jenny and I would sing, and Grandma would always compliment my singing, encourage me in it. Music was important! So were musicals. Especially "Meet Me In St. Louis". I watched that so many times with Grandma and Grandpa, on Beta! (Remember Beta?!) That and another (non-musical) classic: "National Velvet". Grandma would always remark how in "National Velvet" Elizabeth Taylor didn't even have any make-up on! Or something like that.

My cousin Michael would often join my summer visits there, especially if my sister had come along too. He'd stay over a couple nights and we'd all sleep in the basement, and make forts with all the cushions and blankets down there. Grandpa was pretty strict about messes and all that, and I'll always remember how he'd exclaim at the grandchildren upon our boisterous arrival, "Don't! Touch! The Walls!" We took him seriously, cause wow you didn't want to see him mad at you, but...as we got older we could also laugh at him about it. Pretend like we were gonna touch the walls, watch his eyes widen and his face go pale! The basement, though...that was grandkid territory. Jenny, Michael and I would make so many forts and sleep in them and put radios in them and books and toys and probably eat popsicles in there and stuff like that. They had a big storage room down in the basement, with an extra freezer. And when we were there they'd fill it with popsicles and sodas! What a treasure! Anyway, my cousin Michael was a few years younger than me, so I always saw him as the baby brother I never had. (Hosea reminds me of him, actually.) I remember Jenny and I put make-up on him and dressed him up like a girl on more than one occasion! He’d laugh, such a good sport, into the attention to guess. Michael has the best laugh. And he was just adorable, with the softest blond hair and the biggest smile. Grandma would often favour him (understandably so) (oh maybe like I favour Hosea?) and Jenny (especially) or myself would always take the brunt of any grandkid mistake. 

As we got older two more grandkids were added to the mix: my other cousins David and Mary! They'd join the forts and the silliness, and I--as the eldest--would take the role of babysitter, and keep an eye on everyone down there in the basement.

The river, the rollerskating, the fire pit, though. My summertime favourites. 

We'd walk down to this swimming hole in their neighbourhood among the pine trees, on hot and dry summer days. Usually just Jenny, Michael, Grandma Mom and I, sometimes Grandpa Ronnie too. Sometimes only Grandma Mom and I. It was a bit of a trek down the hilly curvy streets, holding our big towels, and then through a field full of tall grass. I'd hate the scratchiness of it all, and the idea that grasshoppers were popping up everywhere around me, but it was beautiful pushing through it, and ending up at this private spot. It was a small spot, with a little sandy beach, and no one else was ever really there. Grandma's The Curse would show (no matter how recently she'd shaved her legs!), and she'd often wear nose plugs (!the only person I've ever seen do this!), but she'd SWIM! There was a flat rock we'd go out to, before it got deep and the current got stronger. There'd be little fishies in the water. A couple times we even fished! We'd make sandcastles. All of that. Probably at least 10 or more summers of that! And if he wasn't working, then Grandpa would be with us. And Grandma would tease him about how ghostly white his skin was (the skin that was never exposed to the sun during his golfing and yard working!) and she'd flirtingly holler from the water, “Grandpa Ronnie! Are you gonna get in?”" So flirty! And of course he would, cause why else would he come down there? A few times we saw him dive (especially at Loon Lake, another favourite summer spot). Perfect dives! He'd then swim briefly and be done, complaining how freezing he was and making jokes about how much of a ghostly old man he was so how could he possibly swim anymore?

The rollerskating was fun too. And Grandma would even skate. And we'd do the chicken dance, and as I got older I'd look for boys there and hope to hold one's hand but never did. Why did she take me rollerskating so much? What a fun thing! 

And that fire pit! Maybe after a rollerskating outing, or whatever. Their house was way back from the road, among the super tall pine trees--as I mentioned--and they had a pretty big piece of property. In later years, as my kids will remember about Great Grandpa Ronnie, he had turkeys in the backyard! From who knows where! And we often saw deer. Grandpa was really good at being still and photographing them, appreciating their beauty so much. In that space they'd had built a brick fire pit, with a brick circular patio surrounding it, and benches all along the edges. In the summer we'd always have "weenie roasts", as Grandma would call them. Usually with lots of other family over; it'd be a big deal. As a kid it just seemed magical...and as an adult thinking of hosting such a thing now I realize how much work it probably was! We'd wait till it got darker and roast all the stuff. And then I'd look forward to the marshmallows and 'smores part. To this day I can probably out-eat most people when it comes to 'smores! Fantastically, I don't think they ever limited me! Thanks, Grandma, I got my 'smores abilities from you.

Those fire pit days seem like this weird childhood time of purity, you know what I mean? Before people I knew died, before couples got divorced, before any kind of heart break or other knowing. I mean, maybe it's only in looking back on them that it seems that way. Maybe even when I was in them I knew otherwise. But...even in the otherwise I was surrounded by all these people who I loved, and who loved me. And we had these rituals and these inside jokes and these laughs. 

Grandpa John, who passed shortly after Grandma Mom--he was Nanny's husband--and he had a great laugh, always drinking his O'Douls. 

Aunt Maurina too, the most amazing laugh, a laugh I always looked up to--she was Uncle Dave's first wife, Michael's mom--and Grandpa Ronnie could really get her going. Tears!

Mom, laughing! Uncle Steve! Laughing! Tears! Uncle Dave! That twinkle! The laughing could be so much and so good. Grandma Mom laughing. Oh and sometime's she'd even snort...

Aunt Jerene, a quieter kind of laugh, tears too. And, yeah, just like with Aunt Maurina, Grandpa Ronnie could really get her going. He loved it. He himself never lost it in laughter, though, he just always gave it out. Often with a drink in hand, ice clinking in it, pointing somewhere, never quite knowing where he was gonna take you with the conversation, when was the punchline gonna come. Not(!) during a card game though / Not(!) during a political conversation though--those were serious affairs. But, most other times sitting around a table, or--in Grandpa's case--standing. Others sitting, him standing, us all laughing. He didn't sit much, especially after Grandma died.

After Grandma died he sat even less. If we were over, if we were having any kind of family gathering, he'd always have to be standing, doing. Mom would say to him, "Daaaaaaaad?! Why don't you sit down?" mid-sigh, mid-clean, maybe looking for some humour and trying to push away the memories that might make him cry. Cause even 21 years later we all knew his missing of Grandma was still as strong. Even though he had his girlfriend Thelma (so stylish, so sweet, so fun in her calling everyone "Honey", such a perfect fit for the rest of us!), and he and Thelma would rent convertibles and drive to Vegas! I found out about her shortly after I got married. And I was just so happy, because Grandpa seemed so incredibly sad at my wedding. Anyway, Thelma too missed her own partner who'd passed that same year as Grandma Mom. They'd all known each other since high school! In fact, she and Grandpa had even been sweethearts at one point! Ended up elsewhere, and then back to each other later. To ease the blows of life. Land in some comfort after the loss. But yeah, Grandpa always missed Grandma. That's how it is. He spent much of the years following her death taking long walks, golfing, having fun with Thelma, taking care of his own ailing mom (who still lived alone in her house after Grandpa John died, walking up and down her flight of stairs daily until her death at age 98 right there in her own bed with all her nearest and dearest around her). He'd buy crazy gifts for his great grandchildren, he'd always send me a birthday card and birthday money and Christmas money. I'd call him on his birthday in March and every time he'd sound so pleasantly surprised it was me! And I'd think to myself, "Gee, I should call him more often," of course. We'd have a nice little chit chat. In fact, that was the last time I talked to him, beginning of this March, and he congratulated me on my band's show coming up, and I wished he could come and see it, and...as the pandemic loomed and we both knew it but kept it the elephant in our conversation we both said things like, "You take care of yourself, these are crazy times."

See I think we could often sense things from the other. Both being sentimental fools. Softies at heart who don't give very good hugs but lose it over things over and over while other people stay cool as cucumbers! (How?!)

From the sounds of it, I spent most of my summer Spokane visits doing stuff with Grandma Mom. Staying weeks at a time. Seeing them during the Christmas holidays too, usually, but summers being really Our Thing. I told you already how I didn't miss my own parents when I'd go, and Jenny would--so she wouldn't come--or she wouldn't stay as long. And when it was my time to head home, well, I'd lose it. I'd keep it together all morning, stuffing down tears as I packed my things, looked around the house one last time. Then Grandma would drive me to Vantage to meet my mom or dad, I'd dread that Columbia River gorge, knowing it was almost time to say goodbye. I'd dread that meal we'd eat in that little diner. The goodbyes that would come after. I'd always cry, and hugging would make it worse. Grandma wouldn't cry, but she'd be sweet. She'd tell me to write, to call. In fact, I even have an old postcard I sent to her! In a pack of her old photos mom gave me. I missed her so very much after our visits. And boy I had such a complicated love/hate relationship with Vantage, and that diner. Sometimes we wouldn't need to meet there, cause my parents were with me for the visit (a shorter one, wherein upon our arrival to the city my mom would ALWAYS pull the car visor mirror down and brush her hair and touch up her make-up before seeing her parents!). In that case, at the end, we'd all head home at the same time, and...I'd have the same problem of trying not to cry. Grandma and Grandpa had a huge long driveway that we'd have to back out of. I'd get in the car, try not to cry. Say more goodbyes. They'd stand there waving and I'd cry as I watched them get smaller and smaller and smaller. And you know who'd be pacing around, trying not to look but looking all the same? Grandpa Ronnie. And I knew why.

Smaller and smaller they'd get, and farther and farther I'd go from them. Mom maybe handing me tissues or something. Me wondering why was no one else crying?? Me wondering why do I do this every single time? 

The last time I saw Grandpa was summer of 2019. I didn't cry when I left, you know, the distraction of kids and all that was helpful for avoiding it. But I had the lump. I didn't know it was coming to the end of an era. Of course, I always thought it was possible, that it might be the last time I'd back out of that driveway. Anyway, as I did so that that last time, backed out of that driveway, I watched him go about his yard work and busy himself with pacing, looking at us go but trying not to, cause I'm sure he had that lump too. And now that I realize that really was for the last time, well gee, I really should've cried, shouldn't I have? 

Anyway, I'm making up for it now.

Grandma Mom I've missed you and thought of you every single day since you passed. I remember mom putting photos of you all over the house, all over the fridge, when you died. I remember dad saying to me, before the funeral, "Megan, there's a thin veil between this world and the next." I remember the phone being more silent after all that. You and mom used to talk a lot. So, yeah, Grandma Mom I've missed you and thought of you every single day since you passed. And of course you know that Grandpa did too. We wanted to keep him here longer, like we did you. But, well, my earthly mind hopes you two are just playing pool and swimming and listening to music and flirting with each other big time up there. No lumps in the throat, no pacing, no crying at all cause maybe just maybe there are no more goodbyes in heaven.

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I want to share the tribute my mom wrote for Grandpa Ronnie's funeral here. It is just gorgeous. It truly is the end of an era in my family, but...we take all these things with us, don't we? Some things go, in their concrete way, but the heart, the spirit, keeps them safe. Thank you for writing this, mom.

"Ronald G. Rogers, the kind gentleman we have been privileged to know for a lifetime, took his last breath on the evening of Friday, November 13th after suffering a stroke the morning of November 11th at his home. He leaves behind his daughter Kathleen Rogers and husband Shayne, Stephen Rogers and wife Jerene, and Dr. David Rogers and wife Eldaah, all of Spokane. Our mother Marlene, his wife of 45 years, died in 1999. Near and dear to Dad is a brother-in-law, Dr. Neil Nilsson of Olympia who called him, “my brother.” Together, Dad and Neil had many tales of trying to “make a buck” in the mid-1950’s selling pots and pans door-to-door to get a meal together for their young families. Ron leaves behind six grandchildren who called him “Grampa Ronnie”. He was proud of them and their families across the country: Megan, Jenny, David, Mary, Michael, Lucia, and great-grandchildren, Greta, Therese, Hosea, Clark, Skye, Benjamin, and Louisa. He leaves a niece Valerie, and nephew Robert.

Ron is survived by his wonderful girlfriend, Thelma Draszt who is part of our family, along with her daughters, Mikele, Jacqueline, and Kimberly who loved him as we did. Thelma and Ron found each other five years after each losing their life-long spouses only days apart. We called it serendipitous as they had once been childhood sweethearts! Always the handsome man with perfect posture, Dad had many women trying to figure out a way to get his attention after Mom died. But, since Dad was shy about dating and thought he could never love again, she asked him out! Thank you, Thelma! We enjoyed seeing the fun and love they shared and the flirty twinkle back in his bluest of blue eyes.

Ron was a Depression baby born to Margaret Westerman and Robert Rogers in Spokane, on March 5th, 1935 at the old St. Luke’s Hospital. Times were lean and he was often left to his own devices. He shared many stories of life before and after WWII as a child growing up without a lot of supervision (none!). He and Mom were lonely teenagers who loved and depended on each other, marrying in October of 1954. They were children themselves growing up together with us, working hard to build a home and family from nothing, never expecting others ‘to do’ for them. We heard him say that we three kids were their grand experiment. Dad taught us many things including a strong work ethic and to have an opinion at the dinner table; given that the phrase, “I don’t know” was never an answer!  He passed along his love for every genre of music to us and his grandchildren. He encouraged our piano playing, although he did complain about hearing the spinning song one too many times. Sunday mornings were spent with Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, the 1812 overture, Benny Goodman and so much more. Together, he and Mom instilled in us the love of learning, and the joy of school and sports. Winning was always important as was losing respectfully. Dad was a life-long salesman and we marveled at his flawless and ever polite negotiation style even with the most nefarious of characters! He was smart, honest to a fault, incredibly funny with his dry wit and charm, and generous to all that met him. Our home was open to their many friends and family who would stop by for dinner, coffee, or a beer, and of course a round of pool. He was a master pool-player and there were few who could beat his gracious style—although many tried. He loved golf and had life-long golf buddies including his children, who will miss his perfect swing and step, always insisting on carrying his clubs.

Dad treasured his large home and acreage and was proud (to a fault some days!) of managing it alone. He had recently bagged all the pine needles, plowed the driveway, and mopped the kitchen floor. His last walk was to open the door for the paramedics after the stroke began. We are happy he left us as he wished, but it is difficult to say good-bye for now.

We give our thanks to the fine nurses and doctors at Deaconess who treated us as family and provided exceptional care. We were with him throughout his short hospital stay, as it should be. Dad, we will miss your quick mind, the ‘Rogers’ hugs, incredible sense of humor and your lively opinions. We are proud to have been your grand experiment."