The Greats

We've been trying to visit the Greats a lot lately. Not only is it very special to see my children with my grandparents, but I also really like my grandparents and enjoy hearing family news and tales from my grandma and hearing old war or Lockheed Martin stories from my grandpa. One of my favorite things to do with Grandma is sit down with an old photo album and listen to her stories. And I love listening to Grandpa recall the details of his time in the war and his accomplishments as an engineer.

I love seeing my grandma's eyes light up when she greets us with a cheery "hello!" and I love seeing the smile on my grandpa's face when he has a chance to sit with Chris to talk shop. I love the looks in both their eyes when they see their great granddaughters - pride, love, joy.

I am so blessed to be 34 years old and still have both of my dad's parents (and my mom's mom!) around to share life with.

I'm behind on blogging, but we've taken pictures on a few of our visits in the last six months, and I'd like to put them all together here.

These first pictures were taken during a visit back in July.

The next visit that I brought my camera along for happened in September. Windsor Gardens has wonderful flower beds in front of each of the buildings. I just couldn't resist a group picture on our way in to see the Greats.

The kids and Grandma and I went out to the golf course outside their building to spend a little time outside so Chris and Grandpa could have some quiet time to chat. A pair of golfers came by while we were sitting on the bench, and the girls were very quiet and respectful while we watched them play.

At the end of November, Grandpa was back in the hospital. We went to visit him, and while he was very happy to see the kids, he was exhausted within about ten minutes. He didn't make it to Thanksgiving dinner, and his presence was definitely missed.

Having three young kids leaves very little time for quiet thought and emotional processing. The fact that my grandpa is dying hits me out of the blue, but I usually don't have time to dwell on it or let it sink in. While I was posting these pictures the other night, a stream of memories hit me, and I stayed up far too late writing them down, but I'm so glad I did.

Memories
I remember the turquoise tub, the softened water slippery, and the smell of Dial soap. Grandma using a big soft washcloth to bathe me, getting in between all my toes while singing "this little piggy." The painting on the wall, a picture of an old claw-footed bathtub with a sign "Hot baths, 10 cents."
Grandpa was always hard at work, mowing the lawn, feeding the horses, hauling hay, shoveling manure, trimming the brush that grew on their five acres on his tractor. His cowboy boots, cowboy hat and aviator sunglasses. "When's chow, Ma?" Grandma's roast beef. Always browned to perfection on the outside, and tender on the inside, salty and delicious. Mashed potatoes and brown gravy, rolls and butter. Grandpa made bug juice - lemonade usually being the main ingredient, and for the longest time I half-thought that floating pulp was really little dead bug bodies. But it was delicious. and we always asked for seconds.

We had sleepovers at Grandma and Grandpa Hicks' house often, sometimes just Dylan and I, sometimes all the cousins together. Usually it was a Saturday night, and we'd go to Grace United Methodist church in the morning. Grandpa always set the breakfast table the night before: bananas, 2 or 3 cereal boxes, bowls, spoons. Cheerios always seemed to be one of the choices. We'd sleep in Dad and Al's old room. The gun room, with revolvers and war metals on the wallpaper. The big world map on the wall, and the two blue twin beds. I always took the one by the window, and after Dylan had fallen asleep, I would always sit at that window, looking out over the distant city lights. The sound of singing coyotes coming through the open window, the breeze smelling like fresh hay and Earth. Those sparkling lights on the horizon, and the bright starlight up above, peaceful as a page from Goodnight Moon.

The bedtime stories...Grandma must have kept the kids' old primers, because the stories usually came from books that looked like old textbooks, and there usually weren't many pictures. I remember trying to read one once, I think it was 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. If all the cousins were sleeping over, the boys got Dad and Al's old room and Joel's old room, and Paige and I would share Dale's old room. The rose wallpaper and fluffy curtains. Dale's old saddle bringing a light leather scent to the room. The sheets at Grandma and Grandpa's always smelled so fresh and clean, the pillows were always so soft. Everything had a heightened sense of "special."

The best entertainment at Grandma and Grandpa's was outside. Riding horses, looking down on Grandma's tanned shoulders as she held the lead rope. Heading into the barn to feed the horses, tossing hay down from the hayloft. I could never stay up there long, my eyes would begin to burn, itch, and water. It was hot and dusty, but the view from the tiny window up there was neat and it felt like the best hiding spot in the world. Down a the bottom of the steps up to the hayloft was a big metal trashcan, filled to the top with oats. We'd take handfulls to feed the horses, and sometimes I'd munch on some myself, the oats sweet and crunchy. Grandma had special treats for the horses, too, and we got to hand them out. Elsie, Quinny, Bucky, Clownie.

Riding the tractor with Grandpa, sitting tight and sometimes getting to steer. Climbing to the top of the manure pile, the stinky mountain. Pushing around the old wheelbarrow, pulling around the squeaky old Radio Flyer wagon. The old metal swing set could always entertain us for a little while. The glider was my favorite. Hide and seek was amazing at Grandma and Grandpa's. My favorite spot was under a huge old bush. It felt like a cave in there, and it was my special place. Hiding in the barn was fun, and the horse trailers were good spots, too. And there were plenty of spots along the fence line where all the tall trees grew. Hide and seek was fun, but playing Sardines was my favorite. One person would hide and then the rest of us would seek, hiding along with the hider until we were all packed into the tiny hiding space. Sweating, giggling, hushing each other. When we played indoor Sardines we'd use the footprints. Cardboard circles with animal prints on them, stored in the window seat along with the poker chips and board games. The hider would lay tracks while the seekers counted, and then the seekers would follow the prints, usually leading to dead ends.

Grandma always kept Tootsie Roll pops in the pantry. I always wanted a red one, and eagerly opened my wrapper, hoping to find the Indian with his star-shooting bow and arrow. In the evenings we'd ask to watch a movie or tv. The one VHS I remember them having was Black Beauty, but I think they may have had Old Yeller, too. But at a certain time, Grandma and Grandpa always had to put on their Saturday night show, a PBS British comedy called Are You Being Served. I remember Grandma's giggles.

I don't remember Grandpa saying the words, "I love you" but I remember feeling loved. Grandma would say the words, and I know she meant them. I always felt so safe and secure at their house. The game-holding window seat where I'd curl up and look outside, the laundry chutes that became secret passageways for army guys, the piano that we'd all sit at and attempt to play, the embroidered bedspreads and tasseled velvet throw pillows. The high back chairs and portraits on the walls. The dirt road they lived on - great for riding the mini bike "kick ass fast," and later learning to drive a stick shift on. There are so many many wonderful memories.

Grandpa is saying "I love you" these days. And when I call, he doesn't say, "Hi Ab!! Let me get Grandma" because he usually has a few things to tell me himself. He's getting tired, but he doesn't seem to be ready to let go of life. He turned 92 in November, and for the first time ever, we weren't able to have a big party for him because he was just too sick. Just after Christmas, he was officially diagnosed with a brain tumor, and he's decided to go ahead with radiation.

He's talked about dying my whole life. Always talking as if death is just around the bend. Never acting confident that he'd live another year. But here he is. He was diagnosed with lung cancer shortly before the twins were born, and went through chemo when they were newborns. He lost all of his wonderful thick white hair and became thin and frail. I began wondering if the end was just around the bend. But then the chemo was over, and he filled back out and his hair grew back in, just as thick and wavy as ever. The lung cancer began to recede into the past and I once again saw him as invincible.

But then this summer, Grandpa had a seizure and the doctors found a lesion on his brain. It wasn't diagnosed as a brain tumor, but his first seizure wasn't his last, and then his lungs began rattling with pneumonia. There have been many many trips to the hospital, and many doctor's appointments. Grandma is having a hard time keeping the calendar straight, and it's becoming more difficult to get Grandpa out of the condo for appointments.

I'm feeling very blessed that one of my youngest cousins, Cassie, has the time in her schedule to spend three days a week at Grandma and Grandpa's house. She helps with the laundry and groceries, helps count out pills and keeps track of appointments. Grandma reports that Grandpa is tolerating the seated shower and is helping get himself dressed in the mornings. He doesn't have much of an appetite for food, but his appetite for life just keeps going strong.

I said before that one of my favorite past times of late with the Greats is going through old photos with Grandma. A couple years ago, Grandma was going through old pictures to split up amongst her kids. I was over while the shoeboxes were out, and she and Grandpa told me stories while we went through the pictures, and Grandma gave a few to me. They are special treasures.

1938, Grandpa worked at an amusement park for $5 a week and a place to stay. Grandpa was 16. He lived in a 2 bed place under the roller-coaster. He was the only one who knew how to fix the whip.

Grandpa and Grandma with her sister, Edie, and her husband, Paul.

Grandpa. He was the navigator on a B17

The Never Satisfied, Grandpa flew 15 missions in this plane. The Swastekas represent German planes shot down by this plane, and the bombs are the number of missions flown in this plane.

The turret of the Never Satisfied

A B24. Mike Rickey, Grandpa's pilot, took this picture. This plane flew in with Grandpa's B17 formation for protection.

Another plane Grandpa flew missions in, the Baraz Twins. I remember him laughing about this plane when I was younger, the name and picture always cracked him up. Grandpa wrote Baraz on the plane with his finger because he didn't have a paint brush. He told me they called her the "widow fruitful."

Grandma and Grandpa. What a good-looking couple!

Me when I was probably about 2. I'm with Blackie, their old dog. I don't have any memories with Blackie, but I remember being told a story about Grandma's near-death that involved Blackie. The dog was bit in the nose by a snake, and she came into the house with an extremely inflated nose, and Grandma fell down flat on the floor. My dad swears that she didn't have a heartbeat. 

Grandma and Elsie. She LOVED that horse.

Chris and I went to Germany in 2007, and we met up with a plane parts collector who had been in touch with Mike Rickey because he had found parts from the plane that Mike, Grandpa, and their crew had gone down in. Grandpa's plane was shot down over Germany (Southwest Munich, almost to the Black Forest area. Bukenburg.) and they spent 10 months as POWs. Ludwic Hauber was the plane parts collector and he took us to the spot in the woods where he'd found parts of Grandpa's plane. We spent a few hours with shovels and a metal detector, finding pieces of the plane. We brought a whole bunch back, and Grandpa went through all of it with us, telling us stories all the while. He told us about how the German soldiers actually saved their lives because the townspeople wanted to kill them because the plane had destroyed some houses. Grandpa went into the prison camp at 160 pounds and came out 90 pounds. He told us about the kriegie bread, which they toasted to make it edible, but then it became hard as rocks and they broke their teeth trying to eat it.