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Today would be my grandmother's birthday. I always remembered it connected with Flag Day, which was always observed on the Marine bases where I grew up. She was my father's mother, Brunie, who grew up in a poor family in Arkansas. Her parents died when she was young, so her older sister took care of all the children left behind. Brunie married John K. when she was only 14 and soon after had my dad, their only child. (I'm an only child, too.)What is a little odd is that today I remember my father more than his mother. He would always call me on her birthday to remind me of the date, even though she had died years ago. My dad died in 2002, but somehow I am missing him a little bit today, much more than I expect to tomorrow--on Father's Day.
Just as my dad had a love/hate relationship with his mother, so was my connection somewhat gnarly with my father. When he was alive, I found it irritating that he would call to remind me on my mother's and his mother's birthdays to remind me, as if I didn't know. Now that's something I miss.
This is the only picture I could find of Mineral Springs, Arkansas, where Brunie lived and where my dad grew up. This is the view from this point on Hwy 107 N. looking across Magness Creek to Mineral Springs, Arkansas
6 comments:
I'm going to go put up my flag right now. (John says not to, because we have lots of ash in the air from far away wildfires--but I'll put it up anyway. The ash reminds me of Mt. St. Helens--were you in OR then?)
I enjoyed reading about your grandmother and your cousin Margaret and your mother. Take your video camera--there's article about filming interviews in the latest AARP magazine.
Hug for you, Jan. :-)
My favorite grandmother died in the spring. I always buy one of those little plastic pinwheels for the garden in her memory; she got one for me every year.
I loved reading about your grandma and flag day.
happy birthday to her.
Thank you for sharing your memories with us. Sending you hugs for today and tomorrow.
My paternal grandmother was born the day after Flag Day, June 15. She was born in Galicia, a region of Eastern Europe in what we always referred to as Poland when I was growing up, but her passport said "Austria" because it was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire when she was born at the turn of the 20th century, and today that region is part of Ukraine. She was part of the hundreds of thousands of Eastern European Jews who came into New York through Ellis Island and settled on the Lower East Side, working hard and some years later, moving to a new neighborhood and living to see all three of her children with college degrees, a huge jump in one generation. Grandma had arrived at 13 with her sister, who was a decade older. They never saw their parents again. Some of their siblings and other relatives also migrated to the U.S., some before, some after.
In some ways I was closer to my maternal grandmother, who was born in the U.S. (her parents came from the old country in the 19th c.) but I think of my paternal grandmother very often these days, of all she saw and lived and sacrificed, and of the changes she witnessed.
Remembering our elders is a sacred act and a holy duty, I am convinced of that, and more so as I become older.
Thanks so much for your tribute and memories.
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