Cheers
© The Author, 2005
Since shortly after I could walk, my grandma and grandpa Jaggers have been taking me hiking. Each of us equipped with a pack holding rain ponchos, water bottles, and a lunch that consists of a cheese hunk, an apricot or plum, a whole grain sandwich of some sort, and a granola bar, we set out to conquer the mountains of Colorado.
Together we quietly hike 6-mile stretches of rough terrain, passing the timberline and snow to reach the beautiful hidden glacial pools tucked away in the crevices of the Rockies. The first hour or so of this endeavor is always vibrant and good, despite the hell that the elevation causes my midwestern lungs. But as the hike continues, my body becomes wearier and wearier.
I can distinctly remember one hike taken with my grandparents. I was probably in fifth grade or so, and a stretch of it was in an area that was completely unprotected by shade. The sun was beating down on us, the wind was at a standstill, and the path was so steep that it was literally like climbing stairs, only the stairs were rocks covered in loose, uncooperative gravel. I remember collapsing onto the side of the path, unable to catch my breath. My grandma caught up to me and as always, there was scarcely a drop of sweat on her. “Just take a sip of water and catch your breath and you’ll be fine,” she offered. I wasn’t completely convinced–in fact, I was sure that I was going to die–but seeing how being alone in the wilderness is never an appealing idea, I saw no other options but to dust myself off and keep on going.
I don’t remember the particular destination of that hike, but I do remember feeling amazed at myself once we reached it. I knew that I could do anything. This feeling was born on that hike and has repeated itself many times, both on and off the trail.
Upon reaching our hiking destinations, my grandparents and I proceed to devour our little lunches. This must be done with some stealth, as we always have to guard our eats from the sneaky clutches of fat marmosets, haughty squirrels, and pecking birds.
After lunch has been gobbled up, we lean our heads back and stretch out on the ground; the boulders are always more comfortable than the most expensive mattress in the world. The scenery is beautiful in a way that is better felt than seen. Pictures of mountains are unable to capture it. The mountains give me a tangible understanding of how young and small I am in the world, without diminishing the importance of my contributions. There is rawness and smoothness to the landscape; things both weathered and new compliment each other in this environment. When I am in the mountains, I feel home.
The jaunt down the trail is always quicker than the panting struggle of scaling up the mountain. Sleeping in the backseat of grandpa’s red jeep as he maneuvers the ear-popping drive home is where I have enjoyed some of my favorite naps.
Once we are home, everyone retires to their bedrooms to rest or to quietly read Time or Discover magazines. A few still hours pass before granddad puts NPR back on, claps his hands together and cheerfully announces, “who wants a cocktail?” Grandma descends from her room in a pretty, soft richly colored velour outfit, showered and perfumed and wearing light, glowing makeup. She drinks something mixed with papaya juice. I’m not sure what grandpa drinks, but I like the sound of the ice cubes clinking about in his short glass.
Soon the kitchen is filled with the glorious scents of dinner–mushrooms and cooking wines, simmering veggies and meats. Crusty loaves of bread are sliced and eaten with smears of whipped butter. Around seven we settle in and savor whatever scrumptious and healthy meal grandma has cooked. Grandpa tells us tales of his childhood in wartime England. If we are really lucky, grandma chimes in with stories of her own youth, but mainly she laughs at grandpa when he is obviously exaggerating and they put on a funny, playful show of “Dale, you’re exaggerating!” “No I’m not–it’s the bloody truth!”
After dinner there is always coffee, and if grandma hasn’t fresh rhubarb pie to delight us with, we have ice cream. Granddad serves the desserts.
Sometimes dinner is followed by a game, sometimes more chatting, or sometimes if something good is on television (they like stand up comedy and HBO original series), we watch it. I like it best when we play games.
When I was really little, my mom and I lived with them and my grandma watched over me in the daytime while my mom was at work. I was allowed to roam free and be as I pleased. My grandpa would come home from work and I’d bother him while he tried to relax on his favorite chair in the living room. I loved being in their house, and since they moved to Colorado when I was six or so, I’ve always missed them like crazy. As a kid my family would take the minivan from Michigan to Colorado almost every summer to visit for two weeks, but as an adult making entry-level money I can’t say that I am able to make the trip annually. Since we moved to Chicago three and 1/2 years ago, I’ve only been able to visit once.
Besides being fun, open minded, giving people who have the knack of treating children like human beings as opposed to little pets or subordinates, I adore my grandparents because they played a huge role in teaching me through example what have become some of my very best qualities.
More than anything else in my life, those hikes taken with my grandma and grandpa taught me perseverance and the ability to keep my eye on the prize without ever loosing sight of how beautiful the journey is.
My grandpa taught me the methods of superb story telling and the joy that it brings to people. My grandpa is the reason that personal narrative is the pulse of all of my art and writing. My grandpa is the reason why I married a storyteller.
My grandma taught me adventure and the ability to push yourself farther and take good care of your body and mind. She is the practicality in me.
While my grandma is practical, she never loses the ability to go where her heart takes her. My grandparents emigrated from England to Canada with a group of friends before they were even married. At a time when it was unheard of to do it, they lived together before their wedding. When they did marry, they were so young and fresh off the boat that they only had money enough to feed their guests bologna sandwiches at the reception. Grandma wore a blue and black dress, and my grandpa, in black-framed glasses, wore a suit and tie.
Once they immigrated to the US and had kids, they continued to travel the world and the country–they weren’t extravagantly wealthy, but they were careful to save and plan. This sense of adventure and free spirit is happily imbued into my values.
My grandparents are truly companions. They laugh together and discuss the world as equals. I made certain to pick a partner for myself that I could share these things.
I often think fondly of my grandparents (although I don’t call as often as I’d like to), but their teachings came in particularly useful last weekend as Shaun and I settled into our new apartment. Since we don’t have any family nearby, and our small handful of friends were being productive members of society at work and school the Thursday we moved, we had to do it just the two of us. While we are both pretty fit people, we are by no means weight lifters. Which stinks when you are faced with shoving a couch that easily weights over 150 pounds up a flight of very narrow and awkward stairs.
After Shaun and I struggled for ten minutes in the hot, beating sun with the beast that was our couch, my arms gave out. I was giving it all I had, but the strenuous, awful situation was more than my stick arms could handle. I was absolutely horrified as my elbows buckled and the couch came crashing down on my husband.
The fear that I’d accidentally killed the love of my life sent a shock of adrenaline through my body and, like Superwoman, I picked the couch up and was ready to try again. Panting, sweaty, and on the brink of passing out, I had a heat-induced vision of surviving hikes with my grandparents. I dug deep inside myself and forced myself to give what I didn’t even have. A few more hefts, and a scratch and finger pinch later, the couch was safely in the apartment.
After letting it crash to the floor, we stood, dripping with sweat and panting looking at each other in absolute awe of our great feat. The feeling was exactly like the one that accompanies reaching the destination of a 12-mile hike; I was almost giddy with disbelief that we’d pulled through and made it. My grandparents were with me in an eerie way at that moment, and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about booking a plane ticket to go out for a visit ever since.
While the beauty of the mountains is a far better reward for exerting your body to the point of collapse than a city apartment is, I’ve got to say that I am quite pleased indeed at our new digs.
Below are some pictures of our new pad for your viewing pleasure.
Pretend you have just entered through the front door. Concearned and confused as to why you just came barging into Chicagoartgril23′s apartment, you call out, “Hello? Is anybody home?”
“Welcome to our humble abode! My name is Truly and I will be your tour guide. I also happen to live here, and I have the uncanny ability to mimic a mannequin, which I am doing as we speak. This is the living room, dominated by this monster couch. Watch out–it might crush you!”
“Oh look! Here we have the dining room. Only we haven’t a table or chairs, so we call it ‘The Study.’ The desk is new, pulled from a neighborhood dumpster just this week! You know what they say, one man’s trash is a Chicagoartgirl23′s treasure! In the dining room you can see a male specimen in his natural environment. We call him Shaun. Wave and say ‘Hi Shaun!’”
“Here we come to a fork in the road. Bathroom or kitchen? Where to go next?”
“Kitchen–good choice! Mmmm…Fish scented from last nights Tilapia. Who doesn’t like the smell of lingering fish?”
“Next stop–el baño! Just look at that crispety new shower curtain that replaced last apartments mildewed nightmare! Amazing!”
“Oh no! What’s this? An alien baby is bursting forth from the bathroom walls! Run for your lives! Ha! Actually, there’s no need to run–it’s only water damage and asbestos! The jury is still out about if that is worse than the chipping lead paint of our last apartment or not, but the landlord has promised to rip down the wall ASAP. Which knowing city landlords, may mean never! Hahahaha!”
“Giles Alejandro Scimitar just loves his new cat house!”
“Last stop, the bedroom. Observe the sweet old bear on the bed. We like to call him Theodore T. Bearington, or ‘Thee’ for short.”
That’s the end of the tour, kiddies. Have a good day!
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How has someone you love helped you in your life?
