Grandma and Grandpa's House: Scandesota

It was shocking, being immersed into a different culture. We always assumed that all of the states were similar. We were wrong. There were vast differences between the people of Minnesota and Utah. It was like we were in Scandinavia when we talked to locals. Phrases like, 'dontcha know' and 'you betcha' were riddled with Swedish accents. It was like we were in The Farmer's Daughter and our world was surrounded by clones of Loretta Young. It was like we were in a spa, talking with a muscly masseuse with long, blonde braids.

When we first arrived, Grandma took us to a bakery. She was excited to have us try some fresh treats. At the end, the cashier asked what kind of a 'baig' we wanted; did we want a plastic 'baig' or a paper 'baig'? While we started walking to the car, Sarah asked, "Grandma, what's a baig?". Grandma burst out laughing, scaring all of us. She explained that it was an accent, that the cashier asked what kind of a bag we wanted. We were confused. Why didn't they just say bag like the rest of us?

"I pledge allegiance to the FLAG of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." I used to shout the word, flag, so that everyone could hear it. I didn't like that they said 'flaig' and refused to say it with them. I informed my friends that they were saying their words wrong, the ones that ended with 'a' and 'g'. I tried to teach them to say it correctly, but it was surprisingly hard for them. They couldn't say it the way that I did; they only accomplished saying it in a posh manner, 'baug'. Some of them even held their heads higher as they attempted to say it the way that I did. One friend really thought about it and asked, "Well, what do you call a bagel? Do you call it, boggle?"

In Utah, I was surrounded by Mormon families. I didn't realize until later that it created extreme pressure for some of my friends, everyone being LDS. I remember one of the girls in my class saying that she was Mormon, even though she wasn't. She said that she just wanted to fit in, because everyone else was Mormon. One of my classmates said that he couldn't play with someone because they weren't Mormon. This is by no means what the religion teaches; it's the religious culture that can be scary. I had never heard of an Atheist before, until one kid in my class refused to say The Pledge of Allegiance. He explained that he was an Atheist, that he didn't believe there is a God, and that he doesn't think it's right for him to say it when he doesn't believe it. I told Grandma about my Atheist friend and was surprised when she simply nodded. Grandma told me about her friends and explained that not only was it doable, to have friends from different religions, but that it was good for me.

I met a lot of her friends. She had so many that came from different backgrounds and religions. One thing I learned from watching Grandma and her friends was that they loved to learn. She wanted to know everything! She wanted to learn about different religions and lifestyles. She had mountains of cookbooks in her study with recipes she experimented with. She consumed books on culture and art and romance. She wanted to see the world, taste it. She thirsted. She was brilliant. She took us on her adventures. She took us to museums and old book stores. She bought us bags of books to read. She let us wander to pick what we wanted to read. She took us to the library and left us to our own devices as she sat nearby. She let us dream. She took us to gardens, flower gardens. She took us to rivers and had us wade in them. She took us to new and different restaurants, ones where you had no idea what you were ordering or eating. She took us to the farmer's market often; we walked by every stand and asked people what they were selling and how they made it. She took us to farms. She took us driving, showing us landscapes and architecture. She took us to concerts. She would hastily apply her lipstick, rubbing a little on her finger to put blush on her cheeks. She would rustle through the rows to her seat, her over-sized, tattered coat trailing behind her. She was dedicated. She wanted us to learn. She wanted us to thirst.

I used to ask Grandpa to play for me. We would take turns playing. I loved it when he would come and sit near me while I played. He would often fall asleep while I played through Grandma's music. We didn't have to say anything to each other. I would start to play and soon enough, he would make his way to the music area and sit down. When we moved to the other house, he would tell me that he missed my playing. He said that I could come over whenever I wanted and play on their piano. It was nice to be missed. He plays the clarinet so beautifully. We used to sit around him and listen to him play. It was magical. The best part of him playing was that it felt like he somehow left us, that when he played, he had an experience. You could close your eyes and listen to him for hours. Even though I was taking music classes at school, he gave me clarinet lessons on the side. He always told me that I needed to work on tightening my mouth, that he had to work on it a lot when he first started playing. The tighter the mouth, the better the sound. One time, my teacher complimented me on my playing and asked if I had learned from anyone. I explained that my grandpa works at the university and that he gave me some pointers. I later found out that my teacher was one of Grandpa's students when he first started working at the college.

Grandpa wanted to take us to the park. We piled up in the car and went on our way. We were headed for 'the hide-and-seek park'. This was where Mom and her siblings used to play. They played hide-and-seek here, hence the name. Grandpa said that we had one stop on the way and pulled in front of a doughnut shop. Yes! I love doughnuts!! I wasn't prepared to have that love tested. Grandpa took us in and we bought a dozen of them. We got six exciting ones. Maple, jelly-filled, sprinkled, cream-filled. There were six regular, glazed ones. It was an exciting time; our mouths started to water. We sat at a table in the park and Grandpa informed us that we weren't allowed to leave the park until we finished the whole box. We were stunned, but still on an excitement high. I thought it would be easy. I downed my first three easily. But, the fourth doughnut was difficult. The stickiness in my mouth wasn't pleasant anymore. I started to get thirsty. The fifth doughnut was even worse. I started to gag. Sarah and Kristi had admitted defeat, but I wanted to keep going. Holding my stomach, I brought the sixth to my mouth. It was the second to last doughnut. I started to chant in my head, like I was about to cross some finish line. But, I couldn't do it. I felt like throwing up and I knew that this sixth doughnut would tip me over the edge. Grandpa smiled and grabbed the last two doughnuts and ate them. We didn't play in the park. We wanted to go home.

I think Mom was scared to leave us with Grandma and Grandpa. She had a hard time growing up with them and she left the house as soon as she could. She told us that Grandpa liked things to be quiet. She told us that sometimes, he gets impatient and when he's angry, he yells. She wanted us prepared. She figured that, though he was older, he would still be the intense father she grew up with. Thankfully, he wasn't. He still liked for things to be quiet; so, we stayed out of certain areas in the house. And, I can remember only two instances that Grandpa really yelled at us. One time was a misunderstanding; he thought Sarah was disobeying him when she was actually obeying what Grandma told her to do. He later apologized to Sarah for his yelling. The other time was when I was watching TV instead of helping Grandma in the kitchen. He was gentle with us. He was kind and patient. Grandpa drove us everywhere. He, like Grandma, wanted us to experience everything. I remember dreading some of our meals, because he brought home creepy-looking meat and smelly cheese. He tried to get us to eat blood sausage one night. I couldn't do it. He was infamous for his treats. He loved making pound cake and would often make two, one for our house and one for him. He loved going to the bakery and would often let me pick what we'd bring home. He asked me about school and friends and music. We talked every day. He was actually interested in my life and who I was and wanted to be. It was different, having a man accept who I am. The men in my life always wanted more of me, more that I couldn't and wouldn't give. It was nice to have someone be there for me; Grandpa's stability helped me survive. I knew I could count on him. I knew that he was on my side. He didn't make me choose between Dad and Mom; he wanted me to choose my own path. I knew that he loved me and that it was unconditional, and that was a first. His love didn't depend on if I did what he wanted me to. His love was real. I wish my mom had grown up with him like that.

One of my favorite memories of living by Grandma and Grandpa was that after we moved into the house next door, he would shovel the snow every day after it snowed which was usually every day of the week. He shoveled a pathway from their house to ours. He even shoveled through neighboring yards, making a safe and clean path for us to walk down the block to our bus stop. I don't think he really asked them if he could shovel through their yard; he just stayed close to the edge of it and created the path for us. He would sometimes drive us if it was really cold, keeping us warm in his car until the bus came. It was reassuring, waking up and seeing him outside shoveling for us. For a while, he couldn't find his regular hat; so, he'd wear this bright pink fisherman hat while shoveling. He was a dedicated man shoveling in a neon hat.

Introducing Grandma and Grandpa's House

INTRO

We were supposed to stay in the neighboring house, but it was still being repaired. Apparently, Grandpa's last tenants destroyed the place, kept animals in the house that peed and pooped all over the carpets. They were smokers too, which definitely didn't improve the overall smell of our little cottage. In the meantime, we stayed at Grandma and Grandpa's. The stairs seemed steep as we climbed our way up to the rooms. Peering back as we reached the top, I  could see that there was a little loft area above the stairs where they kept suitcases. I always wanted to sit there, maybe make myself a little bed and sleep above the stairs. Straight ahead was the bathroom with a clawfoot tub. I'd never seen one of those before. Bathing in that tub made me feel like I was traveling back in time, possibly in some classic movie starring alongside Cary Grant. To the immediate left of the stairs was Grandpa's bedroom. It's the one Mom used while growing up. We weren't allowed to go in there. Grandpa's office was to the right of it; the office was always ice cold, his little black fan buzzing nonstop. I never understood why he had to have his office 10 degrees colder than the rest of the house. Minnesota weather definitely suited him. And right in-between Grandpa's office and the bathroom was my Aunt Sunny's old room, the room all of us were going to share. It was a bright color; I think it was peach.

As I continued to explore the upstairs, I couldn't help but notice that it smelled like dust and old people. I can't explain that smell, but I know that you know what I'm talking about. Spiderwebs hung in every room, unashamed spiders dripping from them. It was like some horror film, probably one they'd play on Halloween. I fled from the spider-infested upstairs and made my way to the kitchen. I walked through the piano room, where Grandma held her music lessons. There were shelves of books substituting walls that somewhat separated this room from the next. Mismatched chairs lined one side of the room; Grandma's students and parents sat in them during the lessons. One corner of the room was dedicated to toys, massive amount of toys and more books. A lot of the toys were old, probably ones that my mom used to play with. There was a castle and trucks and farm animals. There were dolls, not like the barbies I grew up with. These were small, fitting in the palm of my hand. They had yarn for hair, their wooden bodies browned from age and play. Grandma's piano took up most of the room. I had never seen a grand piano before. We had two upright ones in our old, Santaquin house. It was beautiful, the way it curved, the grooves in the legs. It was detailed with vines. It was old. There were chips in the wood and on the keys. I fell in love. Peering underneath, I could see boxes full of music and others with neglected toys.

The next room to walk through was the family room. There was an old TV against one wall with a VCR on top and rocking chairs near the opposite wall. My sisters and I would spend movie nights sitting in front of the TV with Grandma and Grandpa behind us in their chairs. Like the other room, the walls had shelves of books, several ceramic pots and instruments sitting on top. There was an open doorway to the kitchen. Looking to the right, the stove was full of stacked pots with different vegetables steaming. To the left was a little nook with a round table. Though the rest of the house seemed cluttered, this room was clean and open. This was where we would spend many nights laughing and eating.

This kitchen was where I would learn how to jar pickles. We would go to the farmer's market, we went there at least once a month, and pick out baby cucumbers. We picked bunches of dill from Grandma's garden and we would jar. We got to write our names on the jars so that when we opened it the next year, we knew that we were eating something we created. This was where we would learn that Grandpa likes having at least 4 vegetables as sides for dinner. He bought a ton of stacking pots so that he could steam them all at the same time. We learned what peasant bread is while at the table. Super hard, but really yummy bread. I'm surprised that I didn't lose any teeth trying to eat it. One night, I was determined and refused to back down as I tried to take a large bite out of the bread. I pulled hard with both hands, my teeth deep as I ground them in, and I won. But, so did the bread as my head flew back and hit the wall. I rubbed my fresh bruise as we laughed. This was where I would beat Grandpa in an eating contest. I ate 13 tacos. Surprisingly, Mom wasn't too proud. This was where we would eat our after-school snacks, often huge Great Harvest Market cookies that Grandpa would sneak to us after being scolded by Mom. This was where we would do our homework with Grandma sitting next to us, brainstorming for our projects. This was where I would learn how to peel and cut an apple while holding it in my hand. We learned how to properly set a table. The fork goes on the left; an easy way to remember is that 'fork' has 4 letters and so does the word, 'left'. The knife, spoon, and glass go on the right side of the plate. They all have 5 letters. We learned how to decorate the table with flowers from the garden. We learned how to sharpen kitchen knives. I made my first pound cake with Grandpa. We made many pies in the kitchen: cherry, apple, peach, rhubarb - freshly picked from Grandma's garden, and strawberry. I learned of Grandma's love for dish towels. She had many for each day of the week. She collected them. They were usually white with a beautiful image hand-sewn into the middle. One week it would be different puppies and the next week would be different colored flowers.

There was a window in the nook. Sitting at the table, you could peer outside into the backyard. You could see Grandma's 2 apple trees, her lilac bushes, and the old trampoline that had missing springs. It was so old that sometimes a spring would fly off while you jumped. It was scary! Grandma had a clothesline that she would use occasionally, even though she had a dryer. I think she just liked doing something that she used to do, something classic like hanging your clothes outside and letting them air dry. It took some getting used to, living in the house that Mom grew up in, playing in the yard that she had played in. I used to walk in Grandma's garden a lot. She had her own flower garden right next to the vegetables. Though her flower garden was organized, it looked wild, like something out of a prairie. The flowers looked like they would be the ones Willoughby picked for Marianne in Sense and Sensibility. It was romantic, like a place I would lay in to read books. There were Monarch butterflies everywhere and it smelled delicious.

I learned how to mow. I was thankful that Grandpa didn't make me drive a tractor; I was terrified from the stories Mom had told us. He had several lawn mowers that refused to start. It was somewhat embarrassing having to constantly yank the lawn mower while people drove by. So, you learned to not let go of the bar that kept the mower running, even if your hands were sore and you wanted a break. No breaks! I learned to not wear my best tennis shoes while mowing. I learned that rushing the mower showed. And, I learned that the one, small streak of grass that I missed would be noticed.

Grandma and Grandpa's cellar was basically a dark dungeon of death. The triple D! Every now and then, Grandma would have me open the kitchen door to grab something off of the cellar steps. Usually it was a jar of green beans. I would grab it as fast as I could and slam the door behind me, scared that something might happen to me while on the dark stairs. One day, I was feeling adventurous. I convinced Sarah to explore with me. So, we slowly crept down the stairs, extremely aware of the ascending cold and darkness that overwhelmed us. Once we reached the bottom step, we walked into a more open and naturally lit room. There were windows on one of the walls. There were shelves of jars everywhere. As we started to sigh relief, we noticed something that looked like bones on the ground. We stepped closer, eyes wide, grasping each other. I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, we both screamed. It was a small skeleton! We ran upstairs as fast as we could, scared that something might grab us at any moment. We told our grandparents about what we found, and, despite our fierce warning, Grandpa went downstairs to see what we were talking about. Thankfully, he came back alive! He explained that it's the skeleton of a rabbit that snuck in through one of the outside entrances to the cellar. Without food and water, it died down there. Even though I believed him, I never went down there again.

Mom was there as often as she could be. She was busy. It was a hard adjustment, not having her home. But, our days were filled with school, chores, and fun at the dinner table. I got used to quick spurts of time with Mom. She'd come and eat dinner with us. She'd see us occasionally after school for a couple of minutes. She'd kiss us goodnight, waking us up to do so if we were already asleep. Grandma and Grandpa started bringing us to a buffet every Friday. It was a fun outing and it meant that Grandma got a break from cooking. Sometimes, Mom would eat with us. I loved it when she would.

When we first came to Grandma and Grandpa's house, we were broken. Our parents had just gone through a messy separation and divorce. We were confused and we were scared. We had never left the state of Utah before and we didn't want to leave. It felt odd to not have my dad or my brother, JD, with us. It was just the three girls and Mom in Minnesota. It was still a fresh feeling, having one parent instead of two. We weren't used to spending time with Grandma and Grandpa. We saw them sometimes on holidays, but we never spent time with only them. The holidays were filled with my aunts and uncles and cousins. And here, I was going to be spending every day with just Grandma and Grandpa.