 Mini water gun like the one I had. Hasbro, picture from Walmart site. Brrrrrr. Frigid Below-zero wind seeped through the cracks of the college beater car my boyfriend was driving along toward Northern Maine. I was, in my early 20s, in the early 90s, raised in Minneapolis, on classical music and math game challenges around a smooth walnut-wood table from Sweden after formal-style meals. Headed to his hometown of 62 people in the woods. He had described it with a goofy sparkle in his eye many times. I enjoyed nature, through parks, walks, and camps. He had grown up practically IN the outdoors - harvesting potatoes, building log cabins to help his grandad earn deer-meat for supper, relying on the garden for fresh vegetables. “Folk music, in French!? Is that all the music we can find up here?” I joked. “Yep!” he chuckled, turning the radio dial, “fuzz fuzz…”Shay bitta lu la…”. “Do you understand it?” “Pretty much. The nuns beat our kind of French (Quebec-qua) out of us at school, but I still understand. My Mom, Dad, and grandparents speak it”. How interesting, I thought. We arrived in the dark and tip-toed in. His Mom and Dad jumped up to greet us. They were each at most 5 feet tall with big smiles even in the middle of the night. The next morning, they told proudly of their culture. It’s Acadian up there. Mix of Eastern Canada (Nova Skotia, Anne of Green Gables), winter survival, and lots of family stories. That evening, Ham, beans, turnips, salted scallions, red hot dogs, filled the well-worn Formica dinner table. All made with love by Mom. I watched her operate, I saw that she had energy. She told stories of growing up with 10 siblings in a 2-bedroom house with no indoor plumbing. She had mastered making quote-unquote nothing into EVERYTHING SPECIAL. It’s like she could make a penny feel like a million bucks. Growing up in Minnesota, “niceness” and small talk were the norm. “How’s the weather” was the big opening line and in our household we had a lot of rules about manners. On the second night there, I could see the main thing here was plain old being together. I was vegetarian at the time. At our second meal, his Dad blurted, “Hey eat some meat! Is something wrong?!Are you OK??” “No way, not me, you can’t make me,” I blurted back. You would think this would make for a tense, it would have at my childhood meals. But here, everyone laughed. Goofiness was part of the package. I happened to have a miniature water pistol on my keychain at the time. (Not sure what possessed me to use it, but I could not resist). Here’s the scene: After mowing the lawn and loading wood into the cellar with Mom, Dad was dozing on the 80s era brown stagecoach patterned sofa [arms behind head like napping, with snoring sound here]. I tip-toed to the sink and filled up my pistol. Tee hee hee. Squirt squirt squirt. I squirted it right on his rugged bald head, then stepped back like nothing happened. He just opened one eye, turned, and chuckled. The next morning, I met my boyfriend’s grandmother. It took just a one-mile walk up the only road in town to get to her old blue wood-paneled 2-bedroom house. Tidy as could be. She sat in the living room and talked about her children, grandchildren, and beyond. Positive energy emanated from her body, despite a fragile appearance. While everyone else was chatting in the kitchen area, I sat quietly with Grandmeme (pronounced Grand Mem May) in the living room space. I dared to lean in to whisper my curious questions, “How did you have 11 kids, how did you do it ?” Raising her thin vein-decorated hand, she slapped it down on her knee, smiled and leaned in too. “Well…you see……we did not have TV back then…" And she laughed, a look of delightful memories in her smile. Her main thing was love. It was like she had packets of love in her pockets and she was craving to send you home with one. I kept seeing this hard-working-knee-slappin’ spirit at every turn. How could you not feel at home with this family? After visiting we returned and had leftovers for lunch. The at-homeness I felt there prompted me to take a nap on the cozy couch. Ahhhh, peace. BRRRR!!!! – What was that!? Zap zoop yikes! freezing cold water! I shot up and there he was, my boyfriend’s Dad pointing a REAL-LIFE SIZE WATER PISTOL at me! HE GOT ME BACK! Yes, right on the back of my neck! Ouch, cold! It turns out my boyfriend’s Dad kept a water pistol in the fridge to ward off critters. Oh my, what a moment. We all laughed so hard we almost peed our pants. Phew! After we caught our breath another homemade dinner was launched. The evening was capped off with some chill TV time: Die Hard (our choice) and Country Music videos (his Mom and Dad’s choice). My boyfriend was so relaxed with this simple evening. The main thing to him was getting to see his folks happy. The next morning it was time to head back. I was seat-belted in for the 10-hour drive back to our college town, curled up in a hand-quilted blanket his Mom insisted I accept for my apartment. Ahhhhhhh, cozy. I began pondering and sifting over the visit. Well rehashing really--was I TOO much, would they ever have me back? (I was an insecure young lady for various reasons, but that’s a chat for another day). Anyhow, during our first stop to fill up on gas and bitter coffee, my boyfriend teased, “Hey….do you know what my Dad said? “Uhhhhh, oookaaay?” I whimpered, bracing myself. “…Well…he pulled me aside just now…” “Ya…and…?” “Well, you really wanna know?” “Just tell me!!!” (Arrrgh)…. He said: “She’s a KEEPER”. I thought for sure he was going to say “you better be careful” but his Dad liked me! Wow! Really? Thankfully, I felt like my boyfriend’s folks were Keepers too. And the main thing is, we all stuck together. It’s been 30 years since I married that man. The main thing is still togetherness and love to keep each other going. | ___Says it better than I can. |
