Her husband, my grandpa died when I was three, so I don't remember him.
One week of our month-long Virginia trip was carved out for visiting grandma Bertha. We would drive the 9-10 hours up the East coast in our rented car, that always smooshed us three kids into the not-large-enough back seat. There would inevitably be crying, yelling and complaining.
We would stay at grandma's house, which was the house my dad grew up in: the top floor of a four unit apartment building. It was a small house, with nothing updated. Two bedrooms, one bathroom (that only had a tub, no shower). There was an attic upstairs, which my dad made his bedroom at some point in his youth. There was also a half bath up there. It had a hot tap, and a cold tap, which means you either burn or freeze your hands. There was one tv, and it was one of those old ones that are furniture, and when you shut it off the picture faded to a tiny dot, which would disappear after a bit. (I'm sure that effect has a name, but I don't know it). The couch was covered in plastic, there was no A/C which meant the house was usually stiflingly hot.
When we were small (or maybe every time we were there, I can't remember), Jessica, Rebecca and I would all sleep on the sofa bed hidden in the plastic-covered couch. I think my mom slept in the second bedroom (it had a twin bed with a mattress that was probably 40 years old), and my dad slept in the attic, though, I don't know how, the attic was so hot.
In the living room there was a curio cabinet with all sorts of little knick-knacks. Jessica and I always would get them out and look at them. (Even now, I can almost remember the smell of the inside of the cabinet). There was also a rotary phone, which I thought was pretty cool. The second bedroom was aunt Rosalie's childhood room. A lot of her teenage things were still there. Love beads, and other jewelry, and this musky cologne that I always loved smelling.
And despite being hot, the attic was the best place in the house, at least in my young mind. It was kind of a doorway to the past. My dad's childhood preserved in one space. There was a nook with his bed, in it old posters about space. The other nook had mirrors on the two opposite sides (and windows on the other) so you could look at your reflection into infinity. All of my dad's old stuff was up there: erector set, and really old mister potato head, various chemistry experiment-y things (including a small dish of mercury), his information from returning home from Peace Corp (complete with awesome picture), and a big bag of wheat pennies, among other things.
I go into so much detail about the house, because that is the extent of most of my memories of her. When we would come to visit she didn't really acknowledge us. She wasn't at all huggy kissy, or affectionate in anyway. She was mostly housebound (then later completely housebound). Into the later years of our visits I think she had dementia.
There were always things I looked forward when we went there. There was a mini-mart at the end of the block, so we'd walk there for snacks. We would visit the museum ever year, it was natural history, and art. We would go to the lake, which one of two places I've ever seen a seesaw in real life (the other was also there in Pittsfield somewhere, but I can't remember where. Maybe a park). We'd watch prime time tv as a family (which we rarely did at home (because we had other tvs)).
I remember a lot of the fun things, but mostly it was not fun. One year the house had a lot of fleas from grandma feeding the neighbour cats. One year Rebecca (or maybe all of us) had lice. It was always hot, and there wasn't a lot to do.
I feel bad that I didn't try to get to know my grandma better. Ask her questions about the past and her life. But I think I was 10 (maybe a little older) when we stopped going to visit. So it wasn't anything that I really thought about then.
I guess #12 was really more about Massachusetts than my grandma, but in my head the two are intertwined.
Baby Rebecca, aunt Rosalie, Grandma Bertha.
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