Important Papers

my mother has recently decided to go through a few boxes of papers. Files of “Important Papers” that have been sitting in their designated stack next to however many other stacks of “important papers” are being sorted through, and for the most part, ceremoniously disposed of. “whats the point of keeping this if i never look in the right place to find it anyway?”

so now, we have a few bags full of shredded paper, a recycle bin full of other papers slightly less secure, and a quarter of our kitchen floor is a few pages deep in the really important stuff. the folder from when my parents bought their first house in bakersfield, with all the stuff from when they ordered furniture from my grandpa. a phone list from “the young marrieds group”, most of whom i recognized and we’re still friends with. A whole lot of curriculum for various things, because apparently, before the whole internet phenomenon, you had to keep a copy of anything you found that you would want to use again ever.

I also received my fair share of parenting tips, through a variety of handouts and photocopied clippings that my mom had picked up throughout the years. I think I’ll do alright as a parent, whenever that day may be (not any time soon, lol). Working in the kindergarten class, and then babysitting for a two-year-old and her 10 month old brother has kinda made me kid hungry as of late. or maybe just kid appreciating.

Aside from the various drawings and stampings that had my name attached, and other than the growth chart from when i was a baby (I was one big baby, topside of the curve for the first 18 months), the most personal “important papers” i’ve seen all day have been things that my grandmother has written.

First I read an article she wrote about our good friend Marsha, who, although blind, can apparently play softball quite well, and also learned to folk dance from my grandmother, who the article goes on to explain, learned a great deal on articulating exact directions for Marsha. My grandma Lola’s writing style is so warming to read. She’s very exact and often puts notes in parentheses to better explain exactly what it was she meant (or explain extenuating circumstances). She also had a huge vocabulary.

The best thing I read today though, was written single spaced on orange paper and was about 4 pages long. It was my grandma Lola telling the life story of her beloved eduardo (my poppa ed). Their life together (mostly before they had kids) was one huge adventure over another. She was best friends with his sister Lucille, and they spent their early adulthood going from college to college teaching PE together, and apparently working at donut stores. Ed Owensby was in the army during World War II as a radio technician, staying in the states going from airfield to airfield. He would come visit his sister when he could, and started dating my grandma too.

Its so funny to read about them necking in hollywood bowl during Brahms. actually quite hillarious.

They dated for a really long time, whenever they could. After WWII ended, my grandpa took advantage of the GI Bill and was an academic loafer, studying in New Mexico, and then Mexico City. It was in Mexico City that they eventually got married, but even after that, my grandma came back to the states to teach and migrate with Lucille. It was like 2 years before they could figure out a way to live in the same city at the same time. Then they spent a few years in Europe together. Paris for the longest part, but they took trips all over together.

Throughout my gramma’s narrative, she inserts little excerpts from his letters to her. My mom says that one of the things that my grandma did after papa ed died was that she spent months transcribing all the letters that he had sent her. I’m kind of curious now, and I really want to read them.

I really kinda wish I hadn’t spent my whole life petrified by my grandma Lola. I know living a vagabond gypsy life has a tendency to be very fickle, and I know they had money shortages when older, but i want to know that “pepper” that my papa ed (whom i only vaguely remember in his pre-dementia stages, but according to my mother didn’t talk too much about the past any way) wrote so highly of.

Its funny, I think I really am a huge product of my four grandparents, even more than I am a product of my parents. Maybe a whole bunch of characteristics skipped a generation, but its more likely that my parents were like that too when they were younger, and have since gotten older and therefore more parental in my eyes.

I want a story like my grandmas. I want to adventure and do crazy things and travel and write letters and hope and dream. I want my boy to be a man and i want us to thrive in anything and everything, together and apart.