Grumpa Joe's Place

Outside my office window, the snowflakes fall ever so gently, continuing to accumulate. My mind wanders back to the 1980’s when I sat with my children looking out at a similar scene. The temperature was a bone-chilling eighteen degrees Fahrenheit, and dropping. The coming night promised to put us into a deep freeze. The garden scenery was as pure and white as freshly laundered linen. Hey kids, “lets get dressed and go outside to build a snowman.”

“Put on your boots and snow suits,” their mother exclaimed. The three of them began digging for their snow gear. “I’ll race you,” said Steven, the oldest.”

“Mom, I need you to help me. Steve and Jacque are ahead of me.”

“That isn’t fair, Mom. Said Steve. “You are helping him just because he is little.”

“Get over it, Steve. He is only three, and he doesn’t even know what a snow suit is.” Despite Mom’s help, Mike came in dead last. She had to shake him into his sister’s old snow suit, and as chubby as he was, it was a tight fit, with the zipper a struggle to close. His older brother and sister stood laughing as they watched Mom shaking him into the slightly undersized suit. The boots were another challenge, but Mike was able to pull them on by himself. Dad was the clear winner, since he jumped into a snowmobile suit that fit him loosely. He helped the three of them finish getting dressed. Mom would dress after them and join in the fun later.

“Hey, kids, I have a better idea: let’s use the toboggan.”

I pulled the toboggan off the ceiling hooks and dropped it into the snow at the front of the garage. “Steve, you sit in front, and Mike, you get on behind Steve, and Jacque, you are the caboose.”

“Aww, I want to be first,” squealed Mike. As always, he felt the need to compete with his older brother. “Jacque, please make sure Mike does not fall off.”
“I got him, Dad, don’t worry.” As always, she assumed care for her baby brother. She often climbed into his playpen and held his bottle for him so he could concentrate on sucking the formula down.

“I’ll tow you to get started down the driveway and give the rope to Steve.” The driveway was a long, curving slope that flattened slightly at the street and continued across and down into Dover Circle, where it ended in Fleckenstein’s driveway. “Ready, here we go.” I pulled them as hard and as fast as I could for about 10 feet, then handed the tow rope to Steve. Whee! They all shouted as they picked up speed and raced to the end of Dover Circle. The whole trip lasted less than a minute, but the kids loved it.

Mom joined us just as they coasted to a stop.

At the top again, I pulled rank and sat in the driver’s position, and insisted that Mike sit between my legs in front, while Barb sat behind me. Steve pushed us to get off to a good start. As we crossed Aberdeen Road into Dover Circle, the toboggan veered sideways, and we flipped over into the culvert and rolled to a stop. We couldn’t stop laughing as we got up from the snow and began brushing furiously. “Let’s do that again,” said Mike. I helped Barb up and asked if she was okay. “I’m fine,” she said. “But you can use some lessons in driving.”

We left the toboggan to the kids while Barb and I began rolling a snowball into a snowman. Eventually, the kids got tired of dragging the sled up the hill and joined us to make their own snowmen on the front lawn.

Memories like this are great, and I am amazed that this 54-year-old flashback is still as vivid as if it were yesterday. At the same time, these memories beset me with melancholy because Barb has been gone for twenty-three years, and our daughter Jacque for 12 weeks.

Filed under: Aging, family, grief | Tagged: Tobogganing | 1 Comment »