Eleanor Speltz ~ In Loving Memory

That contagious smile.
She had pretty much the haircut from about 1950 on ~
but the glasses give away the decade, don't they? 

My favorite aunt died Thursday. My apologies to all the other cousins, I loved your moms, too ~ but there was always something special about Eleanor. She had four boys and no girls, maybe that was part of the charm, my other aunts had their own daughters, so I didn't feel special. I don't think that's all of it though, Eleanor was, at core, a joyous person. She was the woman who introduced the family to the group hug. That is brave behavior for short person.

Eleanor was never a halfway kind of person. She never sat quietly on the sidelines, like so many Midwesterners. She dove all in. If something interested her, she never worried about looking foolish. One of my earliest memories of Eleanor involves a walk along Minnehaha Creek. There was whirlpool in the creek and she explained how nice it was to sit there ~ and demonstrated by sitting in middle of the whirlpool, fully clothed. I honestly can't picture any other adult I knew doing that. It did feel wonderful, by the way.

From the Minneapolis Tribune, the caption
 reads, "Mrs. Vern A. Speltz, 4544 Columbus Av.
.and her son, John, 4 , ate popcorn and dangled
 their feet in Lake Harriet Wednesday night
as they listened to the last concerto the season
 in the lake bandstand. The season ended in a
 blaze of brass, with the Hall Brothers New
 Orleans Jazz Band, shown on stage in
 the background."

One evening at a restaurant, someone noticed a man standing nearby, his back to us. Discussion ensued, it looked like Dave Moore (the biggest news anchor in Minnesota). Could it be? No, it couldn't. Maybe? Eleanor settled it. She tugged on his jacket firmly enough to get him to turn around; then sat there looking innocent. It was Dave Moore, by the way ~ that may have been my first brush with fame.

When our families camped together, everyone in the campground knew ~ and worried about those crazy people over there by the river. And it was all Aunt Eleanor's fault. You see, she found a card game called Pit. If you've ever played, you know why everybody knew we were there. Pit involves yelling, as the game goes on, people tend yell progressively louder to be heard over the next guy ~ it was a blast!

For many years, she worked at the Minneapolis Musician's Union. A nifty little perk of that job was knowing all the good local musicians, and where they were performing for free. She always knew where we could see a good concert in the park and the Speltz & Yaeger families saw a lot of live performances. All those free shows meant I grew up appreciating a wider spectrum of music than a lot of my friends ~ and therefore raised my own children with more than one or two genres of music.

Both of our Eleanors

It was Eleanor who always did her big sister Ada's hair for dates. El was 15 when Ada got married and she was really put out that Ada hired a professional to do her hair for the wedding. In the end, Ade didn't like the professional's do and had Eleanor redo it. When Ada had a little girl a few year later, she named her Eleanor ~ it's kind of surprising there aren't more Eleanors in the family.

Tiny Chicken
Farmer

She showed me childhood pictures of herself, my dad and their sisters  this was recent, she was her eighties. In the background of several pictures an odd structure, like a flimsy kennel, was visible. I asked what it was and this sweet, gentle, little old lady snapped, "Those damn chickens!!" That's how I learned they grew up with a chicken coop in the yard, three-quarters of a century later, she was still mortified by the memory of having chickens in their yard. Grandpa's thick German accent was apparently another source of humiliation ~ I'd never heard Dad or the aunts mention that before. It's nice to know that when I embarrass my children, it's just family tradition.

Biking on the old Luce Line

It was Eleanor who learned about the railroad tracks being removed from the old Luce Line route to become a bike trail. She's in back with the camera, so unfortunately you can't see her, but she got this crowd off our duffs and out riding the new trail. It was, briefly, an annual event. Personally, I'm still a bit traumatized about the first year, before the railroad trestle was replaced with a wooden bridge ~ that trestle scared the living daylights out of me. I admit it, I've never been as brave as my aunt.

With Aunt Eleanor around, we did things outside ~ and sampled history before it became history. Along Highway 100 in Minnesota, there used to be picnic areas (the one at Hwy 81 on the Southwest corner is still there) complete with beehive shaped grills. Yes, we cooked out there. Anyplace with a table merited a festive picnic. When my kids were young,we had a picnic in the gazebo at her apartment ~ the kids were thoroughly impressed ~ especially because she made her own chicken strips. She believed in finger foods for children.

Flaunting that joie de vivre at Waikiki

Eleanor was one of those people who always seemed to arrive with something fun. Her idea of a hostess gift was something playful ~ a dollar store find, a bag of balloons, a bottle of bubbles. El was never stuffy. She shared her joie de vivre with more than just the family. for years she volunteered with the Blind Society. After Uncle Vern died, that didn't keep her busy enough. She joined St Leonard of Port Maurice, where she became a pillar of the parish ~and she loved that parish. She was a Eucharistic Minister who, in addition to Sunday Masses, also brought the Eucharist to parishioners who were in the hospital. She helped at Loaves & Fishes. She became one of the church cleaning crew. She helped with lunches and was one the group responsible for the creation of the world-famous (in the parish, anyway) Sunday brunches.

The world has lost one of the great ones. It will never be the same without her. But it is a better place because she was in it. And, while we weep for missing her ~ she isn't in pain any more. We know she's in heaven with the love of her life, and that makes our loss easier.

Don't you just know they're grinning like that right now?

Please, add your memories in the comments section. I know everyone who met her knows something about her that we'd all enjoy.

Diamond Anniversary: Romance & Reality

Today, my parents celebrate their diamond anniversary (that's 60 years, folks). That is a very long time. They have been married through eleven presidents, seven popes, and far more important to them: two kids, five grandkids and nineteen homes.

They are very much of The Greatest Generation. They were born & raised in Minnesota and grew up during the Depression. Dad joined the Marines in September of 1941, finishing Boot Camp in time for Pearl Harbor. He spent most of the war in California and North Carolina ~ the year-and-a-half in Samoa he downplays. He wanted to be a fighter pilot, instead he maintained runways. He says he's not really war vet because he never saw combat. I disagree, he was in easy roundtrip distance of the Japanese base in Kiribati and it is a reasonable assumption that American pilots (and their postwar progeny) consider him a vet and appreciate his service. Mom spent the war in a small farm town and probably suffered as much privation as Dad. She didn't have to worry about being bombed, but she had no luxuries like indoor plumbing.

Ruth & Frank's wedding day.

Mom graduated on D-Day and promptly moved to Minneapolis. Dad was discharged and went to LA to drive streetcars. A few years later, Dad moved back to Minneapolis and attended the University of Minnesota. About the same time, Mom moved to San Francisco. Towards the end of the Korean War, Dad joined the Navy. Home on leave, he met a girl at a party who suggested he look her up if was ever in Frisco. Then the Navy sent him around the world.

Come spring, his ship returned to the US and stopped for a week in San Francisco. Finally, they were in the same city at the same time. Frank called the girl, who had started dating someone in the meantime. The girl convinced her roommate to show the sailor around town. At last, Frank met Ruth. They began dating. Ruth moved back to Minneapolis and the Navy sent Frank to DC. Romance progressed quickly, they met in late spring and by September, Frank called Ruth to propose. They married in December and headed to Washington and their first home together.

In time, they lived in Virginia, Florida, Maine, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Arizona, Illinois & Minnesota. They drove up and down the Eastern Seaboard more times than they could count. Their first child was born while Dad was thousands of miles away. Mom battled cancer. Dad finished his stint in the Navy and enlisted in the Coast Guard. Suddenly, they were living together more than they were apart. Dad kept getting transferred; Mom kept packing & unpacking the household. But now, for the first time, they could be together for extended periods.

In Hawaii, after their twentieth anniversary.

They moved. And moved. Adopted a child. Bought a house. Got transferred. Moved again. Then Dad retired from the Coast Guard and they moved to Minnesota. And never moved again. (Kidding ~ eight homes after the military.) They bought a house and settled down. They got jobs and raised their kids. They joined the American Legion and the VFW. They studied ballroom dancing. We travelled on vacations. None of my friends did that. But the peripatetic years had left their mark, my parents wouldn't settle for the same four walls day after day.

In Canada, about twenty years ago.

They've never stood still. In their fifties, they joined a hiking club, an RV club and ~ to the extreme horror of their adolescent daughter ~ took up square dancing. They took vacations without the kids (also something no one else did in the early eighties). For over twenty years they wintered in Arizona.  And they kept traveling. A year-and-a-half ago, we went to South Carolina for my uncle's birthday. This past summer, it was the South Dakota border for a 70th high school reunion. They don't travel alone anymore, but they still get out and do things.

Between them, there have been four cancers, a pacemaker, a permanent catheter and several other medical delights. The morning Mom got her pacemaker, Dad poured her a cup of coffee before remembering she was in the hospital. Mom gets him to all his doctor's appointments. Every time he is hospitalized with another infection, she worries that this is the last time.

Some days, they just plug along ~ others, they revel in. This year, Dad saved his Bingo winnings so Mom wouldn't know he was buying anything and had me pick up a bracelet for her birthday. He's 93 and still sweet on her. She's 88 and still happy to be his wife.

They've cleaned dirty diapers & dog poo. They've danced & seen the country. They go to church together every week. They still like to go out to dinner together. They (usually) have tremendous patience with each other and the curve balls life throws. They don't dance anymore, but they still enjoy music. They are adorable together. They have fun and laugh with each other, sometimes at each other. Through them, I've learned the importance of taking marriage seriously, but not taking myself too seriously.

Last year, at brunch. My flash was too slow, I missed the kiss.

Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!