Letters with Z
My great grandma, Zelda, was very special to me. My dad always told me that I was exactly like her, although he was really just confirming what I already knew. The bond I shared with Grandma Z was unique, especially for two people born eighty years apart. We shared many of the same interests, which included sports, reading, and puzzles. She even bought a Nintendo so she could play “Duck Hunt” with me when I came to visit. Visits were frequent, yet scattered. During the winter months, we drove the hour southbound to see her regularly, but during the summer I only saw her on the Fourth of July when I finally had a break from softball, swimming, and our family vacations to our lake house. My mom suggested one day that Grandma Z would probably love to hear from me, but as I walked to the phone to give her a call my mom stopped me. She suggested that instead of calling, I should write Grandma Z a letter. To this day I am unsure whether she suggested this due to not wanting to pay for a long distance phone call that would surely last over an hour between us blabbermouths, or because she wanted me to practice my writing, but nonetheless it was this idea that jumpstarted my journey of finally knowing my Grandma Z on a deeper level.
We began exchanging letters every week. I told her things about me as if she was my best friend, rather than my ninety year old great grandmother. In the beginning, my letters to her served more as a diary than an actual interaction with another person. I talked all about myself, but I never asked her any questions about her life. That is until my dad told me on July 13 that it was the anniversary of my great grandpa, Elmer’s, death. I never knew much about Grandma Z’s husband besides that he contracted polio at the age of 13 and that he died before I was born. I decided on that day to write Grandma Z a letter asking about her life with Elmer. That letter sprouted many more, and I began to learn a great deal about her previous experiences and accomplishments.
I can picture in my memory her beautiful cursive that looked like writing from the 1930s. Of course that is exactly what it was. Nineteen hundred and thirty was the year that Zelda left her family’s trailer with no plumbing or even electricity and became a teacher. She taught in a one room school house in southern Iowa without so much as a high school education herself. During the hard times of the depression she supported herself with the scraps that this teaching job provided and relied on occasions when a generous student would bring her food from his or her farm. To me, these do not sound like good times but surprisingly, her letters of this “adventure” as she called it were written with an emotion that I now recognize as fondness. She was thankful for those times as a schoolteacher. Her teaching days ended when she met Elmer Geis.
She married him soon after they met. In the letter she told me that it was a “battle to the alter because of that damned other woman.” She quickly explained that the “other woman” was Elmer’s mother. She hated Grandma Z and her “trailered” past. After explaining some of the struggles between herself and her mother in law, Grandma Z took a long break from telling me of any events from her past. Everything between us returned to be much as it was before the letters began. With every letter I kept wishing that I would learn more about her, but she only asked me how I was “getting along” and talked about what she had done that week. As usual each of her letters ended with the phrase, “I love you heaps,” but the content was quite bland. The next time I went to visit her I told her I wanted more stories. She said she did not feel like talking about the really old times when she was young, but that next time she writes she would love to tell me about her favorite decade… the sixties.
The 1960s brought her grandchildren. Five of them and they all lived just three houses down. She would make a big brunch for them every Sunday. At least it began as Sunday meals with the grandchildren but soon each grandchild invited a friend, and another friend and another. Eventually the parents of the children joined and my great grandmother was feeding fifty people every Sunday. She made everything from fried chicken and mashed potatoes to French toast and sausage. Once the seventies came and my dad started dating my mom, she began attending Grandma Z’s brunch with her parents and five siblings. After reading this story I started to think that I understood what my dad meant when he said that his grandmother was the heart and soul of their town, but I eventually found out that her meals were only the tip of the iceberg in regards to her civic contributions.
Grandma Zelda opened a store in her town which accepted donations of food from families and business in the area and the non-profit store would sell the food for very low prices to families in need. There were many farms in the surrounding area that made very generous donations to this store and there were many families who were very thankful for Zelda’s pioneering ideas and execution. She was a woman with incredible compassion and generosity. She said that her passion for community service was a result of her poverty ridden past, but I don’t believe that. Grandma Z wasn’t caring because she had a hard life, it was because she couldn’t help but love. She loved everyone and everything with every inch of her tall, lanky body. I have reread these letters quite a few times as an adult, and I can see now that Grandma Z taught me to love with no reservations. She loved strolling in the sunshine, running in the rain, and rolling in the snow. She was a ninety year old woman who found enjoyment in all the small things which makes me wonder why as a twenty year old, I can’t love everyday like she did. Because of her, I try to be happy everyday and love every second with my family and friends. I have heard many people say before that with appreciation of every day and everyone brings a happy life, but Grandma Z is the only person I know who did not need to say it because she showed it.
With her appreciation came passion and determination. When I was twelve years old Grandma Z and I went walking down Main Street of the town where she raised her family and in which she still resided. She pointed out where the old jewelry store she owned once stood. It was transformed into a lawyer’s office. She was very proud to tell me of her memories of owning her own store and the happiness she felt when a young man would come in to purchase an engagement ring. I could listen to her jewelry store stories all day even though I had heard many of them already. I was anxious to hear another one as we strolled past the beautiful brick building on that overcast fall day, but instead we walked in silence. Two days later I received a letter and Grandma Z told me how she saved downtown.
In the mid nineteen seventies City Hall decided to tear down the all of the old, historic railroad buildings that were no longer in use. During this construction they would completely “update” all of downtown. Grandma Z did not see it as an update, but as an abomination to the town’s character and history. She tried first to talk to the city council, but they would not consider stopping the project, so she went to the mayor and petitioned for a three month delay on the project. Because Zelda was already a known and respected woman in town she was granted this last ditch effort to convince the citizens to “save the town.” With enormous help from her family and friends, Zelda created a railroad tour. “Heaps and heaps of people” visited Zelda’s tour where they learned about the important role Creston played in the transport of goods across the country and of all of the significant people to come through town because of the railroads. In three months time, all of the people who went on Grandma Z’s tour grew to love the old brick buildings and the beat down railroad tracks. The proposition to tear down the old buildings went to another vote and was denied.
This story embodies all that Zelda was a citizen and as a woman. She was determined and passionate. These are two qualities that I admire her most for. Looking up to her for these attributes definitely shaped me as I made my way through high school. I was a determined writer in school, a passionate runner and basketball player, and a diligent worker at my job. Although I did not think of these letters every day, I carried with me these valuable messages.
I am very thankful for my close relationship with Zelda, but I find myself frequently wishing for more visits and most of all, more letters. I want to ask her why she always sent me her stories in letters instead of orally when I visited. At first I thought she wanted the stories to be preserved in writing so that I could share them with my own children someday. But, although I see Zelda as an incredible role model, I know she never thought of herself in that way. She saw herself as just an ordinary woman from Iowa. I have to believe instead that she knew that I would be sitting here eight years after her funeral wishing for more of her. So in addition to pictures and memories, I have letters.
Since my relationship with Zelda I have grown to really love letters. For example, I send letters home to my parents instead of e-mails and I write letters to my boyfriend on special occasions and holidays rather than buying him cards. I was very pleased when I learned I would receive a writing partner from West High School. I did not expect for the high school student to be as invested in the relationship as I would surely be, but that was a very inaccurate assumption. My writing partner was absolutely wonderful. He originally told me he did not like to read or write, and that he was just buying time in high school until he could join the Marine Corps, but he sent me these incredible letters. I learned about his family and his childhood. He told me about his hard losses and personal family situations. He trusted me completely and wanted to tell me his story. I found myself responding to his letters with a flood of questions and condolences. I also included some very personal issues that I dealt with in my past which I did not expect to do with this assignment, but it just felt appropriate. He shared so much with me I wanted to show my appreciation and that I trusted him with my experiences as much as he trusted me. If I did not have my past experience with my letters to Zelda I do not think I would have reached out to this student in the same way. The form was so familiar and comfortable for me that I know I was a more helpful partner than I would have been if we had communicated in a different way for this project.
The letters Grandma Z and I exchanged will always be my most potent memory of writing. They changed my perspective of the world and helped me to mature and be appreciative for each day. It seems slightly selfish and maybe even a little childish to wish for more time with someone who lived to be ninety-three years old, but reading her letters makes me miss her very much. My mom thinks I should write her one last letter to place on her grave so that I can tell her everything that I was not able to when I was twelve years old. Once again, I may take my mother’s advice and send Grandma Z a letter.
Commentary
This memoir began when I was prompted to recall one memorable writing experience from each year of school. I thought of a short essay about kangaroos from fourth grade and learning cursive in fifth grade, and my Winnie the Pooh diary from second grade. But although those writing experiences are still memorable for some reason all these years later, their meanings are miniscule compared to when my mom told me to write my great grandmother a letter in third grade. I knew that this had to be the topic for this memoir assignment. I scribbled down a long paragraph during class explaining my relationship with Grandma Z.
During the next week I typed up a little over a page. The first paragraph of this draft is very similar to the first paragraph in this final draft. In the second paragraph I quickly mentioned many of my favorite stories, but I did not explain them. I used a chunk of this paragraph for my conclusion in my final draft. This draft was the first draft that I shared with my writing group during class. Keeley suggested that I cut out the second paragraph of this draft and instead use it more as an outline for the rest of the paper. I loved this suggestion! When I worked on my memoir the rest of the week I used my second paragraph as an outline and then had about three pages typed up for the next class. I was disappointed when we did not have time for writing circles during class that week, but I asked my friend, Lily, who is in the writing program to read my memoir. She had a lot to say. She helped me reorganize and focus my essay. I had so much I wanted to share about Grandma Z that the entire essay consisted of me sharing random stories about her and I did not connect it back to a central point.
I was only somewhat pleased with my next draft. I added just a few thoughts about what these letters meant to me and why I am writing about them all these years later. Lily prompted me to think about exactly how I will end up connecting the memoir back to me and my writing, but I had not really executed any worthwhile organization yet. Although I was making progress, I was very nervous about how the memoir would turn out. I did not feel as if my paragraphs about my great grandmother transitioned well into my personal revelations that came about as a result of these letters.
That weekend I visited my parents in Des Moines. I told my mom about the portfolio assignment for this class and I asked her if she had any of my old writings from elementary and high school. Of course I should have known that my mom kept absolutely everything. I dug through piles of old school stuff to put in my portfolio and as I was searching, my mom brought to my bedroom as large pink box. Inside were all of the letters I ever received from Grandma Z. I loved reading all the letters again. I had not seen them in years, but they made me almost dread finishing this memoir because I found myself missing her as much as I did on the day that I watched her coffin being lowered into the ground.
That Saturday night after reading the letters my mom told me all of her favorite memories with Zelda. She even told me more than Grandma Z did about saving downtown. My mom was a tour guide on Zelda’s three month project and explained to me all of the hard work Zelda really did put into preserving the town. My mom joked that she was not sure if Zelda wanted to save the old buildings as much as she just wanted to be in charge and boss people around for three months. In my family whenever someone is being bossy and stubborn we call them Grandma Z because she always had to have things done her way. I tried to include this slight fault in this essay somehow, but it must did not seem to fit no matter how I tried to include it. This memoir depicts her as such a saint I thought it would be nice to give an example of her at not her finest hour, but I just could not seem to work it in. Maybe this is because I hate to think of her as anything but perfect. Without her stubbornness, she would not have been as passionate, so I decided it was acceptable to not dwell on working it into the memoir.
After reading the letters at my parents’ house I did not write anything new for the next class. Instead I just asked my writing group how I should include myself more in the essay. They gave me so many good suggestions. They said I should think about why is it that she only told me these stories in letters and mention how the letter form is still important to me today. Then Dr. Sunstein stopped by our writing circle and noted how my familiarity with letters may have affected my writing partnership with the sophomore at West High School. After she said this I knew I needed to include in this memoir what the writing partnership meant to me. I wrote about my partnership at the end of the paper and I plan to e-mail him this memoir. He said he wants to continue the partnership and I think he would enjoy this memoir since he saw it from the jumbled beginning when it was only one page long. I think he will also be excited to see that he is the focus of a long paragraph in the essay. In this last week leading up to the due date I have trimmed the fat of my memoir and added the last two pages of the memoir. These pages basically explain what these letters mean to me today.
I have never spent this much time writing a single essay. I have actually never written more than two drafts of an essay before. Drawing out the process has been so beneficial. I loved having time to discuss the drafts with my writing group and especially returning home to read the letters again. My writing group was so helpful throughout this process I only wish that we would have had more time each class period to discuss our drafts. I am really looking forward to the read around tomorrow. This assignment left so much room for us to expand on ideas that I am sure everyone’s memoirs will be very diverse.
