Great Grandma Hubbard and "The Other One"

This post is dedicated to you guys.

It's almost 4:00 in the morning and I just got the call from Mom that Grandma had finally gone on to go see Grandpa, who passed away in '07. She'd been unresponsive for a few days, wasn't eating or drinking much, and had been told by family that it was ok to go. So it wasn't totally out of the blue. Grandma and Grandpa are no good apart, either, so I think it's better this way. She just turned 93. Pretty long life I'd say. If I can live to that age, and be that happy for that long, I wouldn't need to ask for much else.

Both my mom's parents died before I was born, so my dad's parents were the only grandparents I ever knew. And I could not have lucked out any more. Sometimes I think grandparents can be a little off, for one reason or another. But mine were right on; they were fantastic and wonderful in every way possible and they were all those things since as far back as I can remember.

Every summer since I was baby, my mom, dad, brother, and I would drive to Michigan to see Grandma and Grandpa. From Maryland to Michigan is about 11 or 12 hours on the road, and since Morgan and I were kids (and I think since Dad likes to go a little slow on the highway, though he might not admit it :) it always took us two days to get there. We'd do eight hours one day, stop and stay somewhere around Toledo for a night, and eight hours again the next day. Sometimes the car rides were fun, if I got to bring all my stuffed animals, and Morgan didn't bother me too much. But sometimes I wanted to strangle my brother and I'm sure Mom and Dad wanted to strangle both of us. All in the name of visiting Grandma and Grandpa. But it was absolutely worth it; every single time.

When Morgan and I were little, it was worth it because Grandma and Grandpa had a pool. I vividly remember finishing the long drive with a final pull into their driveway in Ludington, jumping out of the car, running inside to say hi to Grandma and Grandpa who were always seated in the same spots on the same couch with the same newspapers and the same CNN channel in the background, running to change into our bathing suits, and running to jump in the pool. There was no better feeling in the world at that age. We would swim until we looked like prunes, and then we'd swim some more. I remember the feeling of being in the pool, playing with Morgan and maybe the cousins if they had come, and knowing that Mom and Grandma were inside in the kitchen drinking wine coolers and cooking up something amazing for dinner. Sometimes it was fish that Grandpa had caught, and sometimes it was something else, but it normally always came with Michigan asparagus and at some point in the trip Mom usually used Michigan cherries to make a pie. Or Grandpa would make blueberry pancakes with Michigan blueberries. We'd eat till our bellies couldn't take any more, Morgan and I would head downstairs to watch Nick-@-Nite on the pink TV, and we'd pass out to "I Love Lucy" or "Bewitched" just to wake up and do it all over again the next day. What a life.

Some days we'd do other things around town, like go to the beach, or go shopping in Pentwater. There was a store in downtown Ludington (just a few streets mind you) called Fort Daul. When I was little I thought it was Fort Doll, because it was essentially a store made entirely for me and Morgan. There were gemstones and jewelry, dress-up clothes, figurines of every kind, stuffed animals, suction cup bow and arrows, Indian headdresses, and every toy pony under the sun. It was heaven. If there was a pool, Morgan and I would have lived there instead. Some days we'd walk out to the Ludington lighthouse on the pier, or go to the Big Sable lighthouse as well. Another favorite activity was taking Grandpa's little power boat out to the dunes on Hamlin Lake and park there for a while, so Morgan and I could spend the afternoon running up and down the giant sandy hills. I remember day trips to the state park, where sometimes we'd just enjoy the beach, and sometimes we'd go tubing down the stream. Sundays after church, especially when there was even more family in town, Grandpa would always take us to Scotty's for brunch, and though I think Mom got a little tired of the repetition, I enjoyed my eggs benedict every single time. Sometimes we were lucky enough to be in Ludville the same time as the summer craft fair, where I could get American Girl doll clothes and Mom could by Christmas presents. We'd spend the afternoon wandering and shopping for nothing and somehow always ended up buying tons of stuff. And at some point in the Michigan adventures we would always have to stop at the Park Dairy and get ice cream. Morgan and I always got Blue Moon or Superman, mainly because the colors were so outrageous, and Mom always got Mackinaw Island Fudge. It was perfect.

As Morgan and I got older it was less about the pool and Fort Daul and the sickeningly blue ice cream, and more about the people; namely Jessica and Jared, the neighbor kids next door. We'd spend just about every waking minute with them, either playing basketball outside, playing Mario-Kart in the basement, or playing cops and robbers at night till every inch of us was covered in mosquito bites. I remember taking Jess's ATV through the woods across the street, and the four of us playing in the dirt piles all day long. On quieter days we'd take walks through the Ludington cemetery across the street too, which, happily, is where Grandma will find Grandpa in their final resting place. When Katie, Jenny, and Mandy, the Gunberg cousins, would come into town from Grand Rapids or Grand Haven, the five of us grandkids would always get together to dream up some sort of show or performance thing for the adults. One year it was a skit about an elevator, one year it was a skit about a fly, and one year the entire basement was turned into a haunted house. I imagine these plays and skits were altogether ridiculous, having been devised and executed in just a few hours time by five crazy children, but the adults loved them anyways, and for that reason I suppose.

I remember the giant inflatable turtle and alligator that they had for the pool. I remember the smell of the asparagus waiting for me at dinner. I remember the terrifying sound of Grandma sneezing, and the sound that giant green wind chime in the stairwell would make when you blew on it. I remember the feel of the old wooden four-poster bed I slept in downstairs and the numerous autographed pictures of George Bush to Grandpa on the way down to the basement. I remember the taste of Cracklin' Oat Bran in the morning, which for some reason definitely tasted better in Michigan than it did in Maryland. I remember always seeing Grandpa eat half a head of cabbage and horrible cake-y raisin-y cookies for lunch. I remember Grandpa's tuneless whistling, every second of every day, and the way he continually pushed his elastic watch farther and farther up his arm, so that it eventually found it's home just above his elbow. I remember the little baskets of Grandma's lipstick in the bathroom, and the smell of the perfume she'd wear to church. I remember the house full of knick knacks and furniture and wall hangings from when they used to lived in South Korea, like that strange porcelain elephant that sat by the screen door to the pool, and that even stranger mural of weird asian bull-man hybrids with spears. I remember how disgustingly lime green the carpet in the living room was, but how I'd be pretty upset if it ever changed. And I remember wondering how on earth two people could watch CNN for so long, and not get bored.

So though Grandma and Grandpa might not have been the focus every single day of our Michigan trips, they were the reason for it all. Without them, I wouldn't have these unbelievable memories. I'm sure each of us grandkids has different memories that stand out the most about Grandma and Grandpa, but these are mine, and I will NEVER forget them.

I have Grandma and Grandpa to thank for so many things, but most importantly for the best family I could have ever asked for. They taught my dad, who in turn taught me, that home is not about the knick knacks or the carpet or the landscaping or the bedspreads and sheet sets. It's about the people: the family, the friends, and all the awesome love that goes around. And though those tactile memories sometimes are the most prominent ones, they wouldn't be there if it weren't for the people themselves. And as corny and cheesy as all this may sound, it's so unequivocally true, and even though it's taken me years to figure that out, I realize it now.

A number of years ago when my little cousin Becca (who is not so little any more) was 3 or 4 or something, she was in Michigan with the family, and since she's a generation down from me, Grandma and Grandpa were her great grandparents. I wish I knew the details of the entire story, but she ended up asking something about "great Grandma Hubbard, and um, the other one." Grandpa of course enjoyed this as much as everyone else and it became a long-standing joke among the Hubbard family; a true example of how awesome and silly they all are.

It's now almost 7am, and time to get on with my day. I wish more than anything in the world that I could come back to the States and say goodbye to Grandma one last time, but I'll just have to be there in spirit. My deaf kids are calling, and reminding me on a daily basis how happy they can make me, no matter the circumstances.

My love to Hubbards, Nylecs, Webdells and Gunbergs alike, and forever and always, my love to you, Grandma and Grandpa. Miss you guys.

~ Sarah :)