stern wheeler

na na's throne was where ever she sat basically, being a commanding figure of a woman. when she was positioned at the dining room table, opposite dad, the power focus shifted to her end. she would be in her perpetual black silk dress with sequined bodice or collar (her drawer was chuck full of removable black sequined collars with barely noticeable changes in pattern). she would pinch the thighs of the child nearest when we were not using victorian etiquette, which resulted in black & blue thighs for rDs and enjah. so we snickered and suppressed giggles when she would mistakenly fork the painted flowers on the spode plates thinking it was a new potato or tasty bits of roast beef or a tiny irritating slippery little pea. her silverware clinking the surface of the plate, lifting an empty fork to mouth...hehehehe. after dinner she would throne herself in the winged back armchair and with ribald humour murmur, "i could blow a hole in this chair!". she looked like she could.

where ever nana sat, that spot became the commanding post. as stern wheeler, she had a chair nailed onto the row boat and would sit like royalty quietly reading as her sons, mostly david, rowed her on our beloved otter lake, donning a fedora.

to be fair, nana had a very soft and lovable side. giving birth to eight children and being married to a much to dapper irishman, she had to get tough. but in her later years she was endearing, poking roasted chickens, making us sugar sandwiches: take single slice of white bread, pour white sugar onto thick layer of wisconsin butter, fold over and eat like you are grinding sweet ocean sand...goosebumps!

i loved to stroke her black seal skin winter coat while we were in church or slip my hands into the mink muff with silk lining (it had a secret zippered pocket inside to put...what? lipstick?) that was probably used when she was young while ice skating or taking a romantic walk on a chilly northern night.

nana's later years were relaxed as she was in decompressing mode, enjoying the queenly service she had earned. she anchored in an entirely different century for us, with stories of the Chippewa Indians, the otter, the whippoorwill and fireflies. she gave us otter lake. and THAT is another story.

na na died one hot summer night in 1962. the air was heavy as rDs and i sat on the front lawn from where we could see the hospital a few blocks away. we counted the number of lights on the 6th floor, four from the right and stared at that little white square, knowing we would never see our na na again. and as we all know, all nana's must return to nature.