Another one bites the dust

The very, very last remaining member of Grandma’s generation (that I know of, anyway) died day before yesterday. She was around 88. Her name was Marjorie Hulse, she was 6′ tall, and I remember her from my childhood with great fondness. She did fun things with me, which was a very uncommon thing for adults to do in those days. Hydroplaning! Boat rides on the Mississippi!

Grandma was OK about it, though I expected her to be angry ’cause Marjie was younger and got to go first. We started talking about her family and I learned a story about her cousin Elizabeth, of whom I had never heard before. Evidently, Elizabeth ran off as an adult either with a man or a woman, depending on the family lore you pick. In her day, this was such a scandalous disgrace (disgraceful scandal?) that nobody ever talked about Elizabeth again, ever ever. And her Uncle John, my granddad’s youngest brother, who was an undertaker and died very young of blood poisoning he contracted while embalming someone.

I wish she could remember more clearly. Neither she nor Grandpa ever talked extensively about their families. But even fuzzy memories are better than none. And probably more entertaining, sometimes!

Back to the Dead Guy Ale I found today (no Double Dead Guy, doggone it), and I have a six-pack of Lagunitas Maximus. Maxima? Whichever. And toys. Toys! Toys!

Posted by wordsmith

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