June 21, 2008Today, while sorting through sewing materials, I ran across denim scraps once used to patch Ken Blankenship's Levi's. Should I throw them out? No, better save them ... Honey Gail might bring over another mending job someday.
Thinking about Ken ... The first time I met him - the first time I saw him looking at Honey - I knew he loved her with all his heart. So I loved him. Simple as that. As time went by I learned to appreciate him for his own good qualities, but in the beginning he had only to adore my daughter to win my heart.
In 1994 I found myself at the lowest point of a life well acquainted with lows. Still another relationship failed. From the back corner of my mind, I mentally unfolded a wrinkled dog-eared sheet of paper and looked at the black marks lined up neatly beside my name. Red-faced with shame, I added still another.
What should I do now?
My brother said I had no problem. I would move into his house and remain forever. Settled. No, I said, not one bit settled. I had to make my own way and be my own person. Okay. He thought up another scheme. We would pool my little money and his big money and build a four-unit apartment building on his land. We'd rent out three and I'd live in the fourth. Foolproof plan. Happiness all around. No. I saw too many opportunities for disaster in that arrangement. Well, then ... pick out any location I wanted on his land and he would build me a small house of my own. It was an offer I will never forget. My brother - my heart - my best friend in all the world. He would keep me safe and protected as long as he lived. It was a tempting offer. It was an easy way out. But ... I knew it wasn't wise. I must be responsible for myself.
Later, sitting in Honey Gail's kitchen, my son-in-law said, "Jo, we have plenty of room. You're welcome to live with us as long as you want." He meant it. I could tell from the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes. It wasn't an empty gesture. He truly meant it. What an amazing statement for a man to make to his mother-in-law. He had no way of knowing in advance how much or how little trouble my presence would cause. Still, he offered me safe haven. The memory of that sweet and generous offer lives forever in my heart.
I moved into my daughter's guest room, believing it would only be for a short time. It turned out to be eight long months before the last nail was driven into my new house. Toward the end I apologized to Ken for not being able to leave sooner and I'll never forget him saying, "Jo, I don't care if your house is never finished. I like having you here. It would be fine with me if you never left." Again, I was overwhelmed by the kindness of my daughter's husband.
Having his mother-in-law underfoot wasn't all sweetness and light. I remember a couple of times I had the man clenching his teeth. Once, when the notion struck me to clean their garage. I took a powerful leaf blower and stirred dust up, down and sideways before finally blowing it out the door. The place was gleaming when I finished. Well, except for Ken's police motorcycle which had looked brand new before the dust storm started. Afterwards, well, it was no longer shiny. Ken took his buffing cloths to that machine the minute he came in from work, and I took myself for a long walk.
Long walks became rather important during those months. I couldn't bear to witness even the mildest scolding of my perfect grandchildren, so I told Honey and Ken to please give me a sign when trouble was brewing and I'd take off out the back door and escape the scene of battle. But did I? No. I didn't.
I'd be back in the laundry room folding clothes, and Ken would say, in a voice deliberately loud enough to reach my ears, "Jayma Lynn, if you don't straighten up this minute, Grandma Jo's gonna have to go for a walk!"
Quick as a wink I'd yell, "It looks like rain out there, and my legs hurt pretty bad right now, and tomorrow might be a better day for walking." Then, I'd hold my breath to see if that naughty two-year-old was going to slide through - sweet bottom unspanked - one more time. Usually, she did.
Honey Gail was a good sport about my extended stay except once when she told me to stay out of her laundry room because my method of washing and drying clothes was a little different from hers. I respected her order until the heat died down, then I drifted back to doing as I pleased. Poor Honey Gail. Those eight long months were a difficult time for her. She felt, I'm sure, like a displaced person in her own home.
Thank God she and Ken tolerated me. Thank God we all survived. Thank God.
