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Gramma Chicago, Gramma Esther, Aunt Esther, and Mom
Stories in honor of Esther Hempel on the occasion of her 79 birthday.
Checkmate | Love of Chocolate | The Woods: NY | Ukraine and Russia | By the Seashore | Love | Grammacita Poem |
by Keith and Cheryl with lots of help from Cynda, Ken, Carol and MOM!
He was only around for less than two years but he made a lasting impression.
Some of us remember that he started out as Check and his little black brother
was Mate and when the little one went to the doggie hospital, Checkmate took
both names.
This memory is a conglomeration of quite a few stories and not all of the people
agree on the exact events.
We all agree that we got both dogs just before Christmas. Cynda thinks Dad brought
them home but others think it was Dad and Mom together. We all agree that we
were upstairs in the living room of the New York house and when the dogs arrived
there was a lot of dog running around, kid squealing, and parents smiling. It
was a great early Christmas present.
After the little black one left us, Checkmate settled in to winter with the Hempels. We had marathon chess tournaments in the living room. Cheryl remembers laying on her tummy, legs kicking in the air, hands under her chin, elbows on the floor, alternately playing against Keith and Carol. Checkmate laid next the board and at first tried to knock over the pieces until we taught him to wait till the end, and when someone said “Checkmate,” he was allowed to knock all the pieces over. As you can see, he was smart.
A little too smart, as we were soon to learn.
As a puppy he got into a lot, chewing shoes, dumping garbage and the usual puppy mischief. But as he grew out of the minor annoyances, he learned tricks. Mom walked him several times a day and basically taught him to behave in the house. He listened to her, and totally adored her. That was good, because she was the only one who could handle him. He was too big and too strong for any of us kids to walk.
Then Checkmate learned to open doors. Not just a few doors, all doors, even the locked ones. On the front door, which had a twirl-type lock, Checkmate could hook a canine tooth into the groove and twirl the metal until the door unlocked. Then, he bit the handle and turned the knob until the door opened. Keith remembers seeing him do this with his paws.
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The back door of the split level held him off a little longer. He could easily
shift open the unlocked sliding glass door with his nose.
Our neighbors across the street, the Glaters, reported that Checkmate got out of our house one night and actually opened their door and got into bed with them. He laid on their feet. Mr. Glater said he was dreaming his feet were encased in concrete when he woke up to discover Checkmate.
It took Checkmate a little over a year to get big enough to best the lock on the sliding screen door. He didn’t figure out how to unlock it, he simply charged right through the screen, leaving it on the ground. The first time was witnessed by Mom and Keith. Behind the New York house was a nature preserve, the Sawmill River and a migratory bird flyway. A pheasant, thinking it was in safe territory, was minding its own business on the edge of our property when Checkmate spied it. In one leap, not hitting the ground for 15 feet or so, Checkmate went through the screen door, down the hill, and after the bird.
Thus began an interesting summer. Once a trick is learned, it can’t be forgotten. Anytime the sliding glass door was unlocked, Checkmate was gone. He brought home gifts for us, lots of sticks and once a shoe that we hoped was from people’s garbage. Carol remembers putting Checkmate’s treasures in our wagon and walking down the street trying to find out who the stuff belonged to.
Checkmate once brought home a hot, whole, perfectly browned barbeque chicken,
with skewer marks clearly visible. We took it away and slunk inside, hiding
in front of the TV with the lights down low, afraid to hear which neighbor lost
their party entrée. We found out later it was the Glaters.
Dad almost saved the day. He brought home some cable from our friend who worked
at CBS. It was the cable used in the Hertz TV commercial. The one with the tag
line, “We put you in the Driver’s Seat.” It showed a person
floating down from the sky into a convertible. Dad and Ken strung half the cable
from the “Ghost Tree” to the house and the other half on a lead.
It worked for a few days, until another pheasant showed up, and Checkmate broke
the bolt out of the tree. The cable didn’t break though.
Mr. Muffin Man, girl dogs and a new leash law played a big part in our summer
that year. When Checkmate discovered a girlfriend in the new housing development
through the woods and up a hill, no door could hold him. He learned to unlock
the sliding glass door with his tooth. When we discovered Checkmate was gone,
Mom would pile one or two of us in the car and we would drive over to the new
houses. Mom would call his name and we would open the back door of the car,
while the car was moving, and wait for Checkmate to spot us. He was a sucker
for a car with the back door open. He even climbed into neighbors cars that
way. He liked getting in cars so much, it was even better than his girlfriend.
Once we got a call from Mr. Muffin Man, a family restaurant/coffee shop. Checkmate
was on his route to see his girlfriend and he saw a family getting into their
car. Their back door was open as their kids piled in. Checkmate piled in too,
and he wouldn’t leave. The Mr. Muffin Man staff were not amused, but they
let us pick Checkmate up.
That was when we were lucky.
When we weren’t lucky, the police would see him first and Checkmate would jump into the police car and get a ride to the Dog Pound and doggy jail. It cost us $5 each time and that was a fortune back then. None of us remember how many times the Dog Pound got him. Six or ten. We were all totally sick of chasing him around though, sometimes in our pajamas, sometimes pulled away from Gunsmoke, or a Little League game, or a new Barbie doll. And none us were terrible surprised when Dad announced that Checkmate went to live with a nice family on a farm, where he could run around as much as he wanted.
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I didn’t grow up in Chicago, so spending time with Gramma was a really special time. On one visit, Gramma made pancakes. Now I was used to eating pancakes at home, but not the kind that Gramma made. She made chocolate chip pancakes. When asked what kind of pancakes I ate at home, I replied buckwheat with cottage cheese. After the first bite of the chocolate chip pancakes, I was in love. I don’t know if I have had a buckwheat pancake since. Eating those pancakes awakened my taste buds to something new and delicious and thus my love for chocolate began! Who knew years later that chocolate has so many health benefits...thanks Gramma!
Chocolate Chip Pancakes
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
1 cup whole, 2 percent fat, or 1 percent fat milk
1 1/4 cups flour
1 tablespoon sugar
4 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
6 ounces semisweet chocolate chips, or less to taste
Butter, for cooking
In a small saucepan, combine the butter and milk. Place over low heat just until
warm and the butter is melted. Let cool slightly. In a bowl, combine the flour,
sugar, baking powder, and salt; mix well. In a large bowl, whisk the eggs with
a fork. Whisk in the milk mixture. Add the dry ingredients and mix just until
barely blended. Add the chocolate chips and mix. Heat a griddle or large skillet
over medium heat. Add about 1 teaspoon of butter and melt until bubbly. Ladle
3 tablespoons of batter for each pancake onto the hot surface and cook until
bubbly on the top and golden brown on the bottom. Turn and cook until golden
brown on the other side, about 30 seconds more. Repeat until all the batter
is used up. Serve hot. .
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HANDS ON THE TABLE
In the early 1960s we lived at 71 Greenwood Lane in White Plains, NY. I still
remember the address and phone number, Rockford 1-7275.
When we were in New York we played a game called Hands on the Table. As we finished
dinner, at some point, mostly when we least expected it, Dad would say, “Hands
on the Table.” We all had to put our hands on the table, palm down.
It was the start of a Simon Says game and we loved it. “Simon Says touch
your nose.” “Simon Says wink.” “Rub you chin.”
If you followed the instructions but no one said Simon Says, you were out. The
last one out got to be Simon.
One time we played the game for a prize. The prize was an “all-expense
paid” trip to the waterfall in the woods behind the house. We were all
really alert. It was my turn to be Simon, and I was the youngest, so I had to
be really tricky to win. I tried for a long time but I couldn’t get anyone
out, so finally I said, “Simon Says pull your pants down.” I knew
nobody would do it, and they didn’t, so I won the trip!
TREEHOUSES
We had at least three treehouses behind our house. A couple of them were along
the path that went to this great waterfall on the Saw Mill River.
Kenny and I had a little treehouse that wasn’t very high off the ground.
It was good though, because Kenny built a bench for it and we would bring snacks
down there to eat. One time, we were eating Ritz Crackers, and Kenny said he
heard something under the bench. I bent my head down between my legs to see
and I was looking straight into the eyes of a racoon.
Another time I stole an almost full cardboard carton of ice cream and hid it
in the treehouse. I did it because I could never get enough ice cream. It seemed
like everyone always got more than I did. The next day, when I went down to
the treehouse to eat the ice cream, it was all gone. I was mad. I thought, somehow,
someone saw me and ate the ice cream first. But I couldn’t ask because
I didn’t want to get caught. And mom never said anything about missing
the ice cream either. I realize now that the ice cream had melted. I didn’t
understand much about refrigeration.
We could hide in the treehouse too. We would hear Mom calling for Roo, our cocker
spaniel, “Here Roo, Here Roo.” The neighbor boy, Jeffrey Menger,
used to call Mom, “Here Roo Mommy.” It was all one word though,
“Hearoomommy.”
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Trip
to Ukraine and Russia
by Cheryl
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I’m not sure who’s idea it was, but in 1999 Mom and I took a 26-day trip to Ukraine and Russia. It was partly to honor Dad, who did a lot of work with orphans in Ukraine in 1991, and partly because both of us wanted to see that part of the world. Here are some highlights.
KIEV
We had a wonderful week in Kiev, spending time with a college-student friend
Natalya, and seeing lots like the holocaust site Baba Yar, the opera Rigelletto,
and eating authentic Chicken Kiev. We even saw the preserved bodies of 900-year-old
monks at the Pechersk Lavra Cave Monastery. We also stumbled into a regional
folk performance competition, kind of American Idol with costumes. It was the
highlight of the week.
CUSTOMS
When it came time to fly to Moscow and Kiev, we had to go through the infamous
Russian customs. We had to declare how much money we had when we went in and
how much we had when we left. Then they had to count our money. Well, we had
three weeks to go, so we each had hundreds of dollars. Before we left, we were
warned to bring small bills, so we had all these tens and twenties. Somehow,
the customs people got our forms mixed up and they thought mom had more money
that day than when we landed. This they communicated in sign language, because
their English wasn’t good and our Russian/Ukrainian was terrible. We counted
all these bills over and over, getting more confused each time and holding up
the line. Our customs guy got another customs guy to come over and he counted
the money too. These guys were scary. Images of Americans trapped in foreign
prisons were in the back of my mind.
Finally, they waved us through. Of course, we headed down the
wrong corridor and someone else had to turn us around. That’s when we
noticed something wasn’t right. Tens and twenties were falling out of
Mom’s pant leg. They were trailing her like toilet paper on a shoe. She
had missed the opening of her money belt and put her cash into her slacks instead.
We craswled around on the floor of the corridor picking up money and by the
time we got to our gate we laughed until we cried.
We thought we would have the same problem in Moscow, but luckily, Aeroflot Airlines
was on a campaign to be nice to American tourists so a nice lady whisked us
through.
What Mom didn’t know was that I was on a clandestine mission to bring $5,000 to the college in Petrovodsk, Russia. They couldn’t get plane tickets for their summer exchange trip to the College of St. Scholastica in Duluth and they needed the dollars to by 25 round-trip plane tickets. All the time we went through customs, I had the cash taped to my body.
RUSSIA
We had a glorious time in Russia. We learned the Cryllic alphabet and 100 Russian
words, (at least 50 anyway). We cruised 1,000 miles of Russian rivers. We met
my friend Nadia in Petrozavodsk (and gave her the money). We saw churches and
monasteries, the Hermitage, the Summer Palace, the Winter Palace, Kirov Ballet
at the Mariinsky Opera House, and Red Square. We shocked the English people
on our cruise because when we were docked in a town we wouldn’t go back
to lunch on the ship. Instead we ate at restaurants and found our own way back
to the ship in the evening. “But you PAID for the cruise lunch,”
they insisted.
SCALPERS
By the last week in Moscow, we were feeling pretty good. As we arrived in the
city, the cruise director offered all of us a night at the Bolshoi Ballet in
Moscow for something like $90 a person. That included a motor coach to town
and front row seats. We were going to do it, too because it was the Bolshoi,
but we wanted to see the city first.
Well Mom and I loved Moscow. We took their famous subway everywhere, learned all the stops and totally explored the city. We were downtown and a young man approached us. We communicated half in Russian and half in English. He had tickets to sell. In fact, he had tickets for the exact performance the cruise director had, only they were for $2 each! We bought them of course. The night came and we took the subway to the theatre. We were seated in our lovely private box, right over the stage, when we saw our group come in and sit down below us, kind of under the performers. We were pretty proud of ourselves. We had mastered the language, we met exciting people, we were independant, and we scored a bargain. It made the evening even sweeter.
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For Mommy's Scrapbook
There's a perfectly lovely Renoir called By the "Seashore." For many years a reproduction of that picture hung in one or the other of our childhood homes. I think that I first remember it in the kitchen, maybe in Iowa at our house on South Lawn Drive, possibly in Belden Avenue apartment in Chicago or it could have been in the new house in White Plains. It doesn't really matter where it was, it just matters that it was!
That reproduction gave me a glimpse into Mommy's world and shaped my world. This picture is a portrait, done, like many works of the Impressionists, outside and capturing the sitter in an everyday moment. The moment for this young woman happens to be along a sandy coast line. There's a dramatic rocky cliff in the background. The young woman, seated in a wicker chair, has just looked up as if we had just distracted her from her handwork.
Mommy would look at that picture and say to me, "Someday, I'm going to do that. "
Maybe it was just an off hand comment, but I took it seriously. It made me curious: "Why", I'd think. "Who would want to go to the beach, dressed like that and sit around doing handwork? " So I spent a little more time than usual looking at that picture. It started my love for art and travel and even storytelling. With the advent of my own family, managing the responsibilities of family and work, I began to understand why Mommy would want to sit by the shore and concentrate on needle work. But that picture gave me so much more...,
Renoir's use of color is a hallmark in the art world, something I know more about now, but back then I just knew that that water was the most beautiful blue green I'd ever seen. Even then as a little girl, I remember thinking that the sky and the water were both blue but not the same blue. There's some of Daddy in that picture too -- Renoir used just enough red to make the blue clean and deep -- like the color of Daddy's eyes. I wonder if I realized that way back when...
Of course, I recognized the beach in the picture but it wasn't the Lake Michigan beach with which I was so familiar. Could there really be seashores that looked like that? If there were, I was sure I'd like to go there. Finding new places was always a part of our family life and in the most amazing way, those new places stretched us and brought us closer too.
And the storytelling, I just can't help it but the lady in that picture has a story to tell. My imagination would work overtime: Who interrupted her, what kind of hand work is she doing, does she live at the beach, who carried the chair for her, has she already eaten lunch? It doesn't matter what the questions are, or even what the answers are, what matters is that to me it was important to know this lady's story. In our family, Mommy always let us know that each of us was important -- she thought she'd tricked us with the "you're the best oldest daughter or youngest son I have" statements" but we knew we were each important, valued and loved without question. Being loved like that is a gift. it's a gift that has carried me through life. I know I am loved. I am important. I am valued. Sharing that love with others makes my world so big and so wonderful. Thank you for that and so much more.
I love you every minute of everyday.
Happy Birthday, Mommy.
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Everyone has a gramma, but none are as special as mine.
I will always remember the long distance love you showed Katharine and me. We
would listen to your voice reading to us on a cassette tape many hundreds of
miles away. Even though you weren't with us at night, you were there. When we
were closer, you would make us chocolate chip pancakes and you would watch us
play at the office on West Grand.
As I got older I saw the love you gave to others. Whether it was a friend in need, a family who was touched by your mission trips or a perfect stranger, you never failed to show love and compassion. This was never more evident as it was on our trip to Peru. Having that time with you, in a place that is so special to you, was truly meaningful. I saw the relationships you formed there, the community you helped to create and the lives you continue to influence. Those ties run deep. I was humbled to be part of that experience.
I am continually inspired by your desire to see the world and stay active. I have tried to adopt your outlook on life, your positive disposition and your unwavering spirit. There really isn't anyone else in the world like you. Today, on your birthday, I wish you all of the love in the world. Happy Birthday.
by Brielle |
Y - ou are my grammacita
O- ur very own legend, an
U - nbelievable athlete, at age 79, no less. You
A - re a world-traveler, always looking to the next trip or the next book to
R- ead. You recommend great books to me, and I've read them, too. You are an
E- spanol speaker, a lover of words. You are an
A- rt appreciator - a long standing member of the Art Institute, but
N - ot a swimmer, oh no. You still have
I-mpressive beauty, (trying on the dress for Jason and Kerin's wedding.) You
are a
N-utritionally conscience eater, however
S- ea-sickness can get you sometimes. You're not afraid of
P-olitics, you can talk with my Phil. You are
I-nterested in Buddy Boy, and think about him when not at home. You are a
R-eligious lady, a very devout Lutheran, and
A-n employee of the family business for your whole life. You do
T- ake an occasional nap. You
I-nspire us because you are so easy to be around, and you were an
O-utstanding wife, when grampa was here. We all agree, we
N-eed to give you a standing ovation.
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Comments to: creitan@d.umn.edu
