Margaret Memories

Memory is a funny thing. You don’t get to pick and choose what you remember. Some things stick and some things don’t.

I remember my grandfather Paul Emme very well. We called him Pop. He was tall and strong, a hard worker. He was a craftsman with a garage full of tools. Each tool was carefully stored in a wooden box made by his own hand. He was somewhat stoic, but quick to laugh in the right circumstance. I remember him joining us for dinner on many Saturday nights, usually after a hard day working in the yard with my dad on some project. Pop would sit in the den before dinner and jiggle the ice cubes in his glass to send a not-so-subtle message to my mom that he needed a refill. He would lean back in his chair for after dinner conversations that were sometimes loud and animated, especially if we discussed the politics of the day. My Dad was constantly reminding him that the chairs were old and might collapse if he leaned back too far.

I don’t remember my grandmother Margaret at all. I do remember her passing though. In 1966 I was eight years old. My birthday was May 6th; my first communion was later that same week. On May 9th Margaret collapsed in a parking lot in Arcadia and died from a heart attack. It was sudden, unexpected and she was the first person I ever grieved for. I remember being outside, in the cemetery, in my mother’s arms, getting sick into her white gloved hand.

As I continue to work on my “Soldier’s Scrapbook” project I have been trying to cartoon Paul and Margaret as a couple in the 1940’s. It has been difficult because most of the photos of them together are formal and somber. There are some exceptions though. There are photos of her visiting Jack during basic training. She has flowers in her hair and a big smile on her face. She beamed a big smile with Paul, cutting a cake at an anniversary party. She had a laugh with her son Bill at a family party. Later in life her portrait shots have a sadness to them. She lost her son Jack during World War 2, and I do wonder if the smiles were harder to come by after that.

I was told that Margaret was an avid gardener and that Jack enjoyed gardening with her. Her last letter to Jack was mailed on September 5th, 1945, and was returned to her because he was “Missing in Action”. The letter included an update on the status of his camellias and rhododendrons. I said I don’t remember Margaret, but I do remember her garden. In the back corner of their yard there was a low wooden fence and a bed filled with white carnations. I remember them being almost as tall as I was. I am sure Margaret is the one who planted the garden, but Paul continued to take care of it long after she was gone.

So for the cartoon above, with spring around the corner, I chose the happy version of Paul and Margaret. Margaret has flowers in her hair, chin up, proudly posing, with her arm wrapped around her husband, in front of her dazzling white carnations.

I hope you enjoy it.