TOTW60 – Moving Right Along

Up until October of 1977, home was Grandma Zimmerle’s house on Lytle Road in Yuba City, CA. My great-grandma, affectionately known as Grandma Dollar, lived just a few houses down the road. I have fond memories of sitting on Grandma Z’s lap, watching her take her teeth out to freak out my baby brother, and watching her crochet.

Papa was a trucker. He was often gone, but when he was home, he loved to pull my braids. He’d hold my head down to the table and tell me “Give me back my hair!” I’d scream, “No! It’s my hair!” and we’d both laugh until Grandma brought us breakfast. I adored him.

My mom had three brothers. Uncle Oran and Uncle Johnny had joined the Army and Navy respectively. Uncle Gary still lived with Grandma and Papa, and he was my hero. He was only 10 years older than I was and he loved being an uncle. I climbed into his tree house with him, to play with the actual car dashboard that was mounted there. I could steer and pretend to be honking. We played with his Tonka trucks under the walnut tree in front of the house. I even sat with him as he read his comic books, which I thought were terribly boring. I handed him his tools as he worked on his go-cart.

Grandma and Papa’s house was near the railroad tracks. When Uncle Gary got tired of me following him around, he’d walk to the railroad tracks, and walk out over a low trestle. I’d follow him, stepping carefully from railroad tie to railroad tie. I have always been afraid of heights, so I was extra cautious as I walked. Then Uncle Gary would jump down to the ground and tell me, “You better hurry, I hear a train coming!” I would, of course, freeze, screaming for him to come get me. He would snatch me up on his back and we’d gallop back to Grandma’s house.

In July of 1976, I was staying the night with my mom’s friend, Kathy and Kathy’s daughter, Kelly, who was my age. My mom came back before dark and her face was twisted in agony. She squatted down to my eye level and told me that Uncle Gary had been killed on his go cart. I didn’t really understand what that meant, but I knew that my mom and Kathy were crying and that made me cry. It seemed like everyone cried for several days after that. Grandma and Papa took me to a cemetery to see a grave marker that I could barely read. I moved around to the front of the marker to see if I could read it easier, and Papa got upset that I was standing on Uncle Gary. I didn’t understand much of what was happening, but I knew that Uncle Gary was no longer at Grandma and Papa’s house to play with me.

My mom had married a man in the Air Force when I was about 4 years old and my brother, Ed, was 1. By the time I was 6 years old, I had another brother, Ira, and my mom was pregnant with a fourth baby. We all called my mom’s new husband Daddy. Daddy had gotten transferred to Germany. We’d be joining him after the baby was born.

Audra was born on October 5, 1977, which also happened to be Ira’s second birthday. Shortly thereafter, we joined Daddy in Kaiserslautern, Germany.

I loved Germany. We lived close enough to castle ruins that we could hike there for picnics on the weekends, and we often did. My school took me on many field trips to give us an opportunity to see the sites. We cruised on the Rhine River, we went to castles, and roman bath houses, and we went to various factories, including a chocolate factory, a pretzel factory, a candle factory, and a toy factory. Again, these were all school field trips.

My mom was pretty depressed while we lived there. She missed her family, and I missed them, too. We spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like when we got to go home. We had no internet back then, and a phone would have been too expensive. Our only communication with Grandma and Papa and Grandma Dollar was through mail, which took a long time traveling from California, USA to Kaiserslautern, Germany.

One day, I was surprised to see Daddy in the doorway of my classroom. We were about to have cupcakes for a classmate’s birthday. My teacher told me she’d save one for me, and sent me away with Daddy. In the car, Daddy told me that Grandma and Papa had been in a terrible car accident. Papa was ok, but Grandma wasn’t doing well. He told me that Mom was really upset and to try my best not to cry. I was already crying, but I tried to get it under control. When we got home, I saw my mom’s face and ran to her sobbing.

When I went to bed that night, I prayed and prayed that Grandma would be OK. When I woke, the next morning, I was told that Grandma was gone. Mama was already dressed and would be flying home for Grandma’s funeral. The rest of us had to stay in Germany. I laid on the sofa crying with Daddy sitting next to me, patting me and gently telling me to stop. Grandma, on whose birthday my brother, Ed, was born; Grandma, after whom I was named; Grandma had died on October 5, 1979, Audra’s second birthday, and Ira’s fourth birthday.

After Germany, we moved to Texas for almost three years. It was the USA, but it wasn’t home. Home was where Grandma and Papa had been. Where Grandma Dollar was. Where there was a McDonalds with a pirate ship and fourth of July was celebrated at a lily-pad covered man-made lake. It was where all of our friends and family were.

By the time we made it back to California, everything was different. Papa had sold the house and moved to Tierra Buena with his new wife, Sandra. My friends had moved away to various parts of the country with their fathers when their parents separated. The pirate ship was no longer in the McDonalds. Ellis Lake no longer had lily-pads. Worst of all, by 12 years old, I’d started developing a woman’s body, and people treated me much differently than they had before we left, and not in a good way.

I attended three different schools in 6th grade. I had started it in San Angelo, TX. When we first moved back to California, we were staying with Papa and Sandra, so I moved to Tierra Buena school. Mrs. Ralls, I think was her name.

Our stay with Papa and Sandra was supposed to have been a brief one. Daddy had gone ahead to Germany to find us a nice house to live in. It was taking a very long time. When it became clear that we had worn out our welcome with Papa and Sandra, we moved into The Rio Rancho Motel in Marysville. From there, I attended Alicia School until the end of the school year.

Before long, my mom and Daddy had permanently separated. An old friend of mom’s invited us to come stay in his rec room. Rio Rancho was pretty nasty back then, so we were completely fine with that. I began 7th grade at Yuba Gardens. By 9th grade, Mom had married Mike, the old friend. I got to grow up with the same group of people from there on out. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a home.
And all of this is to explain that that home that I had dreamed of returning to for those years that we had been away in my childhood – that home that was no longer there when we returned; that feeling of belonging, of knowing that this is where some of the most important years of my life originated; that place where the majority of people who love me and whom I love exist; that home is where I found myself when I landed at Sacramento International Airport on Saturday, April 27. The smell of the air, the nearly unbearable brightness of the sunlight, the heinous traffic. That was home!

I had stayed in the Northern California area until my mid-40’s, when Drew and I moved here, to North Carolina for a job opportunity for him.  I love where we live.  We are surrounded by trees, and wildlife is abundant.    The people are amazing, but it’s not home.  They’re not my people.  I miss my people.  So we are planning to move within the next twelve months; hopefully sooner.

 Once we get to Reno, I have no plans to move again.  My health and the health of my parents being what they are, I need to be close to friends and family.  Drew won’t move to California, so Reno is the closest non-California city with a major airport.