Letters From My Grandmother and Hooked Rugs
When I read Elizabeth Roca's article "Letters To My Grandmother," I set out searching my somewhat messy drawer of old letters to find the two letters I still have from my grandmother Lida. They were mixed in with letters from her daughters (my aunts) and various other family members, letters from my father who wrote to us when the military sent him away from family, letters postmarked "Argentina" from my son when he was on a short-lived mission in his 20s, and a bundle of postcards with teeny-tiny writing from my daughter describing her travels around Europe in the 90s.
I never lived close to my grandmother—although we both moved a lot, we were never even living in the same state at the same time. One thing the military does do (even though they take families far from home) is give you a month off each year. So each summer we packed up the car and rode three to five days back to the Midwest, to grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. This is how I knew my grandmother in person: in brief bits of time, not one on one. There was no email then, long-distance phone calls were for "emergencies only," and you couldn't send faxes either. So handwritten letters were our link. My grandmother's handwriting still impresses me—it is strong and straight even though she was nearing her mid-80s when she wrote them and suffered from arthritis. The two letters are postmarked September 23, 1962 and April 28, 1964 and the message you will see is about "hooked rugs." My grandmother made hooked rugs—as gifts for her children. All of my paternal aunts (her daughters) and even her sons (my father and uncles) had several hand-hooked wool rugs made by their mother's sturdy hands from remnants of clothing worn by one or more of the nine children in the family—and every rug pattern was original and one of a kind (except once). There was a stair runner made for her oldest daughter and her husband that told the story of their marriage and included how they met, his service during WWII, and an exact replica of their first home—that rug even got a write-up in the local paper. There were several "welcome" rugs to put by your front door, animal rugs (my dad's was a duck), and various flower themes in all shapes and sizes. There was even one with a circus theme made for the only child of her second oldest daughter who became a first-time mom when she was 46. The only rug ever duplicated was one she did by tracing a cat-like "cave drawing" in New Mexico—she made the first one in 1951 for my Aunt Betty (the youngest daughter). After her oldest daughter hinted, pleaded, and cried, she made another "cat" rug for her—I now have the original, and my brother has the newer version made in 1963. When I received the first letter in 1962, I had only looked at the rugs, felt them and loved them—but I didn't have my very own. Not that I was deprived, I did have two "handmade by Grandma" dolls and some hand-painted tins in which to keep my shells and crayons. Then I received the first letter: "4815 Mescalero N.E. Dear Beverly: Yes, I should ans(wer) your father's letter and say "thank you," but you will please tell him for me, and I also owe Camy a letter which I will write later. I do want to write and tell you how proud I have been to receive such fine reports on your visits to your Aunts, Edith and Margaret and their families. They surely all fell in love with you and so nice that you could visit them. I think Betty and I should be next on your list, eh? I suppose you are busy with school now and working hard. And this is your last year! It's hard to think how time flies by. And little Karen now going to school. Do they have kindergarten? There isn't much to write about. We called on some friends today and brought home boxes of plants from their garden, and Betty got them all planted. Now Bev. You are probably not much interested now in hooked rugs. But I'm planning to do one for you for your room. So let me know if any special color and do you like modern pattern or flowers or something old fashioned? I did one for Mary M last spring when she graduated and she was planning to take it to college with her. Well dear I must get to bed so good night and love to you and please—to all the family. From Grandma Nicol" I don't have my reply, but I'm sure it went something like this: "Dear Grandmother, I absolutely LOVE the idea for celebrating my high school graduation. I have always loved your hooked rugs and enjoyed all the various designs when visiting aunts and uncles. My favorite color is purple and I love pansies—but also a modern look—not too flowery or old fashioned. I promise I will take good care of it. Love, Beverly Jo" The second letter came with the rug—I can still remember slowly opening the package when it arrived, wondering what a modern purple rug with pansies would look like. Since the editors can't yet posts pictures with the columns, you will have to believe me when I tell you it was and is gorgeous! Just the right touch of "modern," just the right touch of "purple." Here is the letter that came with it: "Sunday P.M. Dear Beverly: Am mailing you tomorrow the rug I have hooked for you as graduation gift. Would have sent it before but was expecting your father and mother down this month and could send by them. It is an awkward thing to wrap and mail. But Betty as usual took over for me and has it ready and will send tomorrow. Am real happy for you and that you are able to take your courses as you have wanted. We both send our love and wish you all success in your future. From your loving Grandmother Lida M. Nicol P.S. A good deal of loving care and preparation went into the rug and it should last a lifetime at least, if you care for it, and improve with age. It is all wool and should never be washed in machine or anything to wet the burlap back. Just sweep or vacuum. Or shampoo or have cleaned by professional cleaner." Because we saw her only occasionally, my grandmother's paintings, the rugs, the dolls, like the handwritten letters, became our link to her, as were the little bits of my grandmother that I carefully carried home from those summer visits—the shells I found at the lake that she painted with my name and the date on them, the finger-paintings my sister and I would make at her cabin that she would carefully hang on the wall, the color slides my father would take of birch trees, green undergrowth (probably poison oak) and my grandmother's little one-room red cottage. She was in the picture too standing tall beside the outside water pump with my sister and me trying to stand tall next to her. We loved and held these items precious because we couldn't hug and hold our grandmother tightly. Although I was a wee bit envious that Elizabeth Roca's grandmother saved the letters she wrote her, and the ones I wrote to my grandmother did not survive, every time I walk down my hallway I touch that "ancient cat" that hangs on the wall and smile! I also smile when I glance up at the "purple pansy" rug that hangs over the bed where I read stories to my grandchildren before "our" nap. Over the years, my grandmother's children and my cousins have told me stories of my grandmother—I keep them close, but nothing is as special to me as those two letters and her hooked rugs. |
_(archives) Beverly Reed
 Beverly Reed (pictured above with her grandchildren) is a mama (to co-founder Sheri and her brother Mike) and grandma to Ruthanne, Clyde, and Caroline. She lives in Sacramento with her husband, Roger, and has worked in the English Department at CSU, Sacramento for 30 years. She hopes this column will open her creative self and lead to more daring adventures in the future. search mamazine:
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