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| Becky accepts her First Place medal in the 200 meter with the Second and Third Place winners |
When Mel and I visited Angie and El in
Saline last March, they removed their robot vacuum from the coat closet for a
demo.
“A Christmas gift
from the grandkids,” Angie said.
Although impressed
with the cute and mute machine, I was inclined to use what we have. Our Miele
vacuum cleaner, specifically.
However,
the idea of a compact, cordless vacuum concealed in a bedroom closet upstairs grew
on me. We wouldn’t have to carry the Miele canister with its long hose and
attachment up and down thirteen steps.
Considering our
age, inflation, and product shortages, the sooner the purchase the better. Mel’s
birthday this week offered the perfect occasion.
So
I called Angie for her maid’s manufacturer and model. This led to mention of her
first granddaughter, a college freshman and one of many grand-stars who orbit
Angie and El’s immaculate household.
“Madi
asked us to come visit her at Purdue. Of course we’re going,” Angie said.
Madi’s
mother, Christa, ran track with Becky, our eldest and deceased daughter. When
Becky won the Class D State Track Championship in the 200 and 400 meters in
1987, Angie and El sat with us in the stands.
The fall of 1987,
Christa’s and Becky’s cross country team won the Class D State Championship.
Angie, El, Mel, and I waited at the finish line with other fans.
Joy unspeakable.
Proud parents hold the trophy of the Girls' Class D State Cross Country Championship
Soon afterward, we sold our house in Detroit and moved our family into an apartment in Sterling Heights before Christmas. Our three girls shared the master bedroom and bath for fifteen months without one spat. Meanwhile, Mel and I saved for and purchased property in Addison Township.
Remember
the hot, muggy July of 1988 with an average temperature of 88.9 degrees? Our daughters
spent hours in Shoal Creek’s swimming pool while I sat in the shade and studied
house plans for our little Cape Cod.
“It’s
like we’re on vacation,” Becky once said at the dinner table.
With
Angie and El’s home three minutes from our temporary residence, we often shared
Becky’s and Christa’s college plans. Thirty-three years later, Angie 79 miles
away, we reflected upon that year of 1988.
“If you had a
chance to do it over again, would you do anything differently with your house?”
Angie asked.
I answered without
hesitation. “I’d follow the blueprint with the entrance from the garage into a
mudroom with a door to the hall. But Becky needed a closet for the first floor bedroom,
so we opted to put the garage door entering the kitchen. We never thought Becky
wouldn’t claim her room.”
Angie, a daughter
and mother who endures her blows with peace and patience, said, “We can plan
all we want, but our children must live their own plans.”
True, dear Reader.
The door to the garage in our kitchen reminds me of my folly in revising house
plans for a teenager’s bedroom.
However, I plan to
turn loose our maid in my first-floor study-library and the closet we built for
Becky.
