random thoughts – Day 2,393 (Monday 10/5) – mummu's birthday

Mummu, FHS 1934.

On October 5, 1916 my Mummu was born, the youngest of ten children. Her mother was 45 years old and her eldest living sister was 20 years old, married, and had a child of her own when Mummu was born. Three of Mummu’s siblings (John W, Lilja, and John) died in infancy or early childhood. Mummu loved introducing “my nephew John, and he is 13 months older than me.”

She was the only one of the kids in her family to graduate high school (Fitchburg High School, 1934), but that was likely because with the Great Depression underway, there were no jobs for her to leave school for after the eighth grade like her brothers and sisters before her did.

There are stories Mummu told us from her life growing up. All the females slept on one bed and all the males in another. Her brothers shared one pair of shoes to alternate attending school. Her sister Julia, ten years older, once stepped into the pantry and landed feet first in some pies that were cooling on the floor. As a teen, Mummu wrote a winning essay about citizenship and received a gold medal (which I now have, and wonder if,  at the time, groceries might have been more helpful). She said she was a ballroom dancer before she married Grandpa Ray. When they divorced (an uncommon thing to do in the 1940s) she went to work in the yarn factory.

Mummu never drove and got up at 5:00 am Monday through Friday and walked to work for a 6:00 am start. She cleaned one room each weekday after work during the commercial breaks of the soaps. Laundry was done on weekends using the washer in the big, dark, slightly scary basement and hung to dry on the clothes lines on her porch. Ironing was performed on Mondays after work in front of the soaps playing on the giant TV with the loud remote clicker.

Mummu's Arabia of Finland cups and saucers.

Many Saturdays, when we weren’t watching candlepin bowling or horse racing or golf on TV, we walked downtown to shop. On Sundays, her white nursing shoes worn for work were polished (often by me) and the laces washed by hand. She always wore a skirt, blouse, and white ankle socks with the nursing shoes, and I still have the gray and white striped cotton work skirt with a metal zipper she wore for years. 

One summer when I was probably eight or nine, Mummu took me to the factory to see where she worked. It was a vacation week and the shop was closed for machine maintenance. There were wood floors, big machines, and dust motes dancing in the light coming through the windows. She was a union rep, and once took me to a union meeting at the British American Club. With no idea what the room of adults was discussing I was bored out of my mind. That union meeting stands out as the only time I did something with Mummu where I wished I was doing something else.  

Mummu loved knitting, General Hospital, and watching football, basketball, baseball, horse racing, and golf on TV. Her favorite golfer was Lee Trevino. She usually had one sport on the TV and another on the radio and kept up with both games while knitting and holding a conversation. When I worked at a bank downtown after graduating college and Mummu lived downtown in the elderly high rise, we would sometimes have lunch together at her apartment.

Mummu and me, 2001.

Mummu died in 2005 at the age of 88. She is buried in the only piece of land she ever owned – a plot at Forest Hill Cemetery in Fitchburg. I was living in Tennessee at the time, and flew home in time to see her before she passed away. I miss her. I think about her when I make her recipes for carrot cake, poultry stuffing, and meringue cookies and avoid making the complicated recipe for the raspberry truffle layered brownies that I loved. I think about her when I look at the black raw silk dress she bought in 1960 for her brother’s funeral that she later gave me and was one of the first vintage dresses in my collection. It went from a bit too big to fitting well and now no longer fits me. I think about her when I see any of the many sweaters she knit for me, and when I see her green and white coffee cups and saucers from Finland in my buffet. All the time, basically.

Happy birthday Mummu. Miss you.