Hugga Mugga... Maxwell House

Note this post was written last year as part of one of the Challenges that I made out for myself in 2015.  I am reposting as I was able to snag some photo's when I was last home.

This seemed like an appropriate title for a tribute post about my Grandpa Max, given all the Maxwell House memorabilia that was purchased for him in the 80's.  I have been racking my brain trying to think of my earliest memory of my grandfather and the one that keeps coming to the forefront is of lambs.

The memory of lambs is entwined with my memory of Grandpa, like strands of wool binding together to form a strong yarn.  My Grandpa was a second generation farmer and one of his specialties was sheep.  The sheep had their own pen and a hut to take shelter from the freezing winter winds and the sweltering summer sun.  Grandpa loved his sheep, especially the lambs.  You could always tell when a new one arrived as he would meet us out in the yard,  his eyes sparkling and snapping with excitement.  He could not wait to show us the new arrivals on the farm.  I remember the soft texture and warmth of the lamb wool on my hand and the feel of the Geri-rigged heat lamp on my cheek. Such a stark contrast to the cold the enveloped us in the hut.  I loved watching the lambs as much as he did.  The wobbliness of their bodies as they took their first tentative steps, listening to their soft bleat and tracking the waggle of their tails as they ran after their mom.

Grandpa Max showed his love of the lambs the same way he showed his love of his grandchildren.... with his eyes.  One might surmise that he was allergic  to the words "I love you" as he rarely spoke them.  In fact I don't think I ever heard him say it...... but I guess he didn't have to, it was something that all the grandchildren just knew.

How?

The title on the back of this picture is Max with a wig- 1971

By his smile and laughter as he corralled us into figure 4 leg locks and handed out whisker rubs;  something that all of us dreaded but secretly hoped would happen.  By his impromptu visits at which time he said the hallowed words-  "Does anyone want to go see wrastling?".  By his patience when we made judgment errors with our choices in life.  And by being a rock for us as we grew and matured.  I lived for our weekend visits and a chance to run free range on the farm.

There was a cool factor about Grandpa.  There is one story that my dad tells which sums up Grandpa's cool factor.  My dad had just started University and was hanging in the dorms with his new friends.  They were enjoying some brown bottle "pop" which was risque as none were old enough to drink.  In walks my Grandfather.

BUSTED!!!!!!!

The room got quiet and the occupants were all looking at the floor, the ceiling,  the wall...  trying to avoid eye contact with the adult in the room.  My Grandfather stalked into the room, sat down in an empty spot and said-  "Is there one for me?"  Who cares what the government had to say about it.  In his mind if you were old enough to leave home, you were old enough to drink!

Should you think his cool factor diminished with age, think again.  In his 60's my Grandfather purchased a mini-monster truck.  It was a Ford and it had a raised carriage and no running boards.  It was utterly and completely awesome.  That truck, jump started my Ford love affair.  I remember Grandpa Max offering to give me a ride to a band performance... hell ya!  The only problem-  I could not step up into the truck with my band skirt on.  I tried running and launching myself through the open door, but only my torso made it in.   I slid down the seat to the ground.  I tried pulling myself in, but my wimpy arms could not do it.  Finally my Grandpa reached across the bench seat gave me his hand and yanked me in.  I was the envy of all the other band geeks.... "Wow, who's truck is that?"..... "My Grandpa's!"

Strength is the other thing that sticks out in my memory.  My Grandpa was an extremely strong man. At Christmas,  my Grandparents always had a bowl of mixed nuts in the living room.  Grandpa Max could crush the nuts with his hand.... who needed a nut cracker.... not him!  In my mind he could rival Baron Von Raske and his signature "Claw" move.

His strength was not limited to his hands.  The man had thighs of steel.   Many a time, a grandchild would be innocently walking by his recliner chair only to have his leg snake out and draw them into a leg lock.  Squirming was pointless.  The only hope was that a sibling or cousin could assist in prying his vice grip legs open enough, just enough for you to slide to freedom.  If you weren't lucky enough to break free, it was guaranteed your face would be welted and red from the "dreaded" whisker rub.

Now the whisker rub could not have been that dreaded or we would not have spent hours plotting and planning how we could "steal" his Copenhagen snuff box from his shirt pocket.  We all knew the risks going in, but it didn't matter.  The surge of power and invincibility that came from obtaining that elusive snuff box as worth the risk.  Besides, with all the grandchildren working toward this common goal; odds were someone would get the box... the sacrifice of an occasional cheek was something the team was willing make.  Sometimes the reward for our efforts was a trip into town to get an ice sandwich or go to the blacksmith shop.  There was always an adventure when you were with Grandpa Max.

Mid-birthday whacks....

Grandpa Max was a man who liked his traditions.  Every year on my birthday it was guaranteed three things would happen.  I would get a birthday spanking, followed by the bumps.  The number of bumps and spanks corresponded with my age.  A quick enterprise when you are say- 4 yrs old not so quick when you are 16.  One would think the attack on the derriere would be finished after all that.... nope.  It was not a complete birthday celebration without the pinch to grow and inch.

The man must have known what he was doing as I ended up surpassing both my parents in height.  Might not have happened if I had forgone a pinch or two.

The other staple tradition was the picture with "the boys".  My brother and two of my cousins were all born within a week of each other.  That first Christmas after the birth of the trio,  a photo was taken of my Grandpa sitting in his recliner holding all three boys.   That picture was recreated almost every year, with the last picture being taken the Christmas before his death.

How I loved my childhood.  A time when Grandpa Max was my moon, my stars and my sun.

Time and knowledge put chinks in his armour.  It turned out Grandpa Max was not the God I idolized, but a regular man.  It was difficult coming to grips with this realization, but it was something that needed to happen.   At the time I felt betrayed that he was not perfect. That he said mean things to those that I loved when he was drinking.  His meanness was never directed at me, but the sorrow and frustration in others was hard to bare witness to.    It created a picture in my mind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  How could this man who was so loving and caring to me and the rest of his grandchildren be so arbitrary with the rest of his family?

I give him credit.  If it wasn't for this dramatic difference in how he was perceived, I would probably not have the close relationship that I have with my Dad now.  I recall my Dad talking with a sibling on the phone during one of Grandpa’s illnesses.  They were rehashing the difficult times that they had as a child and were focusing on all Grandpa's faults.

I was furious!  How dare they rag on my God, my idol!  I was so mad I threw caution to the wind and started yelling at my dad after he hung up the phone.  Up until that time I would not have even dared raise my voice to my dad, let alone express an opinion, but fury made me reckless. It was a break through for both my dad and I, our A HA moment.  It was a day where the seeds of our current relationship were sowed.  Without my Grandpa, I don't think that would have ever happened.

These are the things that I wanted to say at his funeral but would not have able to get out without ugly crying in front the crowd.... there was still ugly crying but only the choir and minister got to see it.... everyone got to hear it though!

I love you Grandpa Max.  Thank-you for making my life magical, for ensuring the height gods would smile down upon me and for the life lessons that I carry with me to this day.   You are still the coolest of the cool!