Meeting Verna Towne

Cortez was supposed to be a larger city, but to me it looked like the stage-setting of a Spaghetti Western. Again, the buildings and stores were flat and low, spread out with so much unused space around them that I was glad to be surrounded by the comforting metal of the car.

The hospital wasn’t any different. Low and spread out, we had to walk for what seemed like hours, instead of coming in and taking an elevator to the right section.

We entered a room with white walls. A single bed stood in a corner, and the winter sunlight streamed through a window onto the foot end of the bed. An older woman with fashionably slanted glasses, rhinestones on each side, lay propped up in the bed, watching a TV hanging on the wall. 

She looked up and smiled.

“Mom,” Gary said and rushed into her embrace.

Mrs. Towne smiled at me then turned to Gary. “Is this your new bride?”

Gary introduced us and I held out my hand for the customary German handshake.

“Come closer,” she said, and when I did, she reached out with both arms and hugged me.

I was taken aback by the too sudden familiarity of my new mother-in-law, but at the same time, the instant friendliness of my new American relatives pleased and disarmed me. Verna’s warm smile and soft touch made me like her immediately.

 In Germany, her actions would have been too forward, but I kept telling myself I was in Colorado now, and Americans were supposed to be much friendlier.

“It’s good to meet you, Sonja,” Mrs. Towne said while holding my hand. “Welcome to my family. And thanks for giving me a grandchild.” 

She patted my six-month pregnant belly. In Germany I would have been inspected and talked about for a few days, and maybe eventually gotten close to my new mother-in-law, but, I reminded myself, I’m not in Germany anymore. 

Gary’s mom was doing well. She told me about her operation. I didn’t understand everything, but I did learn that she would stay in the hospital another week, however, to make sure her ulcers were all gone and she was healthy enough to come home.

Culture Shock -- On the Way to Meeting Verna Towne

On my first day in the United States, staying at Grandpa Art and Grandma Verna Towne’s home, I followed my husband outside to see Verna in the hospital. I stepped from the house into a snow-covered, much too large yard. I blinked into the bright January sunshine and stopped short.

“The sun is shining on the snow,” I said. “I need some sunglasses.”

Gary laughed. “We get sunshine a lot. Let’s go to the drugstore first and get you some glasses.”

“The drugstore? Isn’t that the store where you get medicine? Can you buy glasses there too?”

“Yes. It’s not like in Germany. You can buy all kinds of things there.”

He helped me into his father’s car. The older Mr. Towne had already gone to work at Mesa Verde, where he was the maintenance foreman. I assumed he had taken the train or a bus, until Gary said, “Dad took the truck so you won’t have to struggle to get in, with your belly.”

“I suppose there’s no bus or train that could take him to work?”

“There isn’t. I’ll show you where he works on the way back from the hospital. But first let’s go see Mom. The doctor said she could go home in a few days, but she can’t wait to meet you.”

Gary pulled onto the main street of the small town his family lived in.

I stared out the window and forgot to breathe.

The buildings along the road all were low, two stories at the most, and there was so much unused space between them. I felt like we were swimming through emptiness.

 Mancos, Colorado, still looks like this.

  We left town and drove on to Cortez, but it didn’t get any better. Trees and what seemed unused fields lined the road, all covered with the brilliant snow, made even more bright by the relentless sun in a truly blue, cloudless sky. Even the sky looked different here, not the washed out, smoggy blue I was used to. I felt like I had been transported to Mars, or some other, unknown planet. 

Tomorrow, I'll talk about meeting Verna Towne for the first time.

Verna Towne

Verna Towne in 2006. We all love and miss her!

Verna Towne passed away last night, at 91 years of age. Even though we should have been prepared, the family is reeling. Grandma was a great and wonderful influence in all our lives, and for me, she had become a true mother. The next few blog posts will be about her and about me getting to know and love her. Here’s the first one. 

Culture Shock

It was dark when we arrived at my husband’s parents home in Colorado. I was jetlagged and my head kept dropping onto my chest on the ride from the airport. I had only one desire, to find a bed and sleep.

Gary opened the car door and helped me out of the car. A large dog came up to me, alternately barking and wagging its tail. I shrank back. That dog was larger than a German shepherd, with thick, dark fur. He took a sniff at my extended belly, and I expected him to take a bite out of me. But before Gary could even say a word, the dog quit barking and licked my hand.

“Triton smells the baby inside you,” Gary said petting the dog who now had lost interest in me and was smiling a doggie smile at my husband. “He is never friendly to strangers, but somehow he knows you’re part of the family.”

A stranger to me, an older version of Gary, came from the house, hugged me and led me into his home.

Gary showed me a bedroom and finally I could sleep.

The next day, I watched Gary make breakfast. He turned on the faucet over the kitchen sink and let it run. Soon the water coming out steamed. I was surprised. This house had running hot water. In my apartment in Germany, I had to heat the water on the stove when I wanted it hot.

Gary said, “If you’re up to it, let’s go visit Mom in the hospital in Cortez.”

I had slept long and well, and was up to it.

I followed my husband out of the house, and that’s when culture shock really set in. 

*****

Tomorrow I'll post more about culture shock and the first time I met Verna Towne .

Elfriede Markus

Elfriede Edel as a Young Widow

 Mutti’s mother was a widow when Mutti was four years old. She was young and pretty, and wanted to have a man in her life. She went out dancing and having fun while leaving the little girl all alone at home. Eventually she married again, and her name changed from Elfriede Edel to Elfriede Markus.

Elfriede was very young when Mutti was born. She was far from her family and didn’t really know how to raise a child. In many ways, Mutti was emotionally and physically abused. She told me a few years ago that parents of that time hit their children and rarely praised them as a matter of course.

 My wedding in 1973. Elfried and Max are in the front, with my baby brother Michael between them. I'm right behind Max, and my father is next to me with my sister Josefa. Mutti is on the right behind Elfriede, with my husband Gary next to her.

And that’s the reason why I never met my grandmother Elfriede until my wedding at 23. When Mutti was still small, she swore she’d never hit her children. When the war was finally over, Mutti was six months pregnant, so she and Vati got married as soon as they could, with no one of Mutti’s family in attendance.

A year or so later, before traveling to Berlin became very difficult, Mutti and Vati visited Max and Elfriede Markus in Berlin. Then they took their circus back to Hessen, the heartland of Germany. Mutti had no contact with her mother. They never wrote each other. Telephoning was out of the question because of our constant travels. My grandmother must have tried to visit when I was small, but I don’t remember that. When we were older, Mutti told us children that she had no wish to have her mother close to her children, because she was afraid Elfriede would hit us. She didn’t want that, and she didn’t want to deal with her mother.

However, by the time I was 23, they had contacted each other again, and my grandmother was invited, and came, to my wedding. I never met her again after that.

But even though I grew up without grandparents, I hope I have become a pretty good grandmother! I enjoy being a grandmother very much!