A new voice (at last)

This is from Marilyn.

In memory of Mom, Grandma, Dode, Nana, Dodie, No-no Nana,
Crystal, Great Grandma, and Dorothy:

It is said that a loved one is known by many names, and that was true with our mother, Dorothy Joan Pickrel Gravett. One of 11 surviving children and the self-described “runt” of the family, Dorothy held her own among bossy brothers and taller sisters. Her family was well off but she learned early that life had many dimensions, for she helped her mother tend to the mentally ill grandmother strapped to a bed in the upper floor of her large house. When she was still a teenager, amidst the Great Depression, her family lost everything and Dorothy turned her wages over to her parents. She married Edmund Johnson Gravett, a creative alcoholic who shared her love of music and dancing. They lived through World War II and had a family. She suffered miscarriages and a baby brought to term who died before delivery, having her last child, Joan Elizabeth Gravett, when she was 42 years old.

The house I grew up in was predictably unpredictable. Alcoholism and schizophrenia are diseases fueled by depression and repression, and the effects on family life are now well documented and better understood. As a child, I never felt safe. And for years I blamed my parents.

I heard once that forgiveness is giving up all hope of a better past. For years I longed for that: a better past. Until I grew up. Until I accepted who I was in sum. Only then could I see my parents for who they were: human beings terribly burdened by their own diseases and demons who did the best they could to love and rear us. And I can recognize the gifts they bestowed: creativity, a sense of humor, a love of music. My last interaction with Mom was on Saturday afternoon. She wouldn’t open her eyes when she talked to me so I made a crack about me being so homely she couldn’t bear to look upon me. Her response was that wonderful warm smile of hers, with one corner of it bent slightly, sardonically, knowing she was being teased.

My favorite memories of mom are: wrestling with Joanie and me on the living room floor; letting Joanie and me “treat” her aching legs after work with layers of cream and powder and not getting mad when she woke up caked from our therapy; playing “house” with 3-year-old Rachel for hours on end; locking herself out of our San Jose house and peeing in the dog’s water bowl; having her picture taken with Beetlejuice at Universal City; and dancing with Vera in Indianapolis when she was 92. But my favorite memory of mom is seeing her come down our street in Orem, Utah, with my late husband Robin holding her arm and swinging his white stick, and mom pushing Danny in the stroller, and keeping a watchful eye on Rachel on her tricycle, all the while smiling at me and telling the family, “Mommy’s home.”

30

July 8. 2010

The old-fashioned journalists' code for the end of a story is 30.
Not even scholars of the field can give a single convincing reason for it.
But 30 for generations meant, the end.
And so it was for Dorothy Joan Pickrel Gravett at 2 a.m. July 6.
30.
That's all she wrote.
So long, farewell.
As she had wished, Dodie/Mom/Nana/Nono left this plane in her sleep. She had suffered an attack of coughing on July 3 from which she entered a coma and never again opened her eyes to see. Pneumonia was diagnosed and left untreated. Only comfort care from hospice was administered, per Dorothy's written wishes.
Marilyn felt she had left us by Sunday, July 4. Ted and Linda came to visit, as did Sarah and Fred and I.
And we knew for sure when Alice, the kind and concerned nurse, called me at home at 2:05 a.m. with the news and an apology -- an apology for not being present.

But we felt this was what Mom wanted. After all, she had withstood the best ministrations at Ebeid Hospice Center next door since Jan. 29, care designed to help her sail into the great unknown with maximum comfort and minimum anxiety.

Moved to the Goerlich Center nursing home next door on the Flower Hospital campus, Mom had shown signs of progress, sitting more nearly upright, feeding herself, opening her eyes, and talking. all in the active dayroom of the "Main Street" unit for the least abled residents.
Hospice served her well there, too, and, when the end came, a lovely nurse named Joanne was there to lead us fumbling through the final steps.

Somehow, no matter how well you think you have prepared, when it comes to do the few final tasks, a kind, seasoned person like Joanne makes the process more human. I have been in a fog of sorts since that early morning call; not even able to cry, just going through motions that I have to dredge up in my memory from earlier, more coherent times.

Truly, I cannot believe Mom is gone, even though I am toting around the rest of her personal effects from the Goerlich center in the trunk of my car and stashing earlier transfers in the cottage next door. She is still alive in my mind, still waiting for the next visit which I will approach with a sense of duty but also anticipation of her smile and loving gaze.

Toward the end, Mom could be talking on about horses in her room or rain dripping from the ceiling or the little girl on the sofa and then, in a flash, look at me and say, "Your hair is so pretty." These days, I'm beginning to get a sense of what that fractured consciousness must have felt like.

I'm in a bare room in my head although outside life continues to bustle on.
I can hear Paul and Carter prattle on and on about video games, or play "Monkey in the Middle" at East Harbor State Park beach with all the kids and grownups as we did yesterday. I can get dinner started, served, eaten, and cleared; negotiate with workmen, file obits and pay for them with a credit card, even finish a novel, and yet, it all seems dreamlike.

After months of roller coaster emotions and crises that resolved, I think I finally unplugged that part of my heart connected to Mom for so very long. It will take time to find the connection and, when I do, look out.

After months of blog silence leaving Mom suspended in the 1990s, I cannot just pick up the threads of that story, so I'll end this post but say, watch for more.

Love,
s

what empty nest?

L-R: Betty, Carol, Dodie, Ann.

In the mid-70s, Dorothy and Ed were left in a mostly empty nest, except when one of their kids flew back for a short stay.
The same year Joan graduated from high school, 1974, Sally and her three kids moved back in after Sally left her first husband, Willard Carter. Things were crowded and hectic, to say the least. While Dodie loved the energy, the encampment was short term.
Joan, meanwhile, was off to art school in Oakland, Ca. Marilyn was working various outdoor jobs including Metroparks ranger and dump-truck driver. Ted was in the U.S. Army. Ed was still working for the U.S. Treasury.
Dorothy took those years pretty hard. She needed to be needed. She worked at Way Public Library and kept house while helping her offspring fledge.
But by the early 1980s, tension between Dodie and Ed finally led to divorce court. Dorothy moved to Dayton and rented an apartment in Oakwood, where Ed had grown up. (Ed, retired, put their house on the market and fulfilled his long-held dream to move to Florida. He bought a manufactured home in a senior development just west of Vero Beach, Fla.
Ted, mustered out of the military, joined Dodie in Dayton. She loved having her son close and also being able to get together with her sisters, Betty, Carol, and Ann, for gossip and jokes.
Dodie found a child care job that left her time to tend to hers and Ted's needs.
Life for her had become calmer, as the loss of tension from her marriage -- plus regular meds -- reduced flare-ups of her schizophrenia.
Ted needed lots of support adjusting to civilian life and Mom was there to provide it. Dorothy needed to be needed. She encouraged Ted to move into his own apartment, to build independence. Ted went to school and held a series of jobs.
By the late 1980s, however, economics and emotions led Dorothy and Ted to find a larger apartment they could share. The situation on Lawnview Court in Kettering, a suburb south of Dayton, seemed ideal for both.
"Blessed" with the Pickrel knees, Dorothy signed on replacement surgery early in the 1990s. Her sisters had lots of experiences to share and they fostered her decision to go for broke -- have both knees replaced at once. Her recovery was rapid and without incident. Sally, now an empty nester herself, was able to come down and take care of things for a few days until Dodie's mobility was restored.
With the exception of one mental health crisis due to inadequate doctoring, Dodie's life just seemed to get happier and happier.
Stay tuned . . .

bitz and pixels

Mom's hair slowly turned grey but her smile never dimmed as her family grew and each child became more well defined. With disputatious Sally off to college and then to Connecticut for a job, Marilyn, Joan, and Ted became a more closely knit group, although each had a strong and creative impact on the family as a whole.

Dorothy's illness progressed like a slow tide rising amidst the ongoing drama of the kids' adventures and Dad's disruptive drunken habits. The Gravetts' had such a bland, attractive home on a quintessential mid-American street -- but inside, what excitement, fear, laughter, good food, and progress roiled around at all times -- much like most American families.

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way," wrote Leo Tolstoy in his classic novel, Anna Karenina.

And each Gravett had his or her own take on the family, depending on a host of variables. Somehow though, many, many endeavors -- school years, homework, meals, laundry, vacation trips, gardens, workshop projects, music lessons, and so much more -- were started and most often completed.

Family life moved itself along like a staggering juggernaut, driven by the irresistible spirit of Dodie.

Soon enough, Ted left for college. Then Marilyn,.

By then, Dodie had her first grandchildren -- Emily Maud, Sarah Sawyer, and Hannah Holly. They were in Connecticut, too far for a casual visit. But Dorothy made sure to keep in touch with them, directly and through Sally.

And then, by the early 70s, just in time for Joan's high school graduation, when it seemed the nest had emptied at last, there was a homecoming.

Stay tuned . . . .

xoxo

Joanie corex

I am, according to Marilyn my eagle-eyed editor sister, an "unreliable narrator." Sounds slamlike to me, but then Marilyn always was watching to see how soon I'd slip up. (And i rarely disappointed her.)
Funny thing, as a newspaper writer and editor for decades, I had a low error rate. But writing this Blog I've found my percentage of goofs his much higher.
of course, I'm not fact-checking the way i normally do.
Still, I did get Joanie's birthday off by an entire month!!
Sorry, Joanie.
I know you were born May 30, not June 30. And now, so do all seven readers of this blog.
So let the record stand corrected.
Mom has been sleeping a lot in the last 24 hours.
And Ted, our brother, has retired from his government job.
Congrats, Ted!!

xoxo
sally

Dodie then and now, again

At right, Joanie with her big sister on the family trike. (Note the used brick sidewalk in the middleground, a big deal to Dode at the time. And the rail fence, another addition to the property.)

But the big addition, prompted by Joanie's arrival, was the addition of another bedroom and conversion of the screened in porch (see two posts prior) to a spacious family room.

All this happened during the time between these two photos.

The new "master" bedroom rode above the garage, off the same landing that led farther upstairs. The new family room had space for a dining table, sofa and chair, the TV, ironing board, large chest, and a high chair. The family gathered here at all parts of the day and night.

Dodie was domestic goddess, making solid dinners, packing lunches, fixing breakfasts, keeping house, doing laundry, gardening, chasing kids, and, occasionally, stepping out with Ed for dancing or having friends in for bridge club. In her spare time, she sewed a lot for the kids, for herself, and for the house.

For several years she crafted fancy holiday candles. One type was made by pouring melted and tinted paraffin into square milk cartons filled with crushed ice and centered with a taper.

The more memorable candles started as a tall taper to which were added tiers of wax cooled and cut into disks and layered over the taper to achieve a tree shape. The coolest thing about these candles was the final touch: Mom would whip melted paraffin until it resembled thick cream and ice the tiers, sprinkling stars and glitter on the "frosting.' She sold these at some of the large department stores downtown.

During this period -- the mid-1950s into the 1960s -- there were the semiannual treks to Fort Lauderdale in the family wagon.

That meant tooling down 2-lane roads through Ohio, Kentucky, Tennesee, Georgia, and Florida, a grueling three-day campaign featuring sibling rivalry, arguments about where to stop for lunch, dinner, and overnight; dirty diapers needing to be cleaned, and plenty of whining from everyone on board.

There were annual Pickrel family reunions in the summer and the famed adults only Christmas party. There was church on Sunday, dinners out occasionally at Don & Sis in Maumee and the Delft House on Bancroft Street in Toledo. There were Sunday rides in the car with ice cream cones from Isaly's in Bowling Green. There were dogs that came and mysteriously disappeared, an electric train set up in the basement (American Flyer), lots of ping pong, and Dad's jazz and classical music playing the nights he was home. (He traveled one night a week to visit all those 17 counties.)

It was a time of keeping up appearances, taking care of one's property, getting kids to checkups at doctor and dentist, PTA meetings, and, unfortunately, ongoing strife between Ed and Dodie over Ed's drinking habit.

At some point, the tension became a pathology and the entire household tuned into the dynamics between the two parents. On top of that, Dorothy's suspicions of others were gradually transforming from a neurotic tendency to true paranoia. That both parents could continue to function says as much about the pressure of the post-war family era as it does about the strength of Ed's and Dorothy's individual character.

When things were good, and they often were, there was always a certain breathless and fearful anticipation for that signal comment to trigger an argument. When times were ugly, there was frantic waiting for the crisis to pass. Usually but not always, the peak was on Saturday night, with accord being reestablished in time for a Sunday afternoon ride.

No one could say Ed and Dodie didn't give their best to the challenges of being married, being parents of kids ranging from high schooler to toddler, and being responsible citizens. They certainly tried and cared.

It's easier to see that and realize their efforts now than it was then.

NOW:

Today, Mom said to me: "I think I'm dying."

She looked right at me with a question in her eyes and I had to concur.

"You are, I said. It's alright. You've had a good long life."

Mom was unsure of her exact age, but knew it was old. We then talked about how Maudie (her sainted mother-in-law) lived to 94.

A few minutes later, she asked: "Am I dying?"

I looked directly at her and said, "You are."

She caught her breath, then smiled, and said, "You always tell me the truth."

Since late January her decline has accelerated, at first slowly but in these last weeks, more rapidly. She walked into this lovely Ebeid Center but that was about the end of her mobility.

She has good days and not so good days. Dode's good days are brightened with her sense of humor, her interest in what's going on around her (real and delusional), her continued interest in food, fashion, and decor, and her taste for big band music and Little House on the Prairie.

On her bad days, she lies very still, very pale. She has scary catarrh. Sometimes she clings to the rails of her bed. "I feel like I'm going to fall off," Dodie will say. (She resists being moved at all.) Then, she likes softer music and fairy tales. I'm working my way through them the same as I did for the grandchildren.

Sometimes Marilyn sings to her and she loves that. Marilyn and I are spending more time at Ebeid Center, just hanging with Mom. It's a very pleasant, airy, clean place looking out over a sloping meadow with pond. Deer, squirrels, ducks, and geese come close to the door, in hopes of a handout. Hannah comes by and Edward and Kiki visited not long ago. Mom wants to see Kiki ("Little Sweetie") again. Linda and Ted were up last weekend and want to come back.

It's an interesting phenomenon, this pulling together watching your mother move away from you. It's not unlike watching a baby progress in tiny increments, only Dorothy is moving in the opposite direction.

She is largely pain-free, non-anxious, and still cheerful as she can be. What a way to go!!!

Love,

Sally

When it warms up a bit more, Mom can be moved in her bed

Lotsa photos

The early ages and stages of Joanie. It's clear what a welcome newcomer she was and how she loved her family .

I will post more photos in a day or two. Just found these in Mom's "things," we we had sort of dropped into the house next door and not touched. I was thrilled to find so many photos of Joanie as well as letters and cards she has faithfully sent Dode and Ed and Ted over the years. When she was little, we didn't realize how very talented Joanie was, but she soon showed us all.

Welcome, Joanie!!

June is a wonderful month to be born -- all that sunshine and greenery outside, high spirits and reasonable temperatures.

Joan Elizabeth Gravett just made it into June, arriving on June 30, 1957, at Toledo Hospital.

The fourth and final child for Ed and Dorothy, she was a calm and happy baby favored with sleek blonde hair, blue eyes, and warm, true smile.

Naturally, as youngest sibling, Joanie got lots of attention, especially from her older sister, Marilyn, who treated the new arrival as her own little pet baby. (The next post will contain more pictures of the two little girls together. )

These photos were taken on the back porch of the house, just off the dining room, with a lovely panorama of the Gravett backyard and nearby backyards. On a fine day, it was the place to be, with its southern exposure.

Joanie was a post-40s baby for Dodie, who spent the pregnancy worrying that she might be a Downs child -- we still used the word, mongoloid, in those days. The word carried such a stigma then. One of Mom's friends had indeed given birth to a Downs child and there were whispers . . . .

For Ed, Joanie as another mouth to feed, but as he loved babies, pragmatism gave way to adoration as he loved to hold her and talk with her and play music for her. By then, Ed was into the trombone and had built a fancy music stand in the basement where he practiced jazz tunes. He also listened to some of the best on records. Classical music and jazz were pretty standard accompaniments to evening and weekend life at 120 East Seventh.

For Ted and Sally, the new baby was adorable but they were busy with their growing school and social calendars. (Sally will confess to being embarrassed upon learning that Mom was pregnant again. After all, Sally was a freshman in high school. Ted was 8 and in 3rd grade, busy in Cub Scouts and figuring out how to take things apart.)

Still, Joanie's sunny smile and happy demeanor won over everyone and Sally soon came to look on her youngest sister as a delicious addition to the family.

For Dorothy, life became even more complicated, of course, with a high-schooler, a grade-schooler, a kindergartner, and a baby. But Dodie lived motherhood and doted on her newest baby as much as she had doted on the older kids at their age.

But suddenly, it seemed, the three-bedroom house was becoming cramped.

Next post: pictures.

Then, an expansion at home to accomodate the expansion of the family.

Please leave comments and (Marilyn) corrections so I can keep this record straight.

Love,

Sally

Perrysburg Part Deux

The new house at 120 East Seventh St., was where the Gravetts grew and flourished for decades.

Colonial was the decorating style of the times and so Dodie found sofas and chairs in quaint prints and retro styles, accessorizing with tables of maple with lots of turned wood.

Ed found a new passion in the basement of the house, building furniture -- mostly cases for the Heathkit stereo systems he assembled -- but also some storage units still in use today. From the Johnsons -- Ed's middle name was Johnson -- he must have inherited the furniture gene, because his work was careful, well-finished, and detailed.

Dodie found lamps and decor to light up the new living-dining room, with her hand-made cafe curtains in the big, multipaned front window. She had a window box hung and kept it blooming with petunias and ivy each summer.

The family acquired the first of what would be a string of station wagons -- always Fords, still -- which just fit in the garage. Ed began work on a patio behind the garage door and installed clotheslines for drying. There was a burn barrel in the back corner of the yard, near the apple trees on the other side of the fence.

A sense of humor, sometimes dark but always evident, made for some great moments, laughs, and a few photos like this one of Marilyn in mustache and captain's hat. Later, she would go for the cowboy look with a fringed skirt and vest, boots, hat, and six-gun in holster.

Ted favored flannel shirts, baggy jeans, and an authentic Davy Crockett coonskin hat. Dorothy, always slim and fit, dressed in shorts and pedal pushers in warm weather and skirts in cooler seasons. Ed was just plain dapper, always stepping out to work in tidy suits -- glen plaid, seersucker, or tan serge -- with cotton shirts ironed by Dode until Sally was old enough, natty ties, and good-looking shoes.

Ed and Dodie had to share the family Ford, but with the convenience of a small town, most of the weekday shopping could be done on foot.

Sally rode her Roadmaster blue bike with a front basket, Ted had a small bike with training wheels, and Marilyn inherited the family tricycle. Riding bikes on the sidewalk was a normal part of every temperate day. On Memorial Day, bikes, trikes, wagons, and cars were decorated for the annual parade that started on Louisiana, headed down Front Street, and wound up at the cemetery.

NOTE: As I write this, more memories come to mind. I could go on and on. However, I think there are probably lots of stories and snippets from those P-burg years in your memory. If you think of something, send it to me as email or a comment and I'll post it.

More to come.

Dodie and her sisters

Betty, Ann, Dodie, Carol at a wedding in 1991.

Betty, Carol, Dodie, Ann, together in Dayton in the 1990s.

whoo are you??

Sifting through yet another box of Mom's papers, I came upon two documents that need to be shared. I recall seeing them before and vaguely recall the story. Here's the best I can do with the evidence and my memory:

A baby was born to David and Stella Pickrel on May 24, 1915, in their home at 1612 Grand Avenue, Dayton.

According to this copy of the original birth certificate, this girl child was named Janet May Pickrel.

Hmmmm . . .

We've always known her as Dorothy Joan, or Dodie.

At 33 years, Stella Mary Young Pickrel had already birthed seven babies before this new arrival.

One baby girl had not lived long. As I recall, she had been named Janet. (Not sure about the middle name, but the month is right anyway.)

Probably it was exhaustion that resulted in the error, but we may never know. The new baby wasn't called Janet. She was Dorothy right away and Dorothy she remained.

Only in 1972, and it's not clear why then and not earlier, did the record get set straight. With her older sister, Ruth, born May 5, 1905, Dorothy had the record set straight in court. An affidavit was filed on July 31, 1972, to change the baby's name from Janet May to Dorothy Joan.

And while they were at it, the sisters corrected their father's middle initial from R. to L.

Pburg part 1

Above is a rare early photo of our Perrysburg home. (No doubt Dorothy took the shot as she's the only one missing.) Her parents, Stella and David Pickrel, were visiting from Dayton. Ed, left, is holding Marilyn's hand. Stella also has a grip on Marilyn and Ted (love those suspenders), and Sally is peeking between her Nanny and Boppy. Dodie's parents usually stayed at the Commodore Perry Hotel, Toledo's best address for visitors. A visit to their downtown rooms was a real treat.

When the Gravetts moved to Perrysburg, a historic village on the western banks of the Maumee River, the population was just about 5,000.

City limits in 1953 were clear: East, South, and West Boundary streets, with housing within and farm fields just across the road.

P-burg was just completing its first modern elementary school -- Elm Street School as it was known then; Frank J. Toth as it is called today.

The school was on the next block from 123 East Seventh, the brand new house that Ed and Dodie and their contractors had built.

Not only was it the newest house on the block, it was the biggest, with three bedrooms, 1.5 baths, a sunporch off the back bedroom, and an attached garage with a paved driveway.

Seventh Street was the unofficial but obvious edge of the central part of Perrysburg, part of a grid of blocks marked by numbered streets running parallel to the river and tree-inspired streets crossing at right angles -- Elm, Locust, Maple, Hickory on the east side of the main drag, Louisiana Avenue, and Walnut, Cherry, Pine, and Mulberry on the west side.

Seventh Street wasn't a tony address like Front Street with the big, historical mansions, or even Second Street, but it was still a cut above streets developed later on, or so the family believed.

Wide streets, smooth sidewalks, generous setbacks from the road, and mature trees gave the neighborhood of mostly tiny to small bungalows and cottages a shady and settled aspect.

You could walk almost anywhere you needed to be in the Wood County town.

A few blocks away was Sullivan's Market, on Louisiana across from the original Perrysburg school building (now deceased). Cross Indiana Avenue just past Sullivan's and you encountered the massive Romanesque-style Way Public Library, with its steep stone steps and soaring arches marking the entrance.

Another block up, the B&O railroad tracks ran parallel to the river and Indiana Avenue. Coal-fired engines were beginning to give way to sleek diesels pulling freight and passenger trains on a regular if infrequent schedule.

Mainstay shops in what was usually called "Uptown" included Broske's Pizza, Miller's Hardware, a 5 and 10-cent store, Harriet's dress shop, Kazmaier's Market, and Houck's drugstore.

Looking back down Louisiana from his promontory perch across Front Street was the town's namesake, Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry, who had prevailed against the British fleet in Lake Erie during a decisive battle in the War of 1812.

Just west of West Boundary Street, past the graveyard, was Fort Meigs, another key site in the war which really opened up the west for settlement and marked the death knell for Native Americans in the region.

Fort Meigs was the picnic spot with remnants of earthworks from the fort for playing games, steep hills running down to the Maumee River for winter sledding, and shelter houses and tree-shaded picnic tables scattered around its many acres.

Ed and Dodie, Sally, Ted, and Marilyn moved into their home in the spring of 1953.

Dorothy set about getting her family established in the new home; enrolling Sally in school, joining a new church -- First Methodist of Perrysburg -- and obtaining library cards, among many other tasks. She began to meet the neighbors, many of whom were older and had lived in their homes for a long time.

There were Margaret and Charlie Williams, both Scots with a delightful brogue. Charlie was a gardener at one of the big River Road estates and Margaret fussed over Charlie. Next door to the Williams was Mrs. Korn, a sweet older lady who kept busy baking, sewing, quilting, and gardening. Ralph and Betty Barnes lived in the red farmhouse right next door and raised their family right along with Ed and Dodie. There were lots of kids in the neighborhood.

Each morning Ed left in his Ford for either his downtown office or a trip into the hinterlands to encourage more businesses to sign up for the Savings Bond program. Dorothy could push Marilyn, not yet 1, in her stroller, and keep a hand on Ted, 4, to Sullivan's for shopping and, if Teddy was very good, a treat at the adjacent Perry Dairy Bar.

Always a dedicated and creative seamstress, Dorothy used quiet moments to stitch up curtains for the windows of her new house, as well as to make dresses and other outfits for herself and the kids. Dinner was a family event most nights, after Ed came home. Dorothy tried to emulate her mother's model of feeding her family balanced meals with meat, veggies, salads, and simple desserts. Both Dodie and Ed smoked but in those days, no one thought of it as unhealthy. It was simply part of being an adult, like drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.

Perrysburg was the most permanent home for the Gravetts, the only home Ted, Marilyn, and Joan would really remember. Dodie and Ed and their kids lived at 123 East Seventh St. for nearly 30 years.

More to come. . . .

miss info

Sisters can be SUCH a bother!

Why does my sister (MHG) think it's so important to correct her birth year and make her one year younger?

Big deal!

Well, you know, she's a high-falutin' medical writer, so I guess she just can't turn off that Virgo-ian quest for fact over convenient fiction.

I'll forgive her and make the correction.

Okay, okay, Marilyn, now everyone knows: You were born on Sept. 11, 1952.

And that makes another date in that last historical posting off by a year. We moved to Perrysburg in 1953, not 1952.

Marilyn, I just hope this makes your day. It sure made mine. Well, at least I don't have to look at colored pictures of occluded veins and arteries. There is some justice after all.

sgv

this and that

Dodie is more playful than she lets on.

She loves to tease and banter. But maintaining a proper image has always been high on her must-do list.

So how the folks at Oakleaf Village talked her into this get-up is anyone's guess. Had to be one of their activities directors -- maybe Fran, who has since retired, or Allison, whose energy is unflagging.

Even though Mom will tsk-tsk at PDAs, even among octogenarians, someone charmed her into tarting up for this photo. It's one of my all-time faves and deserves a place of honor in this account.
From the bottle-blonde wig and smeared lipstick to the feather boa and red rose, Dodie stepped way out of character and loved it. This shot was on her frig at Oakleaf until we moved her out last month.

It's way more fun than the shot below, an Olan Mills special Dode must have had taken when she lived in Dayton, among the rest of her highly proper family.

You really see the resemblance to her younger sister, Anne, and some of her brothers in this shot.
Note the matching beads and earrings.

In her later years, Mom really got into ornamentation. No outfit was complete without multiple strands of beads, at least one brooch, and a scarf.
Her red walker also was trimmed with a bright lei from some theme party. Kiki, her greatgrandaughter, had first draped it over the front and there it stayed. Later, new decor joined the lei. It was a point of pride for Mom.

Spending time with an aging parent is at best bitter-sweet. There are all those lingering quirks and preferences which drove you crazy 40 years ago and they're STILL THERE!

But into the mix goes the slowly creeping dementia. It must be a comfort to Mom, as it allows her to ignore so much going on around her and yet remain steadfast about what makes her feel herself and who she is.

Only recently, since her rapid decline late in January and subsequent move to Ebeid Center, have we come to realize how hard Mom was working to maintain an appearance of normalcy, how important it was to cling to that prized propriety. These days she seems much more relaxed. In fact, she says, "I feel safe here."

Much of the paranoia that came naturally to her had blossomed in recent years at Oakleaf, as Dorothy struggled to tell the difference between what was real and what only seemed real. After all those decades battling the very real depredations of paranoid schizophrenia (more about that in posts to come), Mom had been able to somehow compound an inner world view only barely tethered to reality, yet comfortable to her.
Much of the fear that accompanies the delusions and strange sensory prompts for those with PS seemed to have been resolved. That's been a blessing.

And now her memories seem to swirl around her like butterflies, the real and the imagined dancing together. It doesn't look all that bad from my perspective.

Of course, I think Dode no longer recalls her days of glory in 2004, when residents at Oakleaf voted her in as their queen, Miss Oakleaf Village. Her election there was her entree into a much larger arena: the My Fair Lady contest held each July during the Lucas County Fair.
Women of a certain age (plus 20-40 more years) all gathered in their best polyester on a sunny summer day inside one of the airplane hangar-like buildings at the Lucas County Fairgrounds.
Most had family, friends, and fellow residents to support them. A busload had come from Oakleaf to cheer Dodie on.
With a local entertainer, Eddie Boggs, as MC, the contestants were put through their paces. There was, thankfully, no swimsuit competition, but there was sashaying, strutting, and waving. (Mom had practiced her royal wave and it was perfection.) Instead of a talent component, contestants were asked for advice to be shared with the younger generations.
"Always be honest and kind," Mom said. She was the favorite early on, but another contestant, Ruth Davis, who had founded an eponymous business college decades ago, won by virtue of her age: 101. Mom became a runner up and was she proud.
It was a wonderful moment for this lifelong striver.

north to toledo

Such a lovely family!

There's Ed in his natty glen plaid suit and sheer socks -- worn in those days with garters -- his blonde hair neatly combed including a little spit curl. Those intellectual horn rim glasses hinted at the writer's fire that burned beneath his daily work as a G-man: a U.S Treasury Dept. employee who was Savings Bond Representative for Northwest Ohio's 17 counties.
Already he was turning his scriptwriting gift and love of theater into memorable TV spots advertising the bonds. He hung out with bankers and corporate execs.

There's Dodie with her warm smile, her lovely dark hair carefully coifed to make the most of her natural curl. If she looks a little tired, well, there was the latest family member, Marilyn Hill, born Sept. 11, 1951, plus lively Ted, a darling boy here wearing a handmade-by-Mommy short suit and not doubt wondering how he could get his hands on the photographer's equipment.

And of course there was Sally, looking focused, red hair in pigtails, plaid school dress, and those darned orthopedic shoes -- brown oxfords -- which her mother made her wear because she had inherited her Dad's flat feet.

The sofa barely visible was a three-cushion number covered in brown chintz with golden apples and green leaves. At the time of this show, we all lived in Kenwood Gardens, a new apartment complex in Old Orchard, where the Gravetts resided while they planned and had built their new home in Perrysburg. I can still recall the new-cement smell of the hallways.

Sally walked to Old Orchard School. We all walked to Sanger Branch Library. The family attended St. Paul's Methodist Church downtown. And Ed drove downtown in a Ford -- always a Ford -- to a wonderful Romanesque-style building that had been the post office before it was converted to offices. It sat, as I recall, at the corner of Madison Avenue and St. Clair Street, today the site of Levis Square Park.

Throughout her long life, Dodie maintained a trim and shapely body, seemingly without effort. She worked hard to prepare healthy meals with lots of veggies and fruits, made the usual 50s meals -- pot roasts and stews, chicken, some fish. A big treat was Rike's Fudge Cake, an unbelievably dense cake loaded with chopped walnuts. Rike's was the big department store in downtown Dayton where Mom and her family loved to shop.

We kept in touch with the huge clan of Pickrels and Gravetts, still mostly based in Dayton, by spending holidays there. The Pickrels had a truly legendary family Christmas party to which children under 18 were not welcome. Stories about the annual event blossomed. We played with our cousins -- at one time there were over 50 -- in their homes. By virtue of age, I was most social, spending time with Julie and Janet Ward, Jackie Pickrel, Gay Pickrel, and dear Aunt Betty and Uncle Bud Stickel and their kids, Susie and Tommie. I had a crush on Dickie Pickrel.
Summers we still made the long drive in the car down to Fort Lauderdale, cramming into the family Ford and listening to Dad grumble about lines of trucks in the mountains on the two-lane road and hearing Mom gasp as Dad gunned the engine to pass some of the behemoths. It took three days to get there. We only stopped for necessities. I remember the thrill of finally spotting the Atlantic Ocean as we drove along Highway 1 south of Jacksonville.

All through these years, the tension of Dad's drinking and Mom's anger and fear related to it became a deep and sustained note in the family dynamic. Dad was a mean drunk who turned on the woman who tried hardest to please him when he was in his cups. I began to be aware of angry words behind closed doors late on Saturday night and red eyes on Sunday morning.
But such tensions were not befitting a successful middle class family preparing to move to a high class suburb, so they were dutifully ignored by those in charge.

Meanwhile, the house at 123 East Seventh Street was beginning to take shape on a tidy lot. Dodie and Ed agreed on what they called a Colonial style -- not sure why it was called that -- but it was to be two-story with a used-brick front facade on the first floor and wide clapboard everywhere else.

There were squabbles about arrangements of inside space -- where would the fireplace go? Would the dining room and living room be separate spaces or the new L-shape flowing into each other?
Usually Ed won these, by hook or by crook. The fireplace went midway down the long west wall, forcing the layout into the L-shape he preferred. French doors at the end of the dining wing opened onto a screened in porch.

We all moved into the new house in Spring, 1952.

family life

They were the picture of postwar contentment: Dodie, Ed, and Sally in front of their first home, a cozy bungalow on North Selby Boulevard in Worthington, Ohio.
One of the hastily built developments for returning WWII veterans, this new subdivision boasted a park, a school, nearby shopping, garages for those first cars, sidewalks, community activities, and lots more.
Here they settled, set up housekeeping, and began to enlarge their family..
It took awhile, that last project. Poor Dodie carried a child, a sister for Sally, full-term, but in the last weeks knew the baby had died.
It would take years to get over that sad, sad stillbirth.
Another pregnancy ended in miscarriage.
But then, Hallelujah!, Ed and Dorothy welcomed Edmund Johnson Gravett, Jr., "Ted" into the family.
At first Teddy was fragile, couldn't keep his meals down, fussed all the time. But Dodie was not about to listen to the pessimism of others, even her mother, and she dug in, giving up breastfeeding to try one formula after another until her son started to gain weight.
Teddy was a gorgeous child with amber curls, a cupid's bow mouth, and big blue eyes.
Sally, six at his birth, was fascinated and tried to help Mommy take care of Teddy.
Life was mostly sweet.
There was the new wringer-washer for all those diapers and other clothes and a long clothesline in the deep backyard where the clean wet laundry could blow dry.
Out behind the clothesline was the vegetable garden where plump juicy tomatoes bloomed in the summers
There were hollyhocks with hummingbirds inside the picket-fenced front yard.
There were neighbors -- Dottie Zimmerman across the street with her kids. Linnea and Sally were best pals.
There were "events:" fireworks just off Indianola on holidays. The families could bring lawn chairs down to the street and watch.
There were neighborly parties and blackberry picking in the nearby ravine. School was within walking distance; the park with its big memorial cannon was even closer. The first television moved into the living room shortly after Ted arrived.
Like all good post-war wives, Dorothy worked hard to keep house, feed her family, sew dresses for herself and Sally, and care for little Teddy.
Ed washed his car, mowed the lawn, and built a scooter for Sally from an orange crate and roller skates.
Every few years the family made the lo-o-ong drive to Florida to visit Ed's family in Fort Lauderdale.
But some problems were already showing their scary faces. Ed liked his liquor more than he could tolerate it. Sometimes he would take out frustration on his wife. And Dodie worried about "what the neighbors would think" when family members didn't behave as she expected.
The Gravetts of North Selby expected to raise their family in their little home, but in the 1950s, Ed's career took an upward tick and the family knew it had to move north.

go west, young woman

Dodie in Dayton before westward journey.

Top left: Ed at work in the U.S. Army. Top right: Playtime at home in Carmel.

Commuting time for Ed in Carmel, California, and Dodie in Dayton, Ohio, was prohibitive. With little Sally in tow, Dorothy boarded a westbound train and headed for Califor-ny-ay. Days and nights blurred as the iron machine click-clacked on its way, loaded with soldiers in uniform and their families.

Reunion was in the air.

Closing the familial gap in times before air travel was practical meant instant camaraderie, sharing, making do, and compromise.

Her smile at the ready, Dodie became a popular sight along the bouncing cars as she tended to the little girl with the headful of red curls and a taste for bacon.

Enlisted men hungry for home found some satisfaction watching the toddler's chubby legs pump up and down behind the lithe, dark-haired beauty.

Offers of all sorts of help abounded.

It made the trip go by more smoothly in those pre-Pamper days and nights.

Then, finally, the Pacific Ocean appeared and the long journey ended with Ed in a tiny railroad flat on a bluff overlooking the sea in Carmel, not far from Fort Ord where the PFC was posted.

More adventures. While Daddy was busy on the base, Mommy tended to a lively 2-year-old who loved to wander and, yes, ignore directions. There was the famous moment when Sally disappeared in one of those West Coast fogs, with a high cliff not far away.

There were breathtaking rides in the old beater downhill to shop and go to church. In order to get that all important dose of religion, Dodie volunteered to watch the toddler class at the closest Episcopal Church, the one with a front-door view of the Pacific.

California, so different, so full of potential, sang its song to the young Gravetts. They wanted to stay, once VDay had been celebrated and Ed had been honorably discharged.

But Midwestern roots won out over youthful ambition and Ed and Dodie rumbled their way east, crossing the country in a second-hand car their only passenger, Sally, called the Bee-wick.

It was home to Dayton and new possibilities in a familiar setting.

To this day, Dodie has remembered that dramatically beautiful California coast with longing and a desire to return.

"I want my ashes sprinkled over the Pacific Ocean," she says, not laughing for once.

Wartime

Ed and Dodie were not married yet when President FD Roosevelt signed into law the first U.S. draft: The Selective Training and Service Act, Sept. 16, 1940.

The newlyweds started life in upstate western New York and moved several times, winding up back in Dayton by 1942. As a pharmaceutical detail man, Ed represented Petrolager Laboratories based in Chicago. Among the new products he introduced to physicians was baby formula. He received several letters of praise from Petrolager.

As the U.S. involvement in World War II escalated from 1941 on, the couple returned to Dayton and rented a house on Catalpa Drive.

Two significant things happened in 1943: Ed was drafted into the U.S. Army. And Dorothy became pregnant with their first child.

Ed shipped out for California and active duty in August that year. He was stationed at Camp Callan, near San Diego, for both basic and advanced training. Fallen arches made him ineligible for combat, so Ed first became a clerk and then turned his writing ability and salesmanship to duties orienting newer recruits and reporting for the regimental weekly newspaper.

He later was transfered to Fort Ord, near Carmel, California.

The picture above left shows PFC Edmund "Puffy" Gravett in California.

Dorothy, working on her Victory Garden and managing ration cards, awaited the arrival of their daughter, Sarah Anne (forever known as Sally to the consternation of bank clerks) who was born early in November in Good Samaritan Hospital.

A detailed account of Mother and baby's first days -- first children always get the most attention; sorry Hannah -- shows a regulated schedule of feeding and sleep. Although bottle-feeding was gaining momentum in the 1940s, Dorothy believed in the more natural breastfeeding. One note from the diary in Dode's crisp Gregg handwriting:

"Baby didn't cry. Had to waken baby for feedings."

Dorothy was a devoted and delighted mother. She loved the daily routines involved with raising a child and keeping a house.

Ed came home on leave when Sally was six months old. The picture on the right captured that moment, and the happiness of the new mother.

Fact-checker finds: Ed's father was incorrectly identified in an earlier post. His name was William Allen Gravett.

Dodie then and now

Vivacious, fun-loving, always on the go, Dorothy spent her late teens and twenties working, living at home, and stepping out with pals.

Sometime in the late 1930s, someone fixed her up with a real character: Ed Gravett. Also a Dayton native, Ed was the second son of Dr. Robert Gravett, DO, and his second wife, Maud Stanley Patty.

Doc as his dad was called, was one of the early osteopaths in Dayton; his brother, Hugh Gravett, also was a DO but lived and worked in Piqua, Ohio, about 30 miles away. Doc had a good reputation as a practitioner and helped start the first osteopathic hospital in the city. At one time, he assisted the psychic healer Edgar Cayce (The Sleeping Prophet) by administering the treatments Cayce would recount while in a trance.

Ed, whose nickname was Puffy because he resembled a celebrity of the time with that name, was a romantic and talented man who dreamed of a career in journalism. For a time, he had worked for the Dayton papers. He carried his Argus camera around and took artful shots of still lifes, people, and especially Dorothy Pickrel.

They were friends first, of course, and then things got romantic until Ed proposed and Dodie accepted. Above his her formal wedding portrait. The willowy figure is mature but compare that lovely face with the 7-year old a few posts back and you see that her expression had remained pretty much the same over all those years.

They were married on Oct. 20, 1940. It was a quiet wedding but did get some press because of the families' social standing. Ed, born Oct. 25, 1912, was 28 and had gone into sales, working for pharmaceutical companies; Dodie was 25. After their wedding, they moved to Syracuse, N.Y., where Dodie took on her new housewife role and Ed went on the road with his samples.

Now, flash forward, oh, about 70 years:

Dodie is now pretty much bed-bound, unable to walk or navigate on her own, and mentally very weak. Her personality is still apparent in flashes -- the big toothy smile, and welcoming words -- but you don't want to listen to carefully because her talk is full of non sequiturs.

She is reasonably comfortable with the fact that she's at the end of her life. "I pray I'll die in my sleep," she told me a few weeks ago.

But the drop-off in her abilities has been steep.

Three weeks ago, she was still navigating her apartment and Oakleaf Village, with or without her walker. She still worked the big main living room and teased Jan and Bethany at the front desk. She was still highly resistant to her devoted caregivers -- Becky, Shirley, and other nurses. She still got herself down to the inhouse salon for hair care.

Our theory is that coming to Ebeid has been a big relief for Dorothy. She can finally quit striving and trying to pull the wool over the eyes of the staff and residents by seeming to be more aware than she actually was. She's been able to drop that veneer of independence and relax into the excellent care she receives at this lovely residence.

She's already won the hearts of caregivers there, especially Holly, the aide who I believe actually runs the entire Ebeid Center. Holly is really the go-to person there.

The very top picture is one of the most recent shots of Mom, taken last November at Ted's 60th birthday party in Oakleaf.

growing up

Life in the Pickrel household in the Roaring 20s was a madhouse of activity. Imagine having 11 children under one roof, from Mary, the oldest, just about ready to move out into the world, to baby Howard, just learning to walk and talk.

Fortunately, Pickrel Plumbing Supply was thriving so there was enough money to feed and dress everyone and give them dance or music lessons and go to church on Sunday all decked out.

Dorothy attended Steele High School in Dayton, pictured above, along with her sister Betty, 11 months older, and Carol, who was about 4 years younger. Few women expected to go on to college after high school, although Mary, a talented musician and artist, did get some post-secondary education.

After she graduated, Dodie took classes at Miami-Jacob Business College, learning shorthand and typing and other office skills. The training came in handy when the Great Depression undermined their life of comfort. David L. Gravett refused to file bankruptcy when the plumbing firm got into financial trouble.

"He eventually paid back all of his debts," said his daughter, Dorothy, with justifiable pride. She got an office job and was one of the children who pitched in, some living at home and most turning in earnings from jobs to help sustain the family through those difficult years. Dodie recalled that period as one of great family unity and supportiveness, fueled by the lively Pickrel humor.

DL went to work as a plumber but later was able to get the supply business up and running. It survives today as Pickrel Brothers Plumbing.

middle child

Not only was Dorothy -- or Dodie, or Dottie -- the middle child in a family of strong, tall characters, she was the shortest one of all. Certainly she had to learn to look out for herself early on, to be able to handle those big brothers who loved to tease and bother her.

But she also realized that doing things for others built solid social capital. As long as she has lived, she has never let go of the habit of reaching out to friends and strangers alike with a warm, genuine smile and a quick comment.

Not surprisingly, Dodie also loved the spotlight and found ways to focus it on her whenever she could, although she always felt a little less able than those around her. In truth, there was nothing at all wrong with her intellect. She was perceptive, very intuitive, and hard to fool, with a steel trap memory.

I love this photo, taken when she was seven. That direct gaze, the humor playing around her mouth, her lustrous dark hair, and sturdy little body make me think of a doll with a grown-up face. She more resembled her mother's side of the family, the Youngs, of German heritage.

We used this beautiful, hand-tinted portrait for her 90th birthday invitation. Dodie loved it.

that was then

Mixed in with Mom's stacks of papers I found this print from the Blade's microfiche files. I must have done it while I worked there, but I sure can't recall doing so.

The date is May 24, 1915.

Reading just those few headlines, you realize what a period she was born into, as eventful as our own, certainly, even though it took news a lot longer to get around.

The Great War was under way in Europe. How innocent it was to call it the Great War, as if there is any such a thing.

As far as I know, no one in her immediate family served in WWI. By the time Dorothy appeared in the family, her father, David, was building the family plumbing supply business. I recall Mom saying that her dad was very, very good at estimating jobs. And everyone needed indoor plumbing.

Pickrel Plumbing Supply prospered during the Roaring 20s, and the huge family moved into this palatial home on Yale Avenue in Dayton's tony North End. When it went on tour for a charity event, I drove to Dayton and Mom and I visited the home.

My was she proud! And full of stories set there. She recalled brothers following her dad around the house as he shut it up for the night, lagging a little bit so they could unlock a window or two for a sib who was out past curfew.

I believe it was in this home that the family had many fancy trappings: a tennis court, a pony, lots of room for games. And Mom also mentioned the batty granny in the attic. Not sure who that was, but little Dodie, shortest in the family, helped Stella, her mom, care for the older lady.

Introducing Dodie

Dorothy Joan Pickrel Gravett will turn 95 on May 24, 2010.

Whether or not she is able to blow out all those candles, while she's waiting for the next turn of her life in the Ebeid Hospice Residence at Flower Hospital, this little blog can help introduce her and recount a life of struggle, challenge, and personal triumph.

The seventh child of Stella Mary Young Pickrel and David Leach Pickrel, she was born at the family residence, as were all of her 12 siblings. Dayton, Ohio, was their hometown.

Called Dodie, she and 10 siblings -- Mary Lofton, David Pickrel, Ruth Ward, Jack Pickrel, Betty Stickel, Jim Pickrel, Carol Gould, David Pickrel, Howard Pickrel, and Anne Beatty survived into old age.

Now, only Dodie and her youngest sister, Anne, are still with us. But there are over 100 offspring in this family now, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-greats, scattered all over the country.

As Dodie grew up, the country entered and left the Roaring 20s, but even when the Great Depression gave the Pickrel family an economic smackdown, some of that flapper glee remained. A party girl she is and always will be Don't let the fun stop, Dodie says with a smile.

By the way, the name of this post is hers, too.

MOM: "You have to write a book called 'Leopards at 30.' "

ME: "What's the book about?"

MOM: "Oh, just make something up."