“I see them,” Mom
would yell up on spotting her parents approaching the car to meet us.
“Una, you look
lovely as always,” my dad would say, then greet my
grandfather, “Senator Gay, nice to see you.”
Standing 6 feet tall
with black hair and distinguished gray sideburns, Grampy looked like a
senator. He dressed impeccably in sweater and starched shirt,
even for these relaxed occasions.
At the time, I wasn’t sure what a senator was, but knew he was someone
important. Not only did Grampy Leon serve in the Vermont Senate, but so
did his brother, Olin.
The two brothers
were prominent citizens in Cavendish. They owned Gay Brothers,
the town’s woolen mill, and employed most of their people who lived
nearby.
I always liked sleeping
under the wool blankets that Grampy made and each winter sported a
new coat Mom had made from the mill’s
fabric.
Glimmerstone had
10 bedrooms, and we were always assigned on up on arrival. Mine was
the smallest, which suited me just fine. Since
the
house was
huge, I felt
safe in my cozy little spot.
|
| The author's
grandmother, Una Hadley Gay |
|
 |
My brother
and I explored the many nooks and crannies, stopping at our favorite—the
laundry chute! We would later be “spoken to” when our
grandmother found assorted objects other than clothing at the bottom
of the chute.
The barn, adjacent
to the house, served as our hiding place, especially at night,
when we’d crawl into the stalls and tell ghost stories by
flashlight. Once, I stumbled across an old box containing love
letters. I disappeared into the pages and the make believe world
for hours, until someone came looking for me.
We were summoned
to dinner by an antique dinner bell that could be heard from a
long distance. It now resides in my kitchen.
|
|
Best
Manners a Must
Dinner was served
in the formal dining room, with the old grandfather clock looming
in the corner. Grandma Gay sat erect and set the stage for expected
dinner-table behavior.
I’d catch
Dad’s eye and whisper, “I don’t like this,” pointing
to something I didn’t recognize on my plate. Dad would whisper
back, “I don’t like it, either. Just eat it.”
Following dinner,
my brother and I came alive. We played hide-and-seek and raced
each other throughout the house, up one staircase and down another.
I’m sure my parents quivered in their shoes, thinking we’d
knock over an antique and fall out of favor with our grandparents.
We adored Grampy. He was funny and sometimes joked behind Grandma Gay’s
back. Grandma was strict yet fair. When she told me to do something, I did
it immediately. |
Leon
Gay, relaxing at Glimmerstone. |
|
The
author's parents, Sherwood B. Seeley and Alice Hadley Gay
marry around 1940 in the Baptist Church in Cavendish, Vermont.
|
|
I
recall how important she made me feel, though, when she’d
serve Grampy and me warm milk and crackers on Sunday nights – just
the two of us.
My grandparents
jokingly referred to my brother and me as the “dees and
dose” kids when it came time to leave. They were trying
to imitate our New York accents: we lived on Staten Island.
I always looked
forward to the neatly packed picnic basket that Grandma Gay placed
in our car for the 6-hour journey home. Nobody made deviled eggs
like my grandma.
As I rounded
the bend 50 years later to reunite with relatives at my grandparents’ former
home, tears welled in my eyes. But I could still excitedly yell
to my family, “There’s Glimmerstone!” |
|
