The Gift of Unintended Phone Calls

The telephone brings us the ability to "reach out and touch someone." It is a matter of how we respond to these calls that can add or detract from our lives. On Good Friday, I took the day off work. I was "sleeping in" or rather, had just fallen back to sleep after a restless night when the phone rang. The caller asked for someone who didn't live here, and I politely answered it was the wrong number. The caller asked if she could ask me a few questions - her 90 year old sister had been taken to the hospital and she needed help finding information. She explained her situation to me. She told me she lived alone, her daughter had not spoken to her in 30 years - but I think had recently reached out to her in the last year. She was Finnish and living in Michigan. I told her my maternal Grandmother was Finnish from Minnesota. We talked briefly. I gave her the local hospital's phone number, something I unfortunately have memorized and wished her well. So begins my acquaintance with Elma

She called this morning and Alan took a message. I called her back. Her sister was now in a nursing home and she wanted to let me know and thank me for being kind. She had worries about what would happen when her sister was sent home. Her Nephew takes care of her sister. We talked a bit about this and Elma told me about living in a Retirement home. There are activities, but she can't go to many of the parties because she can't use her right arm. She tries to not be a bother. She watches a lot of television and has help in 3 times a week to do some light cleaning and taking care of her. Then we talked about how difficult it is for her to find clothes that fit right (not too tight, not too loose) and are not all cotton. All cotton clothing needs to be ironed - and most of it is made in China and the seams are all sewn wrong. She said the quality is just not the same as when she was growing up. Clothing was expensive, you had to save for it, but it lasted forever. Which led to a conversation about the depression and how that wonderful President saved everything.

Elma grew up with very little money. During the Depression they were poor, but so was everyone else and she worked for 35 cents an hour. So her social security and pension today equals less than a thousand dollars a month. She said she had still learned to save and it sounds like she does okay. I told her I remembered seeing the ration stamps in my grandma's hope chest. She didn't recall the ration stamps as clearly (I think because they farmed) but she rememberd me saying my grandma was Finnish. She asked if I spoke it. I told her my Grandma passed away when I was 9 and only Grandma and Uncle Toivo talked to me in Finnish. I could only remember the words for counting. I recited to five and stopped, (I know my pronunciation is poor) Ixie, Coxie, Colleman, Naila, Veece. (all spelling all my own -spelled as I say it). She said I had the book learning way of saying the numbers. Elma said each community has their own dialect or way of speaking. Just as we pronounce words differntly depending on whether we live in Chicago or New York, the Finnish communities each have their own way of speaking. She gave the example of how they said three and it sounded different - but the same - and of course I can't remember how to pronounce it. I told her I had forgotten most of what grandma taught me. But in my memories lie the stories and the thoughts for another blog - another day.

Elma then told me about Finnish names. Elma's last name ends in nen. She said that nen stands for small. Her whole name means a small piece of sod. We talked about my Grandma's maiden name, Lahti (which is very popular in Finland and here) and she said it basically means the swampy end of the lake. She was telling me what each part of Lahti meant but I only caught the end as the doorbell rang with a Fed-Ex delivery for Rich.

That break moved us into conversations about how hard life was back in the early 1900's. Today we have automatic washing machines, stoves, coffee makers. There were six siblings counting Elma, and her mother spent all Saturday baking the weekly bread. She would kneed the dough, pump the water by hand and carry it in the house, and since the stove was running all day to bake the 7 to 8 laoves of bread, she could keep water boiling for laundry which was done by hand. It was hard work. The children helped beginning around age 8 with chores. Summer meant more chores as the hay had to be raked in by hand, although the father used a horse pulling a cutter to cut the hay in the field. Winter was more relaxed by virtue of no field work. We talked about how men were difficult in those days. Her father was not always kind, but she has a particularly happy memory followed by her father becoming angry and somewhat withdrawn later in the same day from the children. We talked about the harsh life for the men of Coal Mining in Michigan and Tacconite mining (Iron Ore) in Minnesota.

Talking with Elma was a gift. I had fond memories to visit of sitting with grandma as she taught me Finnish words and felt the Spirit with me as we talked. Elma and I had a lot more to talk about - and way too much to put in here. Life is so short, and at times so long. It passes us by during our youth in what seems a heartbeat and moves slowly through our senior years. I think she is lonely. We had a lot more to talk about. It is what we learn in the stories we are told that make us wise. In Elma's story, there is sadness and contentment and a life. It was a gift for me to hear her story.