Nana

  I sit in the Adirondack chair at the end of the dock and watch her  as she swims, a slow, deliberate, side stroke through the dark water. She looks so graceful, so small and fragile on the deep lake. We’ve done this my whole life usually I swim or float with her, but living in the “southern” climate in Virginia has thinned my blood she says and the chill of the upstate New York, spring water is just to much for me. So I sit and she swims. Sometimes we talk, but for the most part we are quiet. There has always been an unspoken bond between us, and today we enjoy the amazing beauty of this place a favorite among most who have spent time there. As I watch her I think about her life, I think I know the whole story, but the more I really examine the sum total of my 24 years of knowledge on this particular subject I realize how little I really know.
  A splash interrupts my thoughts and I turn and see her climbing the ladder of the dock to join me. The fist thing that I always notice about her is her hands. She is very self-conscience about them, but this is my favorite part of her. They are small and the long suffered grip of arthritis has caused her fingers to curve slightly outward, the skin is wrinkled and they look like if you were to squeeze too tightly they might break, but they are the most elegant hands I think that I have ever seen. I have watched them my whole life and I am yet to find a pair that can quiet measure up, my mother’s come close, but they don’t quite hit the mark.
  The rest of her looks to me like it always has short blond hair, kind face with blue eyes, a smile that I can see if I close my eyes. She looks so much like my mother, who looks so much like me, sometimes, it is hard to tell the difference. I look up at her as she wraps a towel around her dripping body and resolve to find out more about what in my mind must be an extraordinary life. So I ask her, here is what she tells me. 
  Born Diana Elizabeth Bloomer on May 13, 1933 in Watervleit, NY to Joe and Elizabeth Bloomer. My Nana is and was a ‘depression baby’  and like many were at the time, was born in her families home. Her mother was a homemaker and her father was the shopkeeper of a one man A&P grocery in Albany, NY. She tells me that her mother always emphasized two things about her birth; that the doctor  brought blocks to make the bed higher, and that just after she was born the doctor gave her to her father, who said “what should I do with her” to which the doctor replied, “Put her out in the cabbage patch”. I never had the chance to meet my great-grandfather, the Welch immigrant who came through Ellis Island at the age of three, but I would like to think that he knew better what to do with his newborn daughter then to put her in the garden.
  Watervleit, NY was, and is, a town made most famous by it’s arsenal, which in 1817, became America’s fist “cannon factory.” In 1933, and today, this arsenal is and remains the country’s only mass producer of large caliber cannons in volume. I have been there once, I was about 9 and Nana took my younger cousin Alex and me to buy new beds for the lake house. I remember her telling me both about the arsenal, and that this is where she was born. Watervleit, located just  outside of Albany, NY., was once the crossroads of the main route of the Erie canal to Buffalo, NY and the Lake Champlain Branch it was the center for payment of canal boat operators and famous for bars, gambling and prositution. An Ironic place to start a family especially for a couple of my Great grandmother’s Quaker roots, but none the less, our story begins here.
  Born during the depression, just five days before the Tennessee Valley Authority was created as part of The New Deal. My Nana did not have the ‘privileges’ that I came to expect that every American child was entitled to (I remember being shocked at a very young age to hear that television was not an even an option in her childhood and that she would not even own one until well into adulthood.) Nana really doesn’t ever mention the depression when she speaks of her young childhood, and it‘s important to mention that her family, while affected by the economic situation of the time was middle class, her father had a job, they had a roof over their heads and food to eat, I think that is the reason, to her it was just childhood.
  Nana spent her early childhood in and around Albany, until in 1938 her parents decided to move out of the city (and it’s school district that they were less then impressed with) and to a small town called Slingerlands. This is what I have always considered my Nana’s hometown, Perhaps because this is where the stories that I had heard took place.  In 1938 Nana started Kindergarten at the one room schoolhouse in her town, she was five years old. She took to school like a fish to water and has many fine memories of her kindergarten teacher, who helped her correct her “toe-shoed” walk and never made her feel awkward about it.  This year marked for Nana the beginning of growing up, by starting school and gaining some independence. Across the Atlantic, it marks the beginning of World War II.
  I had once imagined that this “Great War“ had completely consumed my gradmother‘s childhood with black out drills and rolling bandages and rations, as it turns out I watch too many movies. When she talks about this time in her life she talks mostly of what seems like a very happy childhood, going to school, playing with her brother, sister and other friends, attending Sunday school at the local Methodist church. Evidence of the war is only present when she talks about how wonderful the neighborhood’s Victory Garden was, how her parents had, cleverly, put up a badminton set and she and her brother and sister were allowed to play only after an assigned amount of time working in the garden. Her favorite memory however seems to be of the town‘s Bookmobile, the likes of which had never been seen before. Nana has always been a voracious reader and the gas rationing during the war meant that her parents couldn‘t easily drive to the library anymore, imagine a young girls excitement when Nancy Drew and all of her favorite books came right to her doorstep on the bookmobile, every two weeks. To put this in perspective to my generation I equate her excitement over the Bookmobile to how excited I would have been if Disney World pulled into my neighborhood on a flat-bed truck.
  The war eventually ended and Nana went on to high school, where the real story of her life begins. Nana had always loved school and high school fer her was just a new challege academically. But, like so many others the focus of this time in her life was much mre about her social development and finding out who she really was. For her first day at this new “big” school Nana’s mother had taken her downtown to buy her her first store bought dress, a huge deal. It was wine colored with a blue print and a white coller and bow, and when she describes it today it is as if she is wearing it now. This same dress would be altered to become the dress that she wore to he first dance with her first “beau” as she calls him, Dick Bump (I find this name Ideal for a fist boyfriend and still cannot say it without smiling). She describes this dance this way:
“I was in eighth grade. We went to a Boy Scout dance after he was made an Eagle Scout. It was in the Gym were we usually had dance class, but the lights were out and we only danced with each other! I was scared and thrilled at the same time. I remember him telling me how pretty my dress was, how nice it felt and how great I looked in it.”
  Another great memory of this time was her cheerleading days she loved it! She tells me that the squad was very close and that she loved to be in front of the crowd at games. Her cheerleading uniform, however would turn out to be more of a turning point then the actual cheerleading, here is what she has to say about that:
“In 1950 at Bethlehem Central High School, we had the coolest Cheerleading Uniforms-Black Sweaters with Orange "B's and black skirts with orange lining.  The squad was very close and had such fun.  I loved it. My favorite high school sport! I loved being out on the field  or in the gym yelling my head off, the excitement of the game and most importantly, cheering and perfroming out in front of everyone.
We had remarkable teams, winning championships in football and basketball-the Section C finals in Saratoga by one point.
We could travel on the team bus, if asked by one of the team. I was thrilled when George asked me.  Some terrific long rides home, necking in the back of the bus.  I was madly in love with George.  Years later he told me that it had been this uniform, or more specifically the Sweater, that had made him first notice of me at a football game.”
  George, is of course my grandfather, Popop, and he makes in entrance in our story right about here. They were together for the rest of high school, even their senior year when Nana’s family picked up and moved to her parents “dream house” in Vhoorisville, NY, in another school district. After graduation Nana went off to nursing school and Popop, went to Cornell. It was in this first year away from home that their lives would change forever. Nana would find herself pregnant with my uncle Richard at the age of 19, as you can imagine, in 1952 this was not a situation she either anticipated or fully welcomed knowing that my words cannot do this justice I’ll yeild to her to describe this watershed event in her life:
“I wish I could remember what I wore as my Wedding Dress. I think it was a navy blue wool dress which had buttons down the front and a belted waist with a full skirt but am not really sure.  Our wedding was very private with only George and I there.  We told everyone that we eloped which in a way we did, because we were alone. It was not the happiest day of our lives since we were pregnant with our baby who arrived "early".          
It had been a very difficult few months from the time I suspected I was pregnant, not knowing what to do, telling George, deciding what we would do, telling our parents and finally getting married.  I should say that birth control was not very sophisticated then and we were less so, plus abortion was certainly not available to me in 1952. Or if it was I didn't have the slightest idea where to seek it. Plus getting pregnant before you were married was not something nice girls did.I remember distinctly receiving George's letter after I had finally written and told him.  I had had several chances to tell him face to face because we were still dating and I had been at several Cornell weekends but  I just couldn't do it. I'll never get over his reassurance, telling me that he took full responsibility for my pregnancy and that of course we would be married.  What a relief!
From there it was most difficult telling my parents who again I told by mail and received one of the very few phone calls from them while in College.  Nobody called then, you wrote.  It was a most tearful, supportive call with great reassurance on their parts, thank God!  I don't know what I would have done if either George or my folks had not been loving and supportive! I do, however, remember being furious that George would be able to continue his schooling but I would have to drop out.  I tore that letter to pieces. I did know, however,  that it was most important for him to stay in school and that it would make an enormous difference in the opportunities in our lives.”
This turning point in her life was almost a secret, and until my great-grandmother, Jean, died when I was 10, the fact that Nana was already pregnant with my uncle Richard when she was married was never discussed. In fact the anniversary of my Grandparents wedding was celebrated on December 26th, during Jean’s life, They now celebrate on their actuall  anniversary, March 26th. Because as she says “getting pregnant before you were married was not something nice girls did.” 
  Richard’s birth and her new marriage began a new chapter in Nana’s life. She moved from the area she had always known, with her new baby, to live in Ithica, NY with Popop while he attended Cornell. She speaks fondly of the first apartment they shared and how the bed, not only sagged inward from side to side but also from top to bottom. “So we couldn’t keep our hands off each other if we wanted to.” They lived in Ithica for the duration of Popop’s time at Cornell, He went to school and worked, Nana waited tables 3 days a week to make ends meet. During there time at Cornell and when they were 21 years old Nana gave birth to their second son my uncle Scott. They were incredibly happy to have another healthy happy boy!
“June of 1954 when dear Scott was born. A very good, easy, sweet tempered, handsome child. Mom and George packed and moved us while I was in the hospital, Tompkins County Hospital, now the Cornell Health Center.  Scott was induced, as George was to leave very shortly for a summer cruise on the USS Wisconsin. My babies and I spent the summer with my folks.  I worked at Toll Gate for most of the summer.” 
  Popop Graduated from Cornell and commissioned in the US Navy in 1956. This marked yet another turning point for Nana as she would make the transition of from young newly wed mother to an Officer’s Wife. This meant yet another move but, a well deserved rest for the hard working young mother;
“Our first home after George graduated was an apartment in Pleasantville, NJ.  George had been commissioned in the Navy on graduation day and was to serve temporary duty at the Naval Air Station until phased into the flight program in Pensacola, Florida. This was a wonderful respite for us, having worked so very hard for a number of years getting George through Cornell.  Located very near the Atlantic City beaches, the boys and I had blast swimming and playing all summer. “
  The end of the summer of 1956 meant her husband’s transition into the naval flight program and the Families move to Pensacola, Florida. Nana seems to have enjoyed her time in that city which brought them closer as a family, and there third child a daughter, my mother, Laura;
“The Beaches in Pensacola are glorious. We made a number of very good friends. Most came to our house to (usually) play Bridge.  We were the only ones with any kids so people came to us, as we couldn’t afford sitters.
At Christmas time we got pregnant with Laura.  It was a relatively easy pregnancy although the heat in Pensacola and no air conditioning for a September due date wasn’t the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had.
Mother came down relatively early in September.  Somewhere I’ve written about this…but anyway.  She was wonderfully helpful and we had an enjoyable time.  Our lovely Laura, named for her Great Grandmother, Laura Scatchard, was born on September 25,1957. A beautiful, good, calm
baby girl, we all adored.”
  Shortly after my mother was born the family again moved, This time to Oakland, CA. My Grandmother tells a wonderful story about the flight that she and the children took across the country on a prop plane. After their time in Oakland Nana and Popop decided to leave the Navy and move back across the country, Once back on the east coast they went to Connecticut, and Ridgefield is where they found the house they ; would raise their family in;
“This house was a gem and one of my favorites!  George had gotten a job with Eliott Noyes in New Canaan, Ct., a very well respected architectural and industrial design firm. The kids and I spent the summer with my folks again and George would spend the week with Carolyn and Don in White Plains and then be with us on weekends.
When it was time to look for a place to live, I went down to New Canaan to see what I could find.  After innocently popping into a few very swish New Canaan realty offices and getting a down-the-nose look connoting disbelief that I thought there might be a three bedroom something to rent for $100 a month, I finally was directed to a place in Rowayton. There a very nice guy suggested I might “get more for my money in Ridgefield” and called a realtor he knew and away I went.
I drove into Ridgefield and fell in love. It was and is to this day, one of the most beautiful towns I have ever seen and loved. I found Nancy Keller. She had just gotten a listing for a contemporary house  which the owner wanted to rent off-season. It had three bedrooms and two baths on thirteen acres, furnished (with beautiful architect designed contemporary furniture), with canoe and on and on for $125 a month! Went to look, Fantastic!  Loved it! Took it!”
  The family would remain in Ridgefield until 1972. This town would see My nana take a journey of self discovery that would lead her from homemaker to school board candidate, to student to architecture and interior design professional.
  After reading The Feminine Mystique in 1970 Nana decided that she wanted to have a career, or larger meaning to her life. Her life experience so far lead her to architecture and design, seeing as she lived through my grandfather’s time at Cornell and had redone the family’s carriage house., it seemed an obvious choice. So she enrolled at a local technical college and completed a year long program in Architecture, Drafting and Design.
“I made it through that year with flying colors, a 4.0 average and the Design Award.  It is one of my proudest accomplishments. It is amazing to me what I have done with a one year education in my chosen field.  The choice was an excellent one for me , giving me twenty-five years of meaningful, productive and creative work – a career!”
  1972 brought a big move for the family and Nana and popup packed up their two youngest children, Laura (my Mom) and Peter (their nephew whom they adopted years earlier when Popop’s sister couldn’t handle a baby, and raised as their own), and moved to Georgetown, D.C. to begin new jobs at new architecture firms.  This move brought with it a new city new jobs and a new house. Nana fell in love with D.C. Where they remained until relocating to New York City in 1981.
  In 1982 Nana’s life began a whole new phase. On March 26, 1982 Nana became Nana. Her first grandchild Elizabeth Ann DeBiase (Me) , was born to her daughter Laura and her then husband Jack.
“March 26. 1982, a remarkable day!  Our first grandchild. Elizabeth Ann De Biase, was born at Columbia Women's Hospital in DC.  I remember vividly going up to the window and among the 15 or 20 babies, one stood out. I instinctively knew it was our girl.  She was way back in the far left corner and I swear there was a silent, but strong. message emanating from this light haired darling telling me, "Here I am Nana, it's me!" Our darling had chosen a significant day to be born.  Not only was it George's and my thirtieth anniversary, but it was her Great, Great Grandfather Scatchard's Birthday, his 100th, if Elmer Ellsworth had still been alive. How's that for history?(!)”
  The birth of her first grandchild, at the age of 49, would begin Nana’s transition into middle age. The comfortable stage of her life that I have always known her to be in. I think back and my whole life just seems like the one person who has always had it together. She knows exactly where she stands and always knows what to say. I look around me on the dock and realize that our quiet morning has turned into a busy afternoon, without my even noticing. All six of my cousins, three of my uncles and their wives are here to share this weekend with Nana and Popop, as we try to do every summer. In this house, that I now know was designed by her. On this lake, saved by my great-grandfather and a group of friends from developers, another story all together. I look up from the notebook in my lap and see her standing in the sun looking down on all of us and smiling. This is when I find what I was looking for all along. My explanation of why we work so hard a definitions of this abstract ‘American Dream.’ It’s not about leading a perfect life. It’s about the opportunity to learn and grow from you life experience, no matter who you are. I have made it a mission to find something that ties us all together as uniquely American, what is it about our culture that can bring people of so many different backgrounds together, I have been offered many explanations. I now have one of my own, it is each individual story, of each individual citizen, the struggle to better your situation and the freedom to engage in that struggle, that is what makes us American. It is our personal history that should be cherished above all, with out it, we are all the same, and that’s not very American.