TLP Collab - Compass
A house is no longer a home when its owners have gone, leaving a shell of boards, nails, glass, and wires. I miss Clint’s grandparents, Virgel and Lena Olsen, very much - much more than I will miss the bones of the house. But so many of my memories of them are tied to the house where we first met, the house they owned for 50 years, and the house Clint and I visited today to help Jim and Donna clear out old computer supplies. Going through the mostly-empty house left a pit in my gut, not unlike the pit I felt clearing out my own parents’ home. Reality. Sadness. Melancholy. Knowing things have already changed and will keep changing, yet wanting to hold onto a few moments. Here are some of the memories that are the most vivid for me.
The first time I met Clint’s grandparents, it was the summer of 1991, and I was starting up a bungee jumping business out of a hot air balloon. We sat down at the kitchen table and had snacks and drinks. The Olsens were the consummate hosts, always had soda and some sort of crackers, cheese, and a little bowl of nuts ready for whatever visitor might stop by. They listened to my plans, smiling. Rather than telling me I was going to get myself killed or that I shouldn’t do it, they asked me HOW I was going to overcome various hurdles. It was a friendly discussion, and if they thought I was crazy, they never let on. They encouraged me, which was refreshing. We had a lot of discussions around that little kitchen table, as well as sitting on the sofa along the wall of the tv room, as VL sat in their recliners.
The Olsens were an extroverted, loud, musical family. There was a lot of coming and going, between friends, family, and neighbors. The giant livingroom and diningroom, with their 70’s gold decor, hosted many gatherings. We visited for quarterly family birthday gatherings and Christmas Eve. Carrie and I also had our combined baby shower for Lauren and Connor there.
There was always music. Usually Lena had a favorite opera playing in the background. The grand piano was often in use, whether by a kid plunking out “chopsticks,” Ailisa playing and singing, and sometimes Dannenmiller duets.
Virgel’s gardens were large and splendorous. Spring and summer were full of blooms. One of my favorite photoshoots of Makena has her in the back yard, trying to eat one of his roses, with a bright fuchsia petal dangling from her bottom lip.
Lena, Virgel, I carry memories of you, and of your home, in my heart.
