You see, my grandpa's little sister, Joyce, died at the ripe old age of 91. My own Grandpa Arne is about 96, I believe, while is other sister, Gene, is about 94, and his older brother, Oscar, would be 97 had he lived this long.
There are the stories of my great aunt and uncle, Oliver and Gene, who served as missionaries for many years in Madagascar. Their son, in whose house we stayed, was born in Madagascar, and my mom remembers receiving the air gram announcing his birth. He and his wife are shown in the picture attached. I suppose she was about 10 at the time. Uncle Oliver was telling us stories about seeing crocodiles and shooting them. But apparently there was another story about a local approaching my uncle and telling him not to shoot a crocodile because it was an ancestor, and it was taboo to shoot it.
We heard stories of how Uncle Oliver's parents were born in Norway, his dad was a pastor in Montana, and then they moved to Madagascar as missionaries soon after Uncle Oliver's birth. They spoke Norwegian at home, and in Madagascar French is spoken as well as Malagasy, which means my Uncle would have been able to speak four, if not five, languages.
We saw a picture of my grandpa's family as children in the mountains with their mom, Esther Kvaalen (after whom I am named) looking at a bear cub. They lived to tell about it, but they probably should not have approached the bear so closely.
My own grandpa was not in Minnesota for the funeral, his health has been worsening, and so has grandma's. So it is hard or next to impossible for them to travel anymore. Regardless, my grandpa is going to a reunion of old Navy buddies in Florida by himself sometime soon. The family is not too pleased about him going alone, but I guess he's determined to go.
We also heard about my aunt Joyce who died. She was a doctor's wife, they had five kids, I believe, and she was a classy lady. Uncle Harley was a quiet type, he didn't speak a whole lot, but he was friendly and welcoming. He had been head of the radiology department at Mayo Clinic. Aunt Joyce was great at welcoming guests into the house, always serving breakfast (apparently on her China dishes, is what we heard) and always making the effort to be well dressed. In fact, Aunt Joyce had a way of always having her hair simply, but beautifully done, wearing something pretty, but classic and functional, and always she wore her coral colored lipstick. As her son said in the eulogy, she was not vain, but rather she made the effort to look good in order to show people respect.
She was always very personable, was curious about people, and often had many people in her home as guests. There are stories from her sons about going to the breakfast table and realizing that there was no other family at the table at the time besides themselves, and yet it didn't seem odd. After her husband passed away, she felt so alone in the big house that she decided to call up Mayo Clinic and ask if there were any medical students who needed a place to stay. It was said that Joyce had a way of collecting strays.
Although I have only visited Aunt Joyce a handful of times and the memories of our visits become increasingly foggy, her approach to beauty has been influential in my own philosophy of beauty. She wasn't into her looks, but she was certainly not a slob. She carried herself with class and dignity and poured into people with generosity.
This weekend was a blessing for my little family. With Rex along and his great skill at pulling out the stories people have to share, I probably got to learn so much more about my family than I could have without his being there.
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