50 Ways to Leave Your Lover...In the Year 1900

I read this piece for Writers on the Air. It's a little longer than my usual, but you can listen to it at www.writersontheair.com. Go to the August archives, and then the August 19 recordings.

     Great grandma Iva was a bad woman, and I don't mean in a cool, badass sort of way. She was just plain old mean. In fact, you could say she was a bully. Does anyone like a bully?

     This truth about Grandma Iva was difficult for me to accept, especially after I'd built up an image of her as a tough woman, an independent woman, a woman who wasn't about to take crap off of anybody.

     I knew nothing of Great Grandma Iva until one day, and out of the blue, my mom told me her. She was a woman, who, in the year 1900, dumped her husband and two children in the Nevada desert to hook up with another man. Boom! Just like that.

     As if that little bit of news wasn't wild enough, Mom said that Great grandma Iva had just met this man.

     Upon hearing this, my eyes widened. "That's scandalous, Mom." I was hooked. What would drive a woman with no property, no money, no status, not even the right to vote, to walk away from her sole source of security?

     The answer was juicier than I could have imagined. It was love, and before you go all starry eyed on me, let me explain. It wasn't Iva who was in love. It was Iva's husband. He'd fallen for another woman -- Iva's mother.

     Imagine this, if you will. You are a married woman, and your husband is in love with your mother.

     Okay. While you take a moment to shake off the willies, let me add that my mom had precious few details, and I needed details! There were a few facts, births, marriages, deaths, which leads me to how Grandma Iva had come to be in the Nevada desert in the first place.

     You see, Iva's father had been killed in the Spanish-American War, and his body was being interred at San Francisco's Presidio. So Iva, Iva's mama, Iva's husband, and their three children were en route from Michigan to San Francisco.

     When they made a stop in Lovelock, Nevada, the course of Iva's life changed forever. Hearing that much of the story, my imagination jumped into the driver's seat to fill in the rest. I wanted Iva to be the sort of person who, despite hardship and indignation, acted in the best interest of her family.

     In my mind, here's how  painted the scene in Lovelock, Nevada:

      "Wisps of dust danced at the edge of Iva's eyes. It rose to fill her nose and line her throat. If she hadn't been squatted near the wagon--jamming grimy clothes into a faded traveling bag--she wouldn't have believed it possible that God's great earth could be so dry and acrid. She brushed aside a loosened tendril from her sunburned face and squinted up at the sky, endless and blue. At the sound of booted footfalls, she quickened her movements.

     Frederick Collings boomed from the other side of the wagon. "Iva? Mrs. Collins? Where are you? Ah. Down in the dirt again, huh?"

     A familiar malted, boozy odor hit her nostrils and mingled with the dirt already there.

     "Ah. Go lay down, Mister." Iva began to order him, but stopped and softened her tone. "Why don't you sleep a while? The bedroll's made up in the wagon. I'll be making your supper soon."

     "Hurry up, then. A man shouldn't have to wait on a plate of beans from his wife."

     Iva Collings had quietly fumed as her husband's practice of one nip after supper turned into a lengthy stop in town on his way home. Now, he imbibed at midday. With each drink, his eyes darkened, his tongue turned to acid, and his fists became weapons."

     Okay, now. All of that is pure conjecture. I don't know of Great Grandma Iva just wanted out. Or if she had had enough of an angry drunken, mother-loving husband, and said, "Adios, Asshole." I like my made-up version of her much more than the clearer picture I got as I dug further into her past.

     First off, let's not forget that Great Grandma Iva left two, that's two, of her three children behind, and she never made contact with them again. I'm a parent, and believe me, there have been times I've wanted to leave my kids in the desert, but not really, not really and truly.

     Iva actually did that.

     My Aunt Amy and my mom confessed that Grandma Iva was not a sweet granny. She mocked her grandchildren, withheld food and love. She indiscriminately punished them with a curse and swat. She always carried candy in her apron, crunching it noisily but never shared.

     Petty complaints, perhaps, but my aunt remembers the slights 80 years later. It must have stung.

     Did I, initially, want to put my Grandma Iva in the best light? If so, do I want to portray myself in the best light?

     When I advocate for the Alzheimer's Association or donate to the river foundation, I hope I'm channeling Iva's best self, her independent streak and refusal to take crap off of anybody.

     But there are times I wonder if I'm channeling the worst in Iva.

     The other day when a grocery clerk aske me if I was finding everything okay, I snapped, "Why? Do I look lost to you?" That same day, when an SUV parked over the line, I left a note that said, "Hey earth hater! Thanks for parking your stupid huge car so close I can't open my door. Have a nice day."

     Times like those make me worry.