Brew Town

So, we're flying off to glamorous Milwaukee this weekend. What a pair of jetsetters we are. Bowling, beer, and brats, that's what we'll be doing. Along with a little death management.

My grandma died a month ago, and my aunt was traveling in Southeast Asia, so we had to wait until now to hold the funeral.


Gramma was a sweet woman -- very German, very Midwestern, in that she was rather stoic and loved to keep busy. She sewed like mad, stripped furniture, walked miles each day. I remember she visited my Aunt Katherine in Menlo Park once, and they were having an awkward time until they decided to pain the house. She had a big underground pool where I learned to swim, and whenever we'd visit I'd spend most of my time in the water. Also, she made great zucchini bread and loved the Packers and the Brewers. She even tangentially knew the Brewers manager George Bamberger, so we got great seats at the park during the '70s. (Beer was so intertwined in the culture that the Brewers' mascot slid down into a beer mug whenever they hit a homer.)


Gramma's maiden name was Heiman, which probably would've proved difficult during junior high if she'd been born a generation or two later. She'll be buried next to Grampa, who died when my dad was 12. (He was a major bowler -- see comic below -- and there's talk of a memorial family bowling trip when we all get out there.)

Gramma and I weren't exactly close. I saw her once every two years growing up, and I loved her like any grandkid loves a kind, doting, mildly reserved grandparent. But after she had a stroke about 10 years ago, she came to live with my dad's family for a few years, and my younger siblings grew really attached to her. It'll be strange because it'll be a sad event, but at the same time I've never been on a family trip with all my siblings, so that'll be nice, even if it's only a couple days.

I just hope we can go to Gilles for turtle sundaes.