Chapter 13

Marji was the youngest, and the most social. She was born May 28, 1949. I remember a picture of she and grandpa. He carried her about. The picture was colored by hand. It was prominently displayed in Grandpa’s home. They didn’t have color pictures in those days. Was she everyone’s favorite? She was certainly the cutest of the Grenz children, so seemed to be the consensus as she grew, though I always thought of my brother as very good looking.

Marji always had lots of friends, it seemed, and she maintained the friendships down through the years. She would have been one or two years old when we left the farm and six years old when we moved to Missoula. She says that her grades were lower than the grades of the other three Grenz siblings. Still she was the most social and hence the most successful, valuable? But competition among us was never cultivated. And it wasn’t long before I recognized Marji as an asset. Upon seeing a picture of my sister, friends would become curious and very interested. She was very definitely the beauty in the family.

She would do her chores about the house, same as the rest of us – dusting, vacuuming, folding clothes, washing and drying dishes. She took piano lessons for a time, played in those yearly recitals that I dreaded. I would invariably “choke-up” and make numerous errors no matter how thoroughly I’d practiced. I would sweat profusely, could not focus clearly. My mind would fill with dread. She seemed at ease in front of crowds, voiced her concerns freely and easily.

Few memories stand out in stark relief, but I do remember how she’d slug me with her middle knuckle protruding, catch me unawares while doing dishes. It seemed a form of affection at the time and I took no revenge.

She locked me out of the house once, and I broke the back door window trying to convince her to let me in. She seemed to live in another world during those young years. We boys were so involved in playground sports in those days. It wasn’t until we were grown up and moved away that she became a best friend. We spoke easily, wrote letters, felt a very strong kinship. I was able to talk with her about real things that were of concern to me and she shared her thoughts with me. She was a philosopher, afraid of no topic. And she had insight.

In high school she participated in the Sound of Music. And I remember her beautiful friends.

And she dared to be unconventional. She introduced me to someone who inherited some money, bought some land, and started a commune. Later she traveled to Ireland with a musician. They had visions of making enough money by singing to live there for some time. It didn’t happen. She ended up working a department store for 35 cents an hour. (It brings to mind my own low wage beginnings. Our neighbor got me a job at Hughs Gardens howing radishes with Mexicans. I was paid 27 cents and hour or some such. My father had thought I would be paid more than that. As it was I worked one full week and earned $12.) How did she acquire enough money to return to the states, I’m not sure.

Back in the states she spent some time at the ranch, then was in a look out tower in the Skelkaho for a summer. She had young men suitors, one of whom maintained friendship through the years. Then she moved to Oregon, lived in a communal church setting for a time, before marrying an enterprising metal sculptor. She became a sculptor as well, and both were well known in the West, had art work displayed from Seattle to Los Angeles. They were featured in magazine stories. (My wife was vacationing in Key West, Florida once and came across some her husband’s sculptures displayed in an Art store.)

They had a beautiful home overlooking the Mckinsey River, an idyllic place, with blueberry bushes, plum trees, a studio, and a dock on the river. Her daughters were nymphs in Paradise. Brianna and Willow were for a time homeschooled.

Then tears came, she and Ken separated.

She continues to do art work, but business is not so lucrative as it once was. She still has a positive outlook, now lives in a very artfully decorated older home in Coberg, Oregon. Her children have moved away.

In the spring of 2005 she nearly died, was on a respirator for 2 or 3 weeks, had congestive lung failure, was in a comatose state, drug induced, for some time, then she made a miraculous recovery.

Mother lives nearby and depends on Marji to provide companionship.

Her letters are works of art, and very uplifting, but come less often now in this age of computers. Tabitha is her dog’s name. Brianna plays piano by ear. She’s given the duck to a nearby farmer, but report has it that the duck doesn’t fit in with other birds, prefers the company of dogs and people, so once tried to walk back “home”. Luckily someone intervened and returned her to the pond that she refuses to swim on. At “home” she slept in the clawfoot bathtub in the house at night. And during the day she kept company with Tabitha.