Final Project: Merle Casper

Final

Merle Casper

The first thing I notice, that really anyone notices, about my grandmother is that she's 98. In fact, she'll be 99, and almost a centurion, in a little over a month. Honestly, this boggles my mind. 

Spending time with my grandma, I realize just how little I know about her. But there is just so much to learn. Her life has been not just long but full of things she cares about and people she loves and she tells me that she's not only happy but honored to share it with me.

It's a long road, life.

This is Vine Street. My grandmother has lived on this street for all but two months of her 98 years. It's a funny street; it turns around so much that by the end it ends up going the opposite direction. In some places, it disappears completely only to return a couple blocks later. You can only see small sections of it at times, but it will take you farther than you'd realize.

And it's changing all the time. This street used to be filled with small 30s era homes, but no longer. This year, just two lots down from my grandmothers a couple new developments have come in. In the historic neighborhood, they look comically big. It seems strange to me, but not so much to my grandma. She's lived through a lot more than a rapidly expanding houses. She's no stranger to the unexpected turns of life. Sometimes when I see myself like a car on a road, barley able to see 100 ft in front of me, I wonder if grandma sees life from above, like a map or if she's just gotten used to the blindness.

Houses and homes.

Her life has been split between these two houses which sit side by side. On the left is her parent's home. Her parents were better off than most as she was growing up and got married. It was depression time though and everyone was tight. For the first many years of their marriage, they lived in the basement of her parents home until, deciding that with two children they should have a home of their own, her father split his land and built a home for them next door. This beautiful home has been her home since that time until now.

Due to health complications, she's been forced to again move in with family, this time with her daughter. The more I photograph this home, the more I fall in love with it. It's a home I hope to preserve in the family. Important memories were made here, children grew up and made their parents proud. They brought home grandchildren who loved then promptly attempted to destroy it. If a house is a home when it's filled with love, there's enough home for the whole block right here.

Around the table.

Grandma has been a widow for 20 years. And I never really got it until I got married. But now I wonder how she deals with the loneliness and I can't help but feel deeply sad for her. Night after night cooking dinner for one and sitting up to an empty table can't be easy and yet I've never seen her without her smile.

I see it as inner strength, unwavering resolve, and a little bit of stubbornness, something she passed on to me. I hope the rest with come to me, if I can stick around long enough.

 Young at heart.

I learned much about my grandmother over the course of this project. One of my favorite revelations was that my grandma was a singer, just like me, when she was young. She told me she only ever had a couple lessons but had a 'naturally good voice.' I do know she sings her favorite song on her birthdays, Frank Sinatra's Young at Heart. 

If anything, my grandma has become more so. It's often said that at some age, one starts to age backwards becoming more like a child. Perhaps this is why the old and young have such a special bond. This is my grandma with my youngest sister, her youngest great-grand child of many.

At the heart of things.

I spent a lot of time photographing things about my grandma and her home that were important to me and to family. But, I also asked my grandma what of the things in her home was most important to her. After a moment of reflection, then directed me to special plates in her china cabinet, decorations that sat on her mantel, and hung on the walls. As she introduced each item to me, I saw that she had surrounded herself with things that were important to her and they all had one thing in common: they were from family. My favorite treasure was this rock, a piece broken off the grave of a young pioneer girl, our ancestor, who died on the plains. They had to leave her, but somehow a piece of her grave made it to my grandmother and she has kept it on her mantel ever since, proud of her strong heritage.

Grandma Casper has been many things to many people but she'll be remembered because she has a unique ability to love everyone, no questions, no judgement; she offers completely acceptance of her family. My aunt barley speaks to her parents, let alone visits, but she makes it to grandma's every single year. A cousin who's bi-polar has broken bridges all through the family calls her almost every night, just to talk. Instead of worrying about tolerating 'improper' behavior, she worries about improperly condemning behavior she can't understand.

This might not seem like a grand thing to do with someone's life, but all I know is it means everything to grandma. Family is at the heart of everything she does.



When I was 5 and I was angry at my mother, I'd steal the phone and call my grandma. She'd tell me she loved me and ask me over and even if we didn't go, I felt better. Still, walking into her home, there's an almost immediate peace that comes over me. If I even think there's no where on the planet where I can simply be me, all I need to do is make my way here.