Nightglow Window

Emma

Emma Ruth Lowe was born June 7, 1907 and was an all-around cool chick. She lived in Las Vegas, New Mexico, a middle-of-nowhere destination on the downslope of the southern Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

During Prohibition Emma and her husband Edward brewed their own beer in a bathtub. There's a story of how one batch fermented too quickly and just when the parish priest came over the corks in each bottle began to explode with a loud pop, leaving the young couple at a loss to explain the noise.

They ran the town's grocery store -- E.J. Groth's Groceries And Meats -- and viewed themselves as quite well to do, thank you very much. They raised three children and saw nine grandchildren born. In 1968, Edward passed away. He was my grandfather and I never knew him. I was one.

But I got to know Emma. Over the years we became really close, especially after the that fateful night in the summer of 1986 when I met Christy. All that summer, as Christy and I fell in love, I lived with Emma and slept in the TV room on a couch that was about five feet long.

I got to know that couch really well over the next year, as I made the drive every weekend up from San Diego to visit Christy. (Sometimes she snuck down -- even midweek -- and spent the night, but that's a story for another time.)

Christy's dad was only 35 when I first started dating her, and rightly never let me spend the night (even on the couch). It was a long, long drive back to San Diego -- especially since I was driving up three or four times a week. A couple of times I slept in my Tercel outside her house, too exhausted to drive anywhere.

Anyway, Emma was always there for me. I don't know how many nights I drove up to Leisure World to her house instead of facing the long drive back to San Diego.

I'd show up at all hours of the night. There was a hide-a-key under the air conditioner and I'd sneak in and curl up on the couch. She was always up early and would often have breakfast ready for me. Those were awesome times, probably the best of my life.

Yep, she was a cool chick. I remember sneaking in one night and quietly going to bed, trying hard not to wake her. Some time later -- I don't know how long since I had fallen asleep -- I woke up to smoke in my face. It was my grandma, all dressed up, blowing smoke rings into my face. "You beat the ol' gal home, didn't you!" she beamed, clearly happy that an 80 year old was up later than grandson (and apparently having a better time to boot).

She drove a powder blue Gran Torino, you know, like Starsky and Hutch. She was hell on wheels with that car -- always a little scary to see her lead-footing it away from her house, scaring her neighbors and scattering the bunnies of Leisure World.

She made incredible tamales and pasole. You'd sweat as you ate it was so spicy.

I don't know what I would have done without her.

She really meant a lot to me and she lived a beautiful, full life.