Grandma's Musings

I woke up early today with an urge to make some sauce.  ( When I say sauce, it should be understood that it’s tomato sauce, sauce for spaghetti or lasagna, it’s sauce.) So before I put on my morning coffee, fill my mouth with my meds that one gets used to at a certain age, I pull out my mother’s pot.  It’s almost fifty years old now, skid marks on the bottom, a little dented here and there, but still good inside and it makes the best sauce, well, almost the best.  It’s not my mother’s.  I remember her leafing through the newspaper looking at ads and telling me that even though I don’t cook much, ( I was a shortlived career woman at the time), I needed a good pot now that I was going to be a housewife.  It was the fifties, what can I tell you?   Times were a little thin in those days, I was very young and wedding showers were something one went to with a wrapped present for someone else, so I knew my mother was figuring out how much she could spend out of her grocery allowance to buy me  the best kitchen tool I might use to make wonderful sauce.  She offered her services in showing me how to make sauce, something I am so grateful for every time I put on my stove.  I was more than a little apprehensive as to what my part would be.  Genny, ( my mother) was the best cook “ever”.  She truly was and still is in my estimation.  I’ve had a lot of wonderful dishes cooked by so-called experts, but my mother is the reigning  queen in anyone’s kitchen.

There I was watching Genny open an array of cans with tomatoes or some crushed version of them. Meatballs were simmering in a pan on the stove while she emptied the tomatoes into her pot, and she’d say, “Now take your time when cooking, let the cans of paste cook down slowly before adding the others.  Cooking isn’t hard, she’d say, you just have to be patient, thorough.”  Yes, I know what you’re thinking, a little like life.  My mother was always telling me to take my time, don’t rush through “cooking” or anything else, something that’s taken me a lifetime to achieve.  Of course, she was right.  What’s your hurry?  If you take your time, you might enjoy it better and it will be better tasting.   I’m a little crochety now, not as sure footed as I once was, but I still get to where I’m going and I am enjoying life.  Slowing down has its’ advantages, I see better, hear only what I want to,  life is less stressful, tastes pretty good.  And I make great sauce.  Thanks, Mom.

I remember hearing or reading that when someone we love dies it just isn’t the pain that we feel, it’s the message to make our lives and maybe the lives of another, better.  Not sure how the message goes, but I’d like to explore the thought.  My son lost a friend the other day and even though his friend had been ill for awhile, it was still somewhat of a shock.  Maybe because his friend really continued his day to day routine until he couldn’t any more.  Even when he did start to fail, have to excuse himself from a visit because he was so tired, my son didn’t recognize how ill his friend was or couldn’t bring himself to admit to what was happening before his eyes.  He wasn’t insensitive to his friend’s pain.  On the contrary, he tried to help in any way a friend can, by being the same funny guy, regaling everyone with funny stories so that his friend could laugh and he did.   He kept pushing  and hoping that if they just kept talking or watching a television show they could share, his friend would be ok.  Is that a correllation to how we struggle to keep going no matter how hard life can be sometimes.?  Not sure, but if it helps any of us, sick and healthy alike, what’s the harm?  Right now, Mike is feeling pain.  Yet he’s able to go on with his life, working and maintaining his day to day, caring for his girls, to  keep their busy routine  with school activities, social dates.  He has the strength of character to focus on living, because that’s what we do, what we all do. 

 I remember  visits to my ailing mother.  I would bring a movie that I thought she would like and we could view it together, we laughed and talked and after awhile she became silent and when I looked over at her, she’d be asleep.  Fatigue was filling up her days more than anything else. It was a bit of a shock as she was so strong for so long.  Then she becamse ill and then she was gone.  After she left us, I could still feel her presence and then one day I stopped feeling the pain and just smiled at all that I knew and felt about her.    Daddy was failing slowly and just became very frail and towards the end he didn’t always know who I was, but his smile was the same and his disposition became sweeter and then one day he was gone. 

The inevitable happens, and after the pain of loss ebbs we look to make our lives better.  We remember what they left us, they were kind so we try to be kinder.  They laughed at the silliest things and we enjoy everything close to us a lot more.  So even when our days are filled with more irritants than triumphs, we push on, we try to make it betterand isn’t it great when we’re successful?

Some might say I’m in the twilight of my life and maybe I am, but not because I see it that way.  Yes, I’m retired, and I’ve cut back on the workday to four days a week and  I still get up with what-to-do lists on my mind.  I might move a little slower, but then I pick up steam as my thoughts invade my sleep.  and the to do lists on my mind can’t measure up to the real life ones.  I have lists all over the place and I rewrite them over and over again.  Yes, a little anal I know.  What brought this reflection of life is my moving once again to a cozy apartment that is a little smaller than the last that was  smaller than the one before that.  I still have all my comfortable fixtures and photos and warmth.  I still have my communication toys so I can reach my children and friends.  And I still relish in knowing what’s going on in the world even though conversations and debates are limited to a few.
Then I see my daughter selling her house to buy another bigger one so she can be closer  so I can help when she has her twin boys in early fall.  So much going on, life moving us forward whether it was in our plans or not.  We plan our short term goals, maybe it’s time to move, I think I’ll look for another job, when should I plan a trip to see another  part of my wonderful family?  Long term, I’m not sure anymore. What I am sure of is putting  one foot in front of the other every day.  I still have dreams, it’s what keeps me going.    I think I’ll retire next year for good.   I’m not twenty-one, I haven’t been for fifty years, but that doesn’t mean I should stop looking forward.  Life is what’s next, it’s the next step whatever we want it to be, and sometimes what we hadn’t planned.  Sometimes it’s a challenge we didn’t plan for or want, but it happens and how we move with it matters to our well-being.  What’s even better, I still have dreams, but that’s for my next entry.

I was in my first pregnancy;  I had just closed  my beauty salon the day before and was looking forward to eight weeks of relaxing in preparation for this big, new event that was going to happen in my life.  I was excited and a little nervous, but feeling good even though I knew  I  didn’t have a clue as to what was in store for me.  My Mom lived a good forty minutes away and I hadn’t really made too many new friends in this new town, so I was trying to figure out what to do next.  I was twenty-three years old but happy as only the young and ignorant can be.  My  husband was quietly nervous and kept looking at me as though I might explode or turn into something  weird.  Actually, I felt the same way. We were both a little breathless at this new adventure. 

So here it was, my first full day of vacation, so to speak, and I was enjoying a quiet Sunday. My husband, Al, had gone hunting until lunchtime and I had the day to explore a plan or two.  I thought I might cook up a nice dinner, I did and after he came home we ate and then settled in to watch the Ed Sullivan show on tv.  It was 1963, and we were two young people trying to relax and contemplate our soon-to-be roles.  I remember feeling a little uncomfortable, my back was feeling strange so I started to walk around our small apartment.  After awhile Al asked what was wrong, I said nothing really.  This baby wasn’t due for a couple of months, so I thought this might be normal.  What did I know?  Soon I started to feel a little more discomfort and thought I’d better give my mother-in-law a call, she lived close by.  She asked if I was having any pain and I said a little.  She asked if my pain came and went in spurts of time, when I said yes, she told me to get straight to the hospital.  I turned to tell my husband and saw how pale he had become.  All of a sudden we were in a strange movie and he had become that typical father-to-be that was  goofy and scared and I was in that same movie.  We started to rush around to get things ready, my bag was not packed, I was in a housecoat and slippers. I started to panic.   I quickly put on some shoes and a coat and we made our way to the car and hospital.  By this time the  pain was a little more intrusive and I was feeling a bit goofy, as in what am I doing, what’s going on?  A nurse greeted us at the emergency door and I was whisked away leaving a scared young husband behind.  Soon my mother-in-law was there beside me while I was given some kind of mask.  I was told to breath deeply and when I did I kind of dozed until another pain hit. This went on for several hours, but seemed like a lot less.  I heard  someone say it was good to nap in between the labor and  I remember thinking I must be dreaming because that person sounded crazy.  I mean, sleep?  How could that be?  But I must have, a little anyway, until the pain got worse and then I remember being moved to another room where I saw my doctor, he smiled at me and I finally drifted off.

The next thing I knew it was morning and my mom was at the end of my bed, smiling and telling me what a beautiful boy I had.  I hadn’t even seen him yet, but right then the nurse brought this amazing child into the room and laid him in my arms.  What I felt at that moment only a parent can know, I remember thinking that I must be the only one in the world to have this magic laying close to my heart.  Al peeked in then to look at this incredible  being and smiled and looked at me as if to say, “look what we did”. 

The date was February 18, 1963, and I was a mother for the first time.  We named our newest member of the family, Michael Scott, and when we finally took him home sometime later, we laid him on our bed between us and just stared, waiting for him, I think, waiting to hear him say anything, anything at all, because we knew whatever it was,  it would be brilliant.    We were so in love with Michael.

It took me most of the day, but the tree is down, all the decorations are packed away and even in technicolor, my living room looks rather somber.  It’s ok, I guess, it had to be done; it’s just amazing that after all the hoopla and work and anticipation of a great birthday party with all the presents and celebration, Christmas is done, gone.  And it was fun, a little noisy, a little nostalgic, a lot of everything.  So on to the next big day, Happy New Year, everyone.  Another year and it comes and goes pretty fast these days.  Actually, it’s another ten years when you think about it.  Ten years!  Christmastime in 1999 was just as hectic, but we viewed that coming year as a milestone, a possible psunami of computer gliches, utilities freezing, the fear of air travel coming to a complete halt.  I was still working in a bank opening saving and trust accounts and most of the time all I did was reassure people that their money was safe.  There were silly stories about  customers  converting thousands of dollars of their  money into coin and pulling up to the bank with an armored truck to haul it all away because banking as we knew it was going to end.  And I did see some customers draw out most of their cash, not in coin, but cash nonetheless because they were afraid they wouldn’t have access.  And then New Year came and went and everyone laughed and said how foolish people can be, ourselves included.  

So tonight as I watch the ball drop on Times Square on television, I’ll lift a glass of wine and wish all good things for all of us, every triumph one can have.  As I say this, it occurs to me that I already enjoy some of those triumphs and I am grateful.  I feel lucky  for all that I have now, such as the  occasional,  long telephone conversations with my son who lives a long distance from me.  We talk  about the life  he has now with his daughters, my granddaughters, and the life that was with my parents, his grandparents, and our recollections are almost the same.  My other son and I usually talk about the politics of the day and it can get a little heated, I like that.  My daughter and I are special in that she, like most women of her age, become more the mother to me, as I become more like a precocious child to her.  But mostly I’m grateful for the laughs we have and the richness of my life as I learn more from these wonderful people every time we talk.  So I say again, I wish all good things for everyone, a richness in their lives that I have in mine. And one more thing.  I do not forget that peace and prosperity are still important to  us all.  Television brings images of two wars and a struggling economy that hurts;  to some more painful than to others, but painful nonetheless.    I have hope for success,  it’s the patience I lack.  Happy New Year, everyone, God bless us all and soon.

It’s here, the holidays, you know the big holidays; well, almost anyway.  It’s early December, so Christmas is in a few weeks, but it’ll be here before we know it.   I can tell because the traffic is heavier when it shouldn’t be and parking lots are full and if it weren’t for the commercials on television alerting me to the many, many sales for family and friends, I would still be able to tell because I’m one of those people crowding up the aisles at the mall.  And there’s another reason: all the wonderful music that’s playing on the radio and cds and they play every day, all day until the big day and then maybe even beyond that day. It makes me nostalgic and very sentimental.  I miss my parents, my Dad reciting the lines from Christmas movies like Dickens’ Christmas Carol, mom making sure everyone knows what time dinner is.  I miss a lot of things, but mostly I miss my life.  I still have a life, I’m not complaining about today, I just want a few days of yesterday back to relive, even the crazy running around.  My shopping today consisted of calmly looking for the right gift for family and friends and when I wasn’t always successful, not really worrying about it.  All of a sudden I have patience and you can ask anyone, I am not a usually patient person.  And I pull out all the Xmas movies I have on hand to help my eyes water and get the angst of loneliness out so I can move on in my day.  Ok, now I’m beginning to sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself, not my intent, so sorry about that. 

 My tree is up and the lights are on and I have put all the decorations I own on the tree and it’s beautiful, if I do say so myself.  Usually I try to be decorative in a conservative way, designing as I hang the ornaments, but not this year.  I pulled out the old wooden ornaments my kids and I painted about thirty-five years ago and there they are filling up the tree and they make me smile.  There are ribbons and gold, shiny glittery balls and flowers and angels and tiny baskets filled with more ornaments. And this wonderful, decorative, shiny thing is taking up space in front of my livingroom window.  So pretty.  I’m baking too, brownies; and I’ll be sending some along with candy canes and chocolate and maybe a Xmas ornament to my son and my granddaughters who live so far away, just to let them know I wish I could visit them for a while this holiday.  And I’m wrapping gifts with colorful paper that has snowmen and wintry scenes on it.  There’s something else going on too.  People are a little more smiley, (is that a real word?).  I see a lot of the public during the week at my job and even though not everyone is a pleasant soul, we Americans talk more and smile more and are kinder now. We share our shopping tips and funny accident stories and sometimes we tell about the people we miss most, this time of year.  So before you know it Christmas Eve will be here and I will be sharing a wonderful meal with family and watching my nieces and nephews open their toys.  And then on Christmas day I get to see my beautiful daughter and wonderful son who live close by and we share gifts and food and laughs and we call my other son and I stop crying because the big day is here and my heart is full and I am so grateful for my life and the wonderful gifts it has given me, these adult people who long ago painted wooden ornaments for our tree.  What a great day, Christmas, it’s here, almost, well, kind of.

You received them for your birthday, anniversary, when you got that promotion.  There were a couple of times they came when you were down because of a betrayal of a friend or colleague;  a card came to cheer you up, and it did.  There’s also that wonderful letter from an admiring friend that grew into something more than a correspondence.   And then, of course, the mailman brought you some comfort from another friend because they knew  your heart  had been broken.   They are the cards and letters that can still make you smile when you  find them in a keepsake box.   In a day of email and facebook, twitter and the next new cyberspace connection that disappears with a click, there is something you can hold onto that  still reminds you of the friend you have, and the children who wrote you letters in crayon and now keep instant connection via email.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that in a busy day, my daughter and sons talk to me almost daily with an instant message on my computer.  It’s just that when I open my filing cabinet to retrieve an old invoice or statement from my bank, in between the files is one filled with old cards and letters from my children for mother’s day, Christmas, birthdays.  There are a couple of letters from when they first left home to find another home, career or new family of their own.  I revisit their apprehension as they journey to a new step or a new home and I feel close to them. 

There were gifts, too, from friends and family for those same occasions.  I look around the living room, my bedroom, on my dining room table.  The copper kettle that holds fall floral, the Thanksgiving pilgrims and wintry pumpkin, the lovely gold and glass table clock and all the wonderful framed photos of my grandchildren. There’s the wooden carving of a Bahamian soldier that  brought me back to that exotic island with a lovely man who shared my life. These might be considered things:  paper, plastic, glass , but they are so much more.  The copper kettle came from a friend who laughed with me in a new and interesting restaurant where we shared our thoughts and dreams.  The pilgrim couple were from a friend who never misses an opportunity to remind me that we have been good  friends for half our lives .  And the clock  my beautiful daughter gave me so many years ago that means more to me than she’ll ever know.   I have wonderful letters, books and wall hangings from Aspen from my oldest son, jewelry boxes and Italian bowls from my youngest son.  I may not really need all these reminders to tell  me how loved I am, but it’s a nice feeling when they catch my eye to know I have them.   I am so lucky there are  people who take the time and energy to find and send  packages of love and friendship that’s unique  to me.

So take the time to look around and see the hallmarks of your life.  It’ll make you smile.