measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanksgiving thoughts... I think NaNoWriMo drained a good chunk of my intelligence and writing capacity this year-- my brain is somewhat fried. I'm honestly not sure what to write about these days... other than filling the page with senseless words to up my word count. Not exactly what I should be doing in my journal... but hey. *shrug* Since my work 'puter ate my post-Thanksgiving entry on Monday, I think I'll write about that... granted, I'm about a week overdue for it, but things have been on my mind. First off-- surviving the first holiday without Grandma. In our family's case, it wound up being both grandma's. My cousin Katie lost both grandmothers in the course of a year... and both my mom and my aunt Gail were coping with the loss of their mothers. It went a bit better than honestly I thought it would. My grandfather was a bit teary and I think everyone sensed the loss... but the evening went fine. For some reason, I just didn't feel like it was Thanksgiving. Grandma's death honestly didn't have anything to do with it-- it just didn't feel... well... it just felt like any family gathering when I show up at Mom's house, I guess. Perhaps it was partially because I was sitting at the kid's table again (we had two tables-- 20 people in all), so I wasn't near my mom. I wound up sitting next to my youngest cousin's grandparents, who I don't care for much (the grandmother, at least, has an air of snobbery that strikes me as a bit obnoxious). Thankfully Erich and Katie were sitting there. Otherwise, it just... was. Friday evening felt a bit more holiday-ish in a lot of ways. Erich, Mom, and I went over to Grandpa's for a dinner of breaded pork steaks (a carryover from my childhood) and potato pancakes. Mom did the cooking (and proceeded to smoke out the kitchen as she fried up the pancakes!) while Grandpa told a couple of stories from World War II-- how he ended up in Germany, how he met my grandmother, and the night the British army liberated the area he was in. Erich and I did some vodka tasting from the infamous cabinet-- I swear he must have about 40 different bottles of vodka in that thing. I know I did five shots-- before dinner. I was spinning quite a bit. But Friday night just seemed to have much more of an air of family and cozyness. *shrug* ... aside from me crying for a while as I held Kalla, the cat that my aunt Vicky ditched on Grandma and Grandpa many years ago-- the cat's at least 17 now (I remember this cat as far back as age eleven), and has several cancerous tumors... she looks awful. But as soon as I sat down next to her, she crawled into my lap, demanding attention. I just started crying immediately. Partially out of sadness for her situation, and partially because I have the hidden fear of something happening to one of my own cats someday that would have to force me to make the choice whether to have them put to sleep. Poor Kalla probably should be put to sleep-- but Vicky couldn't bring herself to do it, and I think Grandpa wants Kalla around since my grandma really did love the cat a lot. But it was heartbreaking-- this poor kitty has a tumor on her face that has swollen the entire side. She was taken in to test whether it was an abscess (it wasn't), and so it's now all shaved, and she has no whiskers on one side, making her look even more scraggly. Yet she was purring and walking around on me as if she were a kitten. And then when she had her fill of pets, she jumped off my lap and casually strode into the other room... as if nothing was wrong. I had an air of finality that I wouldn't see her again, which also makes me a bit sad. I'm entirely too much of a softie when it comes to animals, I guess. As we headed upstairs, I had to recompose myself a bit and went down the hall to clean up in the bathroom. I stopped by my grandma's room after using the bathroom (since it's down that hallway). Most of Grandma's things are still in there, since neither Grandpa nor my mom have had the time to go through them. But already, it's quite evident she's gone, for one reason that always makes me think of my Grandma immediately. On her dresser, she has always had a porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary. And around that statue hung several rosaries. I remember reaching up to them as a child, letting the beads roll through my fingers. She had one plastic one, but the rest were quite expensive-- beads of tumbled stones and gold or silver crucifixes and amulets. It wasn't until I was well into high school that I understood what the rosary was used for. I grew up Episcopalian, after all... and never saw them in the house. To this day, I don't know all of the prayers on it, although I know the rhythm of the prayers, and the general sense of what everything stands for. Anyway... I remember always looking at that statue and the draped beaded chains that surrounded her. As the years went on, the number of rosaries changed. I remember one day while I was "home" for Thanksgiving in college... I came to visit my grandparents since my mom was still living in California, and it was too far to go to either parent's house for the long weekend. Grandma had bought an onyx rosary in Rome during their last trip there, and I found it particularly beautiful. I held it in my hand, and felt the energy of her faith on every bead. If I hadn't figured out my path was right in Paganism by that point, it might just have been enough to convert me right then. I remembered that onyx rosary last weekend, wondering what had happened to it. While I'd been home for Grandma's funeral, Mom, Aunt Gail, Katie, and I went through her jewelry to sort it between all of us in the family. I know Mom and I took a rosary to pass down through the maternal generations. But it wasn't the onyx one. I don't recall seeing the onyx one that weekend-- although I admit everything was a bit of a blur. And I know she wasn't buried with it-- she had a wooden one that she'd bought in Israel that had been blessed in the River Jordan. That one is/was wrapped around her hands in her coffin. I had hoped to find it, so that I could carry it with me... because I recalled that specific one so clearly. But the Virgin Mary now rests quietly, without anything circling her. The rosaries have all been removed, divided between family members and close friends. It's a sign that she truly is gone. Probably the only one that really would affirm it for me, since I've been so removed from everything down in Pennsylvania. I left Grandma's room quietly and returned to the kitchen where everyone else was. I didn't say anything about it... I suppose in a lot of ways that statue has always been more of a symbol for me personally... maybe no one would understand. *shrug* But it was a weird holiday. It just didn't feel right for some reason. And I have to chalk it up to Grandma not being there, even if I don't seem to believe it's exactly the reason. ... I'll have to see if it feels that way at Christmas, too. ~ Mel. 3:18 p.m. - 03 December 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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