Well, John Tenorio pretty well opened the flood gate to let all my friends escape this life when he passed late last year. Then went Annie, Chaz, Nancy, Shirley and lastly Jim. Needless to say I had plans with all of these people, or meant to at least. Annie was expected; Chaz was not. Nancy was expected; Shirley was not. Jim was inevitable. I set here now waiting for the next shoe to drop. Mother always said it was sad to watch the nursing homes especially. When fall comes the leaves drop and the little old people go to their reward. Then comes Spring and with new growth the little old and sick people get new life, but it is not in this world. Mother was wise. When I would forget to do something in a timely manner, or blow it off completely, she had these words for me. "Better late then never." But was it?
When the pale horse with his rider goes by, it is too late. The final curtain has fallen, the bell has rung, and "woulda", "coulda", "shoulda" are no more. It is over and time is no more. There is no way I can tell grandma what an impact she had on my life. Oh, not while I was living it, but lo these many years later I can see so clearly. Grandma Haas was an invalid due to a stoke and Great Grandma Hatfield took care of her. I helped as much as I could, which was not very damn much, but I do not think that was what I was there for. I think I was there in case one of them died I could call somebody. I can remember helping her get ready for bed and pulling her dress up over her head. I had to be very careful because she and Grandma Hatfield both had pierced earring and it was a nightly chore to untangle the dress from the earrings on both women. Lord only knows what they did before I came.
Grandma Hatfield was prone to shingles and it was my nightly job to check her to see if any shingles were appearing and if they were I must make sure to check very carefully and apply medicine, because if the shingles went clear around her waist and met, she would immediately die. I lived in mortal terror that they would become active while she was asleep and she would be dead when I went in the next morning. Apparently someone was alert because she lived to be 104. Grandma Hatfield was tall, or so it seemed. She was regal in her bearing. She rarely spoke but I just figured since she was 99 years old when I lived with them, that she had probably just talked herself out. I am not sure she really knew I was there!
Grandma Haas was a very sweet little old grandma and looked like grandma's were supposed to look. She had beautiful blue eyes and her hair was golden rather then gray. I still have that golden braid tucked away somewhere. Since I was 15 years old she thought she should have "the talk" with me. This is it in it's entirety, I swear to God.
"Have you started your menstral cycle yet." (I had a vague idea of what that might be.)
"No".
"Ok, when you do, tell momma and she will let you stay home from school that day."
Well, there was a little something to look forward too since school was the only place I could go and escape the tedium of my life. The only book I was allowed to read was the Bible and the only entertainment was learning to crochet. I had to keep my shoes on at all times. Aunt Lena sometimes let me play in the horse tank. Television was just coming out and the Smith family had one, but I was not allowed to go over there and look at it because I would surely rot in hell!
I miss the grandma's. I wish I could go back in time and this time I would listen. I would listen about the aunts and uncles and the trip over from Germany. I would learn about the herbs and tinctures that Great great grandma Gagnebien used and how to be a midwife and how to make molasses. But I didn't. But you know what? I think that sometimes those old ancestors pop into my head and tell me things because sometimes I know things that are true and there is no way I could know them. I think my ancestors live inside me. Course I may be nuts.
There is that!
When the pale horse with his rider goes by, it is too late. The final curtain has fallen, the bell has rung, and "woulda", "coulda", "shoulda" are no more. It is over and time is no more. There is no way I can tell grandma what an impact she had on my life. Oh, not while I was living it, but lo these many years later I can see so clearly. Grandma Haas was an invalid due to a stoke and Great Grandma Hatfield took care of her. I helped as much as I could, which was not very damn much, but I do not think that was what I was there for. I think I was there in case one of them died I could call somebody. I can remember helping her get ready for bed and pulling her dress up over her head. I had to be very careful because she and Grandma Hatfield both had pierced earring and it was a nightly chore to untangle the dress from the earrings on both women. Lord only knows what they did before I came.
Grandma Hatfield was prone to shingles and it was my nightly job to check her to see if any shingles were appearing and if they were I must make sure to check very carefully and apply medicine, because if the shingles went clear around her waist and met, she would immediately die. I lived in mortal terror that they would become active while she was asleep and she would be dead when I went in the next morning. Apparently someone was alert because she lived to be 104. Grandma Hatfield was tall, or so it seemed. She was regal in her bearing. She rarely spoke but I just figured since she was 99 years old when I lived with them, that she had probably just talked herself out. I am not sure she really knew I was there!
Grandma Haas was a very sweet little old grandma and looked like grandma's were supposed to look. She had beautiful blue eyes and her hair was golden rather then gray. I still have that golden braid tucked away somewhere. Since I was 15 years old she thought she should have "the talk" with me. This is it in it's entirety, I swear to God.
"Have you started your menstral cycle yet." (I had a vague idea of what that might be.)
"No".
"Ok, when you do, tell momma and she will let you stay home from school that day."
Well, there was a little something to look forward too since school was the only place I could go and escape the tedium of my life. The only book I was allowed to read was the Bible and the only entertainment was learning to crochet. I had to keep my shoes on at all times. Aunt Lena sometimes let me play in the horse tank. Television was just coming out and the Smith family had one, but I was not allowed to go over there and look at it because I would surely rot in hell!
I miss the grandma's. I wish I could go back in time and this time I would listen. I would listen about the aunts and uncles and the trip over from Germany. I would learn about the herbs and tinctures that Great great grandma Gagnebien used and how to be a midwife and how to make molasses. But I didn't. But you know what? I think that sometimes those old ancestors pop into my head and tell me things because sometimes I know things that are true and there is no way I could know them. I think my ancestors live inside me. Course I may be nuts.
There is that!
1 comment:
If you're nuts I wish everyone could be that way. You've made me think of my grandparents and though I never lived with any of them I was fortunate to have known them and spent some quality time in their homes. Grandma McGuire told us that her mother (Grandmother Hook) had a father who was half Native American and I was always proud of the fact that I was "part American Indian." That great great grandfather was said to have been raised in an orphanage so we had no documents to prove this claim. But I accepted it as factual since my mother and grandmother believed it, and I understood why someone like Elizabeth Warren could feel the same kind of pride. In her case a DNA test seemed to bear out the family lore, but my results from Ancestry dot com did not. I'm told that I shouldn't accept those results as gospel but at this point I doubt I'll go to the trouble of getting a second opinion. My parents both had difficult relationships with their fathers -- the McGuire patriarch was a domineering and intolerant fundamentalist Xtian and Grandfather Salling probably would have been diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder and died here in Pueblo at the state mental hospital in the late 1950s. But my grandmothers were both good and long suffering wives who did their best and loved their families to the end. Grandma Hazel McGuire was an especially devout Xtian who in her last years made it clear that she had her good days and her bad days and they apparently alternated so regularly that she would consult the calendar if she received an invitation and would decline if it fell on her "bad day." I think I've inherited a similar kind of condition, which doesn't necessarily make me nuts. But given that Salling background, who's to say?
Post a Comment