Family
My parents just decided that we're going to take a trip out to DC in February...the weekend before Convo.
My great aunt, sister to my Grandma (passed) and co-matriarch of the family turned 80 in December. We go crazy when our beloved hit 80 - themed parties, flying in from all over America, presents, presentations, slides, pictures, the works. We always rejoice when we come together for a happy occassion.
I don't know her as well as I would like and had contemplated not going.
My fetch screamed.
I'm going.
But now I start chewing it over...what to write for her? I had a poem for my Grandma, called "The Future is I" a thanksgiving poem to how the strength of my family line is stronger than anything in the world. But I think this one needs to be to her. She was the aunt that once told me, "Don't worry, you're only half-grown" in response to my nervousness about not having "everything figured out by the time I was 25. I was offended until I looked into her eyes, so calm and sure of who she is, and caught a whiff of the many many things I didn't know about her.
Yep. I'm only half grown, not longer a child, out of young adulthood and tip-toeing into that weird realm that sneaks up on you as a full-fledge adult. It's frightening becuase the "how-to" handbook still hasn't shown up. Every time I first look into her eyes I'm intimidated by the depth of her. She smirks...she knows that damn handbook is oral. It's rolling thread and messing up knitting and laughter. It's the heaviness and delight of inheritance, seeing pieces of the dead moving through your life. It's the ease of giving respect to those who have earned it and give it in return.
I'll have to start asking more questions about the many many things I don't know about her. Hear about the fires behind her eyes. I know I'll be amazed.
I made the mistake of waiting until my grandmother's funeral to start asking. This time, perhaps I'll start a little earlier.
My great aunt, sister to my Grandma (passed) and co-matriarch of the family turned 80 in December. We go crazy when our beloved hit 80 - themed parties, flying in from all over America, presents, presentations, slides, pictures, the works. We always rejoice when we come together for a happy occassion.
I don't know her as well as I would like and had contemplated not going.
My fetch screamed.
I'm going.
But now I start chewing it over...what to write for her? I had a poem for my Grandma, called "The Future is I" a thanksgiving poem to how the strength of my family line is stronger than anything in the world. But I think this one needs to be to her. She was the aunt that once told me, "Don't worry, you're only half-grown" in response to my nervousness about not having "everything figured out by the time I was 25. I was offended until I looked into her eyes, so calm and sure of who she is, and caught a whiff of the many many things I didn't know about her.
Yep. I'm only half grown, not longer a child, out of young adulthood and tip-toeing into that weird realm that sneaks up on you as a full-fledge adult. It's frightening becuase the "how-to" handbook still hasn't shown up. Every time I first look into her eyes I'm intimidated by the depth of her. She smirks...she knows that damn handbook is oral. It's rolling thread and messing up knitting and laughter. It's the heaviness and delight of inheritance, seeing pieces of the dead moving through your life. It's the ease of giving respect to those who have earned it and give it in return.
I'll have to start asking more questions about the many many things I don't know about her. Hear about the fires behind her eyes. I know I'll be amazed.
I made the mistake of waiting until my grandmother's funeral to start asking. This time, perhaps I'll start a little earlier.