Echoes of family everywhere
As my Gramma became older, and her back considerably less forgiving, she would ask me to do things to help her. “Caryle, could you please pick that up for me?” “Caryle, would you please carry that downstairs?” And most of the time, I was glad to do it. Even when answering her voice meant jarring my mind and nose reluctantly away from whatever make-believe world the latest novel I’d purchased had carried me to, the person I am at my core was glad to help. And when Gramma could no longer reach her feet well enough to cut her toe nails, I kissed her on top of her head, told her I was doing this because I loved her, grabbed the nail clippers from her hand and proceeded to trim those suckers down to a manageable length. And really, I was glad I could help her with this little indignity in a small way. Now when I cut my toe nails, I think of her and that I’m thankful I can still reach mine.
**
My mother has a habit of telling the same stories over and over. We all have things that drive us crazy about our parents, and with my mom, this tendency easily makes it in the top three of my list, along with her insisting upon saying “Some days are like that, even in Australia.” (I always wonder what Australia has to do with anything. I’ve been there, it’s a lovely place, but it is in no way immune to bad days or problems unless those problems have something to do with snow.) There are days that I swear I will take up recreational drinking if I have to hear the story about X one more time. I know that she’s bored, and I’m not at my best when I have those thoughts, but I have them nonetheless. And when I’m really being honest with myself, I know I have a tendency to tell the same stories over and over, too. But I am grateful I still have my mom around to drive me crazy.
**
Gramma’s eyesight deteriorated as she aged, too. She had cataract surgery, but she never felt like they got it right. So, when she reached the point she couldn’t see the rough hairs that occasionally grew on her chin, she turned to me to pluck them. I grabbed the tweezers and plucked away. I tried not to rush through the slightly awkward task, because I knew she needed my help. Now I know that the little hairs on the chin are a family trait, because I have my own to tend. Mine are dark brown where hers were white, and I see Gramma mirrored in me as I rub my fingers along my jaw line, searching for any stragglers I may have missed.
**
My level of anxiety about driving in winter weather appears to be directly correlated to my age. I’m hoping that it will taper off as I continue to get older. Mom seems to be a bit better about this now that she’s in her 50s, but I remember on many a long trip back from Dodge City, Kansas to Illinois that she would white knuckle her way through the trip, trying not to freak out as other cars fell into ditches around us or some unknown idiot cut us off in traffic. But when it all became too much for her and she was convinced that my Dad was missing something, she would suck in a giant hissing breath through her teeth and then screech his name. “DENNIS! Look out!” My poor father would do his best not to jump out of his seat while slamming on the brakes instinctively. He’d reply with an exasperated but mostly understanding “Nancy, I saw it!” or “Nancy, you can’t do that, you about gave me a heart attack.” Now I’m the one fighting my urge to make faces, hit the imaginary brake, and be the passenger seat driver. And it makes me laugh at myself, because I swore when I was a kid that I would never do that. But here I am, becoming a slightly altered echo of my mother who is an echo of her mother.
**
Christmas has always been synonymous with family for me. And since it’s my first Christmas without my Gramma this year, she’s been at the top of my mind. I hope you are all able to spend the holidays with people that make you feel exasperated one moment and incredibly loved the next. I know my updating here has been sporadic at best, but please know that this little corner of the web is still important to me. As Gramma said to me last Christmas, “We’ve had some really good times, haven’t we?” Merry Christmas, all.
**
My mother has a habit of telling the same stories over and over. We all have things that drive us crazy about our parents, and with my mom, this tendency easily makes it in the top three of my list, along with her insisting upon saying “Some days are like that, even in Australia.” (I always wonder what Australia has to do with anything. I’ve been there, it’s a lovely place, but it is in no way immune to bad days or problems unless those problems have something to do with snow.) There are days that I swear I will take up recreational drinking if I have to hear the story about X one more time. I know that she’s bored, and I’m not at my best when I have those thoughts, but I have them nonetheless. And when I’m really being honest with myself, I know I have a tendency to tell the same stories over and over, too. But I am grateful I still have my mom around to drive me crazy.
**
Gramma’s eyesight deteriorated as she aged, too. She had cataract surgery, but she never felt like they got it right. So, when she reached the point she couldn’t see the rough hairs that occasionally grew on her chin, she turned to me to pluck them. I grabbed the tweezers and plucked away. I tried not to rush through the slightly awkward task, because I knew she needed my help. Now I know that the little hairs on the chin are a family trait, because I have my own to tend. Mine are dark brown where hers were white, and I see Gramma mirrored in me as I rub my fingers along my jaw line, searching for any stragglers I may have missed.
**
My level of anxiety about driving in winter weather appears to be directly correlated to my age. I’m hoping that it will taper off as I continue to get older. Mom seems to be a bit better about this now that she’s in her 50s, but I remember on many a long trip back from Dodge City, Kansas to Illinois that she would white knuckle her way through the trip, trying not to freak out as other cars fell into ditches around us or some unknown idiot cut us off in traffic. But when it all became too much for her and she was convinced that my Dad was missing something, she would suck in a giant hissing breath through her teeth and then screech his name. “DENNIS! Look out!” My poor father would do his best not to jump out of his seat while slamming on the brakes instinctively. He’d reply with an exasperated but mostly understanding “Nancy, I saw it!” or “Nancy, you can’t do that, you about gave me a heart attack.” Now I’m the one fighting my urge to make faces, hit the imaginary brake, and be the passenger seat driver. And it makes me laugh at myself, because I swore when I was a kid that I would never do that. But here I am, becoming a slightly altered echo of my mother who is an echo of her mother.
**
Christmas has always been synonymous with family for me. And since it’s my first Christmas without my Gramma this year, she’s been at the top of my mind. I hope you are all able to spend the holidays with people that make you feel exasperated one moment and incredibly loved the next. I know my updating here has been sporadic at best, but please know that this little corner of the web is still important to me. As Gramma said to me last Christmas, “We’ve had some really good times, haven’t we?” Merry Christmas, all.