Birthday reflections
Today is October 2nd, 2009.
My grandmother was born in Tonsberg, Norway on October 2, 1919. This would have been her 90th birthday. People who knew her--can you believe that? 90? She was 88 when she died, and she was still playing bridge twice a week and tennis and had a more active social life than me. We went to Norway just six months before she died. I mean--a 13 hour flight overseas, a six hour train ride from Oslo to Bergen, a ten hour bus ride back to Oslo, a family reunion--all when she was 87.
We had no idea she was as sick as she was until only a week before she went into the hospital. I mean, two years ago today, I made a lemon chiffon cake and my aunt came home from California, and my grandmother gave a toast and said something about how it might be her last birthday and we all brushed her off. Because that was clearly ridiculous! And then she died a month and a day later.
Anyway. My grandmother would have been 90 today.
Some pictures and stories, because a 90th birthday deserves to be celebrated, even if she's gone:
My grandmother and my mother, in Norway. Mom's somewhere between one and two years old.
My grandparents left Norway and moved to New York in 1956, when my mother was six years old. They came over for my grandfather's job, and my grandmother left behind a huge extended family. This is her, my mother and aunt (Mom's younger, to the left), and her parents. I never met my great-grandfather, but I knew my great-grandmother. She lived to be 103 and even traveled to Maine to be with us for her 100th birthday. She never had to go into a nursing home or assisted care, either. Neither did my grandmother. We all thought my grandmother would live longer than her mother because she was healthier, or so we thought.
I am pretty sure this is from the 70s. But it's her in her element. She loved entertaining and being a hostess and throwing parties. Holidays were always at her house. It wasn't even a question.
This was '92 or '93. I'm not sure if I was 9 or 10, but it doesn't really matter. We're in my kitchen after she took me to play tennis. She played tennis every year until her last summer, even after she had to have surgery on both of her shoulders--because of the tennis. She gave up golf instead.
This was my 21st birthday, in 2004. She was 83 in this picture. Is it any wonder I have a really skewed perspective of age?
This is my brother and my grandmother, on the train from Oslo to Bergen, in June 2007. She died in November. She's 87 here. And yes. She's wearing pearls for the train ride. I think that says it all.
Happy birthday, Moomoo. I miss you.
My grandmother was born in Tonsberg, Norway on October 2, 1919. This would have been her 90th birthday. People who knew her--can you believe that? 90? She was 88 when she died, and she was still playing bridge twice a week and tennis and had a more active social life than me. We went to Norway just six months before she died. I mean--a 13 hour flight overseas, a six hour train ride from Oslo to Bergen, a ten hour bus ride back to Oslo, a family reunion--all when she was 87.
We had no idea she was as sick as she was until only a week before she went into the hospital. I mean, two years ago today, I made a lemon chiffon cake and my aunt came home from California, and my grandmother gave a toast and said something about how it might be her last birthday and we all brushed her off. Because that was clearly ridiculous! And then she died a month and a day later.
Anyway. My grandmother would have been 90 today.
Some pictures and stories, because a 90th birthday deserves to be celebrated, even if she's gone:
My grandmother and my mother, in Norway. Mom's somewhere between one and two years old.
My grandparents left Norway and moved to New York in 1956, when my mother was six years old. They came over for my grandfather's job, and my grandmother left behind a huge extended family. This is her, my mother and aunt (Mom's younger, to the left), and her parents. I never met my great-grandfather, but I knew my great-grandmother. She lived to be 103 and even traveled to Maine to be with us for her 100th birthday. She never had to go into a nursing home or assisted care, either. Neither did my grandmother. We all thought my grandmother would live longer than her mother because she was healthier, or so we thought.
I am pretty sure this is from the 70s. But it's her in her element. She loved entertaining and being a hostess and throwing parties. Holidays were always at her house. It wasn't even a question.
This was '92 or '93. I'm not sure if I was 9 or 10, but it doesn't really matter. We're in my kitchen after she took me to play tennis. She played tennis every year until her last summer, even after she had to have surgery on both of her shoulders--because of the tennis. She gave up golf instead.
This was my 21st birthday, in 2004. She was 83 in this picture. Is it any wonder I have a really skewed perspective of age?
This is my brother and my grandmother, on the train from Oslo to Bergen, in June 2007. She died in November. She's 87 here. And yes. She's wearing pearls for the train ride. I think that says it all.
Happy birthday, Moomoo. I miss you.