(no subject)
Family friends, friends from synagogue, they've all been calling asking if there's anything they can do, if we need anything, can they cook/bring over food for shiva or for the funeral. We tell them no thank you, but we appreciate the gesture. Sometimes though, I want to ask them if they can pick me up a waterproof mascara. Almay One Coat Waterproof or something, whatever they've got at Shop-Rite. I'd pay them back. (Though I've acquired quite a cache of makeup products since working at Revlon, including four different mascaras, none are waterproof)
Except this is not really an innocent request because in a house of mourning, the mirrors are supposed to be covered. Although my grandfather was hardly a religious man, in fact, he was very secular, the mourning process is very traditional. The upstairs and downstairs mirrors are all covered, even though Mom is only sitting shiva here one day and is sitting shiva in Queens the rest of the week and except for Mom, we aren't directly mourners according to the laws. But still, wearing obvious makeup would seem inappropriate.
At the same time, every shiva call I've been too, the mourners always look pretty good. They're always jovial and social, decently dressed, able to hold conversation, and their faces show no sign of long crying jags. I don't get it. I don't even have long crying jags, but I know from experience that even a few tears cause my complexion to look like crap. I find myself tempted to cheat the no mirrors rule and apply just a little lipstick, mascara, maybe a touch of long-wearing powder, so I don't look like a wreck and rather, more like the young professional working girl my grandfather was so proud of.
Then I feel guilty for being so shallow. Pre-Revlon, I would have never thought about this.
Then I feel sad. My grandpa was so proud of me, so proud that I'd finally landed such an awesome job. (It is awesome. Details in another entry...) The day before I started working, he called up to congratulate me. There was something in the financial section of the paper about how Revlon was changing CEO's, Alan Ennis was taking over, some story and Grandpa said, "I read about the new CEO. Boy, you didn't tell me they hired you for such a big position!" It was very funny. He loved hearing about how the job was going.
There's more I want to say, but funeral is in an hour so I have to go.
UPDATE
My grandfather was not a religious man and neither is most of my mom's (or, come to think of it, my dad's too) side of the family. My aunts and cousins showed up at the funeral in full makeup and no one seemed to mind. The makeup turned out not to make a difference because everyone was crying so much, my cousins especially. I think they had a closer relationship with my grandfather than my siblings and I had. We tended to let Mom serve as the intermediary.
The shock of his death is getting easier. We really weren't expecting it. He'd just greeted my sister who came back from Australia, just said goodbye to his granddaughter who was going to Israel for the summer, just wished his oldest granddaughter (me) a happy birthday, was planning a trip to Atlantic City with his wife, was about to turn 85, and was about to celebrate his 56th wedding anniversary with my grandmother. And his heart just gave out.
My coworkers pointed out the silver lining in this: that I didn't have to watch him suffer and that my last memories of him are positive ones. This is true.
My coworkers were nice about it. Nice, but not too nice. I liked that.
Except this is not really an innocent request because in a house of mourning, the mirrors are supposed to be covered. Although my grandfather was hardly a religious man, in fact, he was very secular, the mourning process is very traditional. The upstairs and downstairs mirrors are all covered, even though Mom is only sitting shiva here one day and is sitting shiva in Queens the rest of the week and except for Mom, we aren't directly mourners according to the laws. But still, wearing obvious makeup would seem inappropriate.
At the same time, every shiva call I've been too, the mourners always look pretty good. They're always jovial and social, decently dressed, able to hold conversation, and their faces show no sign of long crying jags. I don't get it. I don't even have long crying jags, but I know from experience that even a few tears cause my complexion to look like crap. I find myself tempted to cheat the no mirrors rule and apply just a little lipstick, mascara, maybe a touch of long-wearing powder, so I don't look like a wreck and rather, more like the young professional working girl my grandfather was so proud of.
Then I feel guilty for being so shallow. Pre-Revlon, I would have never thought about this.
Then I feel sad. My grandpa was so proud of me, so proud that I'd finally landed such an awesome job. (It is awesome. Details in another entry...) The day before I started working, he called up to congratulate me. There was something in the financial section of the paper about how Revlon was changing CEO's, Alan Ennis was taking over, some story and Grandpa said, "I read about the new CEO. Boy, you didn't tell me they hired you for such a big position!" It was very funny. He loved hearing about how the job was going.
There's more I want to say, but funeral is in an hour so I have to go.
UPDATE
My grandfather was not a religious man and neither is most of my mom's (or, come to think of it, my dad's too) side of the family. My aunts and cousins showed up at the funeral in full makeup and no one seemed to mind. The makeup turned out not to make a difference because everyone was crying so much, my cousins especially. I think they had a closer relationship with my grandfather than my siblings and I had. We tended to let Mom serve as the intermediary.
The shock of his death is getting easier. We really weren't expecting it. He'd just greeted my sister who came back from Australia, just said goodbye to his granddaughter who was going to Israel for the summer, just wished his oldest granddaughter (me) a happy birthday, was planning a trip to Atlantic City with his wife, was about to turn 85, and was about to celebrate his 56th wedding anniversary with my grandmother. And his heart just gave out.
My coworkers pointed out the silver lining in this: that I didn't have to watch him suffer and that my last memories of him are positive ones. This is true.
My coworkers were nice about it. Nice, but not too nice. I liked that.