More memories in unexpected places
So, lots of blasts from the past yesterday, including one that I forgot to mention: the slideshow my sister put together included a beautiful shot from my parents' wedding day, in which my parents are flanked by both of their parents. I think somehow, in all the time we spent with our photographer on our wedding day, and the extensive shot-list we developed in advance to make sure we got every imaginable permutation of people, the Smelmooo and I did not get such a photo. I regretted that yesterday, because seeing the six of them all lined up together -- my mom and dad, young and radiant, alongside their parents, still relatively young themselves, and healthy -- struck an incredibly emotional chord for me.
I never met my dad's dad, and I lost my last remaining grandparent, my mom's dad, 12 years ago. I was closer with my mom's parents -- both her mom and her dad lived with us, separately, Gammie when I was in fourth grade and Pop when I was in high school and the very beginning of college. Pop was very much a curmudgeon, but Gammy was the sweetest, most gentle person I've ever met, and I have incredibly strong and precious memories of her, despite having had only a few years with her, until the spring before I turned 10.
I get a couple of things from Gammy. I definitely don't have her patience, but my mom tells me I have her hair. And, oddly, the weird tic where I absently bite the right side of my left index finger when I'm anxious? Identical to my grandmother's. I don't have a conscious memory of her doing that, but I do remember her hands, strong and sure when I was very young, and frail, thin-skinned and ropy as she got older. I remember being incredibly upset by that change in her hands, even at eight or nine. She still had the spark in her eyes, the brightness in her smile; the limp she developed, she and I could pretend was a temporary injury, but her hands we couldn't fake.
When I went through all the boxes of cards and letters during our spring cleaning, I found birthday cards from her and my Pop-Pop, all addressed to "Our Irish Beauty." That gave me a huge lump in my throat, along with a bittersweet feeling that I was incredibly lucky to have had them in my life, and so sorry not to have had them for longer.
But they stay with me, in odd ways. I think of my grandfather whenever we have ice cream cake at family gatherings, because, at his 90th birthday party, Pop so enjoyed his ice cream cake that he literally licked his plate clean. I think of him around Christmas, when I hear the Nativity story, because Pop had convinced all of us that the Three Wise Men were named Gus, Sam and Gregory Peck (fortunately, it was one of my sisters, and not me, who whipped herself into an indignant frenzy when one of her elementary school teachers told her otherwise).
And I just realized, after thinking, "I must have written before about Gammy," that I have, in fact, written about this briefly, but one of the things that reminds me of her are those pastel-colored candies, covered with non-pareils, that seem to be called Misty Mints:
At lunch today, there was a huge chocolate cake covered in mini-Misty Mints, which made me think even more about Gammy. It also puzzled me, because every other menu item in our cafeteria was consistent with a Cinco de Mayo theme, which these do not seem to be. But whatever. I'll take happy memories, and chocolate frosting, whenever I can get 'em.
I never met my dad's dad, and I lost my last remaining grandparent, my mom's dad, 12 years ago. I was closer with my mom's parents -- both her mom and her dad lived with us, separately, Gammie when I was in fourth grade and Pop when I was in high school and the very beginning of college. Pop was very much a curmudgeon, but Gammy was the sweetest, most gentle person I've ever met, and I have incredibly strong and precious memories of her, despite having had only a few years with her, until the spring before I turned 10.
I get a couple of things from Gammy. I definitely don't have her patience, but my mom tells me I have her hair. And, oddly, the weird tic where I absently bite the right side of my left index finger when I'm anxious? Identical to my grandmother's. I don't have a conscious memory of her doing that, but I do remember her hands, strong and sure when I was very young, and frail, thin-skinned and ropy as she got older. I remember being incredibly upset by that change in her hands, even at eight or nine. She still had the spark in her eyes, the brightness in her smile; the limp she developed, she and I could pretend was a temporary injury, but her hands we couldn't fake.
When I went through all the boxes of cards and letters during our spring cleaning, I found birthday cards from her and my Pop-Pop, all addressed to "Our Irish Beauty." That gave me a huge lump in my throat, along with a bittersweet feeling that I was incredibly lucky to have had them in my life, and so sorry not to have had them for longer.
But they stay with me, in odd ways. I think of my grandfather whenever we have ice cream cake at family gatherings, because, at his 90th birthday party, Pop so enjoyed his ice cream cake that he literally licked his plate clean. I think of him around Christmas, when I hear the Nativity story, because Pop had convinced all of us that the Three Wise Men were named Gus, Sam and Gregory Peck (fortunately, it was one of my sisters, and not me, who whipped herself into an indignant frenzy when one of her elementary school teachers told her otherwise).
And I just realized, after thinking, "I must have written before about Gammy," that I have, in fact, written about this briefly, but one of the things that reminds me of her are those pastel-colored candies, covered with non-pareils, that seem to be called Misty Mints:
At lunch today, there was a huge chocolate cake covered in mini-Misty Mints, which made me think even more about Gammy. It also puzzled me, because every other menu item in our cafeteria was consistent with a Cinco de Mayo theme, which these do not seem to be. But whatever. I'll take happy memories, and chocolate frosting, whenever I can get 'em.
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