First off, Val, it is lovely to hear from you. I actually bought an envelope for your stuff in past few days. Here's hoping I can use it for you soon. Very sorry about the funeral, but it sure is cool and fitting somehow to set off to one by horse.
Secondly and on a similar note, my grandmother is dying. I am thrilled I pushed for J and I to go down to visit her and the rest of the family in August.
This was her conversation with J ad infinitum. No, I meant ad infinitum::
Grandma: How old are you, J?
J: I am 12, 13 next month.
Grandma: What grade are you in?
J: I will be going in the 7th grade next month.
Grandma: Oooooo, I remember 7th grade. It was really hard.
Or, for a little variety:
Grandma: How old are you, J?
J: I am 12, 13 next month.
Grandma: What grade are you in?
J: I will be going in the 7th grade next month.
Grandma: Oooooo, I remember 7th grade. It was really easy.
Seriously. And J was such a good sport. Wish he were so nice to me.
I guess I just had the feeling. Then she had pneumonia in September, seemed to be over it, but is now shutting down from it and heart failure, hospitalized last week. My father and aunt plan to remove everything but the morphine tomorrow. I remember ex's grandmother lived over three weeks with no food or water before she died, but I hope mine doesn't hold out that long.
My grandmother was the youngest of five children. Her father abandoned the family when she was just over a year old. It was the mid-1920's, but it wasn't the Roaring Twenties. Times were tough. Her mother worked in a cotton mill and it was a great day when her brother brought them some food or shoes; he and his wife were the family infertiles and I guess other family members reaped the benefit.
My grandmother got married at 15, the last out of the household, pushed from the nest early. My grandfather was six years older and died four years ago. Back then, in the throes of early Alzheimer's, my grandmother was not a picnic. Usually rather insincere and playing favorites, she was never a picnic, really. He said of her before he died, "Her.mean.has.mean."
After two years of marriage, they had my father. Six years later, his sister was born. I learned a few years ago why the childbearing was sparse between them. I'd wondered if it were a case of secondary infertility, but it wasn't. She wanted another and he didn't. (I wonder why?) When she threatened to leave, he anted up.
I have J this weekend, in case there is a funeral. My father already offered up that it would be on a weekend and I am grateful for that. I just hope my sister doesn't yell at me like she did before my grandfather's funeral. As tough as I am, I've had enough yelling of late.
Secondly and on a similar note, my grandmother is dying. I am thrilled I pushed for J and I to go down to visit her and the rest of the family in August.
This was her conversation with J ad infinitum. No, I meant ad infinitum::
Grandma: How old are you, J?
J: I am 12, 13 next month.
Grandma: What grade are you in?
J: I will be going in the 7th grade next month.
Grandma: Oooooo, I remember 7th grade. It was really hard.
Or, for a little variety:
Grandma: How old are you, J?
J: I am 12, 13 next month.
Grandma: What grade are you in?
J: I will be going in the 7th grade next month.
Grandma: Oooooo, I remember 7th grade. It was really easy.
Seriously. And J was such a good sport. Wish he were so nice to me.
I guess I just had the feeling. Then she had pneumonia in September, seemed to be over it, but is now shutting down from it and heart failure, hospitalized last week. My father and aunt plan to remove everything but the morphine tomorrow. I remember ex's grandmother lived over three weeks with no food or water before she died, but I hope mine doesn't hold out that long.
My grandmother was the youngest of five children. Her father abandoned the family when she was just over a year old. It was the mid-1920's, but it wasn't the Roaring Twenties. Times were tough. Her mother worked in a cotton mill and it was a great day when her brother brought them some food or shoes; he and his wife were the family infertiles and I guess other family members reaped the benefit.
My grandmother got married at 15, the last out of the household, pushed from the nest early. My grandfather was six years older and died four years ago. Back then, in the throes of early Alzheimer's, my grandmother was not a picnic. Usually rather insincere and playing favorites, she was never a picnic, really. He said of her before he died, "Her.mean.has.mean."
After two years of marriage, they had my father. Six years later, his sister was born. I learned a few years ago why the childbearing was sparse between them. I'd wondered if it were a case of secondary infertility, but it wasn't. She wanted another and he didn't. (I wonder why?) When she threatened to leave, he anted up.
I have J this weekend, in case there is a funeral. My father already offered up that it would be on a weekend and I am grateful for that. I just hope my sister doesn't yell at me like she did before my grandfather's funeral. As tough as I am, I've had enough yelling of late.
2 comments:
Sorry to hear about your grandmother - I'm still processing the recent traumas in my life. (Oh, & that was only a figure of speech about "saddling up" - these folks were riding-buddy friends but we're a pretty close-knit group...)
It started raining yesterday - perfect dreary weather for such an occasion.
Val,
I blush about the misunderstanding, but I still think it'd be cool, although I would not be crazy about the saddle sores I'd get from our trek in the coming days.
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