I remember my grandmother very well, but perhaps she came alive for me again just yesterday.
Painted inside a meal with an old friend that was more like a big sister to me than a "cousin's ex-wife's niece," she recalled the many moments we spent together with my grandmother her "fairy godmother."
I met my cousin, sister, friend Nan when she was twelve. I was nine. My first picture of her in my memory is of her sitting at the foot of a Christmas tree in my grandmother's condo. The lights on the tree aglow in the dark-lit room. She was wearing a white Mexican-style dress with embroidered red flowers.
It was the beginning of a sweet and dear friendship.
Over my summers growing up I spent MOST of my time with my grandmother. We'd visit my aunt in Victoria, Texas, we'd stay in hotels, order room service, play in the pool and explore the world.
When I got old enough, grandma would let me drive the country roads. I remember the Holiday Inn well, covered in green. And the smell of the food and plastic wrapped over coffee and creamer when the waiter would bring the food in from the hallway. It was never too late for room service.
I remember TV and indoor/outdoor pools. Chlorine and endless holiday trips. Shopping too, of course.
We'd visit my aunt's place, ride horses, see chickens, count cats and I'd spend endless hours playing in the green fields surrounding my aunt's home. And, Nan would be there with me sometimes too.
Nan would pop in and we'd enjoy adventure together. The memories of her are so vivid perhaps because I looked up to her so much. I remember conversations. I remember the Hard Rock Cafe pin she wore on her blouse. I remember what her room looked like and the blue dangle earrings she got when she turned 13 at her roller skating party.
I remember when Nan was finally 16 and she got her driver's license, we'd leave my aunt and grandma at Luby's to go "motor" or aka drive around the block to basically nowhere. It didn't matter. We were cool. Yes, we'd let the keys jingle so everyone knew we could drive. DRIVE!
She named that old Ford Escort "Nutter Butter" because it was a butter color. And, I was there when she wrecked it too. At a stoplight near a mall. We hit the person in front of us as the person behind us smacked our bumper. The rear-view mirror slammed to the backseat and the bumper fell to the street.
A policeman came. Nan cried endlessly at the foot of the hotel bed, "It wasn't my fault," shaken up by the whole experience.
Nan and I would attend a dance after her drillteam kick routine and football game. Then we'd decide it was boring, a boy would hitch a ride with us to a party with older folk that lived in a real house. No adults. The college boys were playing cards at the kitchen table downstairs and then we'd go to another "party" where not much was going on, just people gathering and talking. It was more about being seen than really doing anything.
It was about the essence of freedom. Or the seemingly seamless attempt to authenticate it.
Yesterday after many years apart, Nan and I were together again. Well, we met for a day briefly last spring for the first time since high school. The kids played in the water at the beach condo and it was nothing short of lovely. She introduced me to Provolone grilled-cheese sandwiches and how to swim with three kids in a pool with just two mommy arms.
And, yesterday, she texts me to get me out for her birthday. She offers and MAKES me come, she picks me up and takes me try sushi at a beautiful HIP place downtown. I meet four of her other closer friends from all parts of her life. One remembers me, but I don't remember her. I wouldn't expect to. If someone else was around when I was with Nan, I never noticed. Nan was the sun and the moon back then.
She drives up in her new vehicle. Music blaring. I said "this isn't Nutter Butter." She can't believe I remember that.
She curls her hair in our 500 sq foot one bedroom apartment on the floor because the plugs don't work in the bathroom of the home..the one we are renting until we can find a new home. It's a mess. I have cleaned for hours to try to make it seem not-so-scary. There's not too much I could do..
She is as carefree as I remember her. She's dressed in five and we are ready for our shared-night on the town. I still can't believe she came to pick up ME.
We catch up. We talk. It's like no time has passed and yet so much has happened since high school. We each have three kids. Been married 12 years. We have a lot of honest talks. It's so refreshing to hear someone say a lot of the things I've been feeling lately. Someone makes sense. I make sense. It's clearer.
We arrive. Valet takes the car. I meet her friends. We look like dolls. We chat. And, then she mentions her fairy godmother- -my grandmother--how we went places and did things she would never had had the chance to do.
It's meaningful to me because very few people in my life right now KNEW my grandmother- -the imperfect woman that helped make me who I am today..and led me to be better..to know my faith, to be honest and to stand firm in my heart. Oh, the days she'd wrap me up in her arms all day...My favorite place in front of the TV with cuddles.
A fairy godmother... I told Nan, "She passed in 1999.." She said, "I wish I could have been around there at that time.."
I smile. Nan pushes me to try another fish and it's like I am 7 and I stall, but it's worth it..She's always a step ahead. Like old times.
We take pictures. We smile. We have this long wonderful talk on the way home. We may see each other at church on Sunday. Turns out her church is a block away from my ghetto apartment.
I walk into the apartment a changed woman. I'm not mom.. I am not a woman dragged down by real estate agentS (yes, many agents), bank lenders, bank people, an apartment, TWO houses, living in a BOX..but I am a strong, beautiful woman again. With all of this weight off of my shoulders.. For an evening..
SHE was my fairy godmother teaching me to dance, to laugh, to smile, to let it all go.. My flip flops were my glass slippers.
The memories shared and the moment of escape reboot my journey. It was a refocus on what I am. What I can be. I am not the sum mount of all of these problems.
I am more than all of these things that HANG in the air.
A little bit of magic goes a long way...
Painted inside a meal with an old friend that was more like a big sister to me than a "cousin's ex-wife's niece," she recalled the many moments we spent together with my grandmother her "fairy godmother."
I met my cousin, sister, friend Nan when she was twelve. I was nine. My first picture of her in my memory is of her sitting at the foot of a Christmas tree in my grandmother's condo. The lights on the tree aglow in the dark-lit room. She was wearing a white Mexican-style dress with embroidered red flowers.
It was the beginning of a sweet and dear friendship.
Over my summers growing up I spent MOST of my time with my grandmother. We'd visit my aunt in Victoria, Texas, we'd stay in hotels, order room service, play in the pool and explore the world.
When I got old enough, grandma would let me drive the country roads. I remember the Holiday Inn well, covered in green. And the smell of the food and plastic wrapped over coffee and creamer when the waiter would bring the food in from the hallway. It was never too late for room service.
I remember TV and indoor/outdoor pools. Chlorine and endless holiday trips. Shopping too, of course.
We'd visit my aunt's place, ride horses, see chickens, count cats and I'd spend endless hours playing in the green fields surrounding my aunt's home. And, Nan would be there with me sometimes too.
Nan would pop in and we'd enjoy adventure together. The memories of her are so vivid perhaps because I looked up to her so much. I remember conversations. I remember the Hard Rock Cafe pin she wore on her blouse. I remember what her room looked like and the blue dangle earrings she got when she turned 13 at her roller skating party.
I remember when Nan was finally 16 and she got her driver's license, we'd leave my aunt and grandma at Luby's to go "motor" or aka drive around the block to basically nowhere. It didn't matter. We were cool. Yes, we'd let the keys jingle so everyone knew we could drive. DRIVE!
She named that old Ford Escort "Nutter Butter" because it was a butter color. And, I was there when she wrecked it too. At a stoplight near a mall. We hit the person in front of us as the person behind us smacked our bumper. The rear-view mirror slammed to the backseat and the bumper fell to the street.
A policeman came. Nan cried endlessly at the foot of the hotel bed, "It wasn't my fault," shaken up by the whole experience.
Nan and I would attend a dance after her drillteam kick routine and football game. Then we'd decide it was boring, a boy would hitch a ride with us to a party with older folk that lived in a real house. No adults. The college boys were playing cards at the kitchen table downstairs and then we'd go to another "party" where not much was going on, just people gathering and talking. It was more about being seen than really doing anything.
It was about the essence of freedom. Or the seemingly seamless attempt to authenticate it.
Yesterday after many years apart, Nan and I were together again. Well, we met for a day briefly last spring for the first time since high school. The kids played in the water at the beach condo and it was nothing short of lovely. She introduced me to Provolone grilled-cheese sandwiches and how to swim with three kids in a pool with just two mommy arms.
And, yesterday, she texts me to get me out for her birthday. She offers and MAKES me come, she picks me up and takes me try sushi at a beautiful HIP place downtown. I meet four of her other closer friends from all parts of her life. One remembers me, but I don't remember her. I wouldn't expect to. If someone else was around when I was with Nan, I never noticed. Nan was the sun and the moon back then.
She drives up in her new vehicle. Music blaring. I said "this isn't Nutter Butter." She can't believe I remember that.
She curls her hair in our 500 sq foot one bedroom apartment on the floor because the plugs don't work in the bathroom of the home..the one we are renting until we can find a new home. It's a mess. I have cleaned for hours to try to make it seem not-so-scary. There's not too much I could do..
She is as carefree as I remember her. She's dressed in five and we are ready for our shared-night on the town. I still can't believe she came to pick up ME.
We catch up. We talk. It's like no time has passed and yet so much has happened since high school. We each have three kids. Been married 12 years. We have a lot of honest talks. It's so refreshing to hear someone say a lot of the things I've been feeling lately. Someone makes sense. I make sense. It's clearer.
We arrive. Valet takes the car. I meet her friends. We look like dolls. We chat. And, then she mentions her fairy godmother- -my grandmother--how we went places and did things she would never had had the chance to do.
It's meaningful to me because very few people in my life right now KNEW my grandmother- -the imperfect woman that helped make me who I am today..and led me to be better..to know my faith, to be honest and to stand firm in my heart. Oh, the days she'd wrap me up in her arms all day...My favorite place in front of the TV with cuddles.
A fairy godmother... I told Nan, "She passed in 1999.." She said, "I wish I could have been around there at that time.."
I smile. Nan pushes me to try another fish and it's like I am 7 and I stall, but it's worth it..She's always a step ahead. Like old times.
We take pictures. We smile. We have this long wonderful talk on the way home. We may see each other at church on Sunday. Turns out her church is a block away from my ghetto apartment.
I walk into the apartment a changed woman. I'm not mom.. I am not a woman dragged down by real estate agentS (yes, many agents), bank lenders, bank people, an apartment, TWO houses, living in a BOX..but I am a strong, beautiful woman again. With all of this weight off of my shoulders.. For an evening..
SHE was my fairy godmother teaching me to dance, to laugh, to smile, to let it all go.. My flip flops were my glass slippers.
The memories shared and the moment of escape reboot my journey. It was a refocus on what I am. What I can be. I am not the sum mount of all of these problems.
I am more than all of these things that HANG in the air.
A little bit of magic goes a long way...
