What do I want? What things do I want to remind me of my Grandmother? How do I know what I want? In some ways, I already have what I want; I know that she knows I was there when she was dying. I know she knows I love her, and I know she loved me. These things I know. I will never lose these things. I am not sure if the things I want are possible.
I want to bottle the smell of the house at 1120 Perry St. Maybe it could become a candle. Then I can smell it whenever I want. I want to hear Grandma laugh. She was so quiet, and making her laugh always brought out her smile, and maybe an entry into conversation. You might never know when something might spark a comment or memory from her. I want to see her make that little step skip, dance she used to do when she was feeling especially good. Or the face she would make when you were looking particularly dressed up, or ridiculous. Both inspired a look of delight that would light up her entire face. She might even say “Hey, Hey Farmer Gray.” I can never have these things. Material possessions seem so meaningless in light of this reality.
I know there are things I want, but it is so hard to think about. I want the house to be as it is, with my Grandmother to welcome me home every time. I know I cannot have that, I know that chapter of my life is over. I am not ready to face it. I am thinking about it, but I want to move slowly. I am not in a hurry. Getting used to the idea that she is gone is not something I want to do.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Memories of Grandma Gray
I have so much more to say about my Grandmother, how sad I am that she is gone, how much I will miss her quiet, steady presence, and how much she gave to me. In losing her, I am losing that which kept me safe and loved all my life. In the midst of constant chaos and change, the steady ship she sailed offered me a refuge filled with delights.
She created an always-welcoming fantasy for me, one where “The Twelve Dancing Princesses” always lived on the bottom shelf, Barbie and her elegant wardrobe waited in the closet, and I slept in a beautiful bed, built for a princess with a pink shiny satin comforter at my feet. Meals were served at specific times, included all the proper food groups, and generally ended with a cookie, or maybe some sherbet. The garden seemed a magic kingdom were every beautiful flower grew, especially the beloved pansies and early spring bloomers. On Thanksgiving and the Christmas holidays, the table would groan with delicious food, including the never-ending bowl of mashed potatoes. The two little angles would fly on their candlesticks, and every chair in the house would be called into service.
As I grew up my comings were warmly welcomed, my visits always ended with a hug, and “it was so nice to have you home.” Though I never lived in Albion, 1120 Perry St. was my home in many ways. The biggest reason is that when I was there, Grandma considered me to be home. Many nights would find me reading late, sitting in Grandpa’s big chair by the heating duct. Often I was rereading the books from the bookshelves in Bo’s room, “The Bobbsey Twins”, “Cherry Ames”, or “Understood Betsy”. At 11pm, the light would turn off, leaving me sitting in the dark.
She created an always-welcoming fantasy for me, one where “The Twelve Dancing Princesses” always lived on the bottom shelf, Barbie and her elegant wardrobe waited in the closet, and I slept in a beautiful bed, built for a princess with a pink shiny satin comforter at my feet. Meals were served at specific times, included all the proper food groups, and generally ended with a cookie, or maybe some sherbet. The garden seemed a magic kingdom were every beautiful flower grew, especially the beloved pansies and early spring bloomers. On Thanksgiving and the Christmas holidays, the table would groan with delicious food, including the never-ending bowl of mashed potatoes. The two little angles would fly on their candlesticks, and every chair in the house would be called into service.
As I grew up my comings were warmly welcomed, my visits always ended with a hug, and “it was so nice to have you home.” Though I never lived in Albion, 1120 Perry St. was my home in many ways. The biggest reason is that when I was there, Grandma considered me to be home. Many nights would find me reading late, sitting in Grandpa’s big chair by the heating duct. Often I was rereading the books from the bookshelves in Bo’s room, “The Bobbsey Twins”, “Cherry Ames”, or “Understood Betsy”. At 11pm, the light would turn off, leaving me sitting in the dark.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
After
On February 26, 2007, Luella Mary Vanderlip Gray died at Oaklawn Hospital in Marshall, Michigan. Born in 1917 to Jay and Florence Vanderlip of Empire, Michigan, Luella was the second of their four children. She was a keenly intelligent girl who distinguished herself quickly as a diligent scholar and hard worker. Luella left Empire at the age of 18: it was the first time she had left the North Country. What courage that must have taken! Her intelligence did not escape the notice of one of her employers, who urged her to seek a university education. Paying for every cent of her college education by working in the university medical clinic, Luella received a degree in Home Economics from Western Michigan University and became a teacher in Zeeland, Michigan. Her second teaching job brought her to Albion where she lived the rest of her life. In 1945, Luella married Ernest Gray, a widower with two young girls, Jane Felton and Mary McPhail. Three children were born to this union:
Elizabeth Ann, Robert Dobson and Martha Ellen. Though she left full time teaching to raise her family, Luella returned to work at Albion College in the admissions office, the library and as an instructor in the Home Economics Department. Luella’s home in Albion shone with the fruits of her labors and her love for order and beauty. She was a brilliant seamstress, an inspired cook, a practical magician, a devoted friend, an unbeatable crossworder, cribbage and Scrabble player, and a voracious reader. Starting from the town of Empire, population 378, Luella’s travels took her all over the United States, Hawaii, and Great Britain. Small in stature, she was huge in influence for her five children. She followed their accomplishments with unstinting and quiet pride. You would find her in the stands of every ball game her son played, in the audience of every piano recital her daughters played, at the graduation ceremonies of all of her children. She loved to dance, she loved music,
she loved flowers and birds, she loved the company of her grandchildren, she loved her private times on the porch swing, novel in hand, radio softly playing in the background. She slipped away from us as she had lived with us – quietly, without complaint, with dignity and courage. Preceding Luella in death were her husband, Ernie (1999) and her oldest daughter, Jane (1999). She is survived by her children, Mary Gray, Elizabeth Gray, Robert (Sharon) Gray, Martha Gray (Fred) Horn, her grandchildren, Padraig (Jennifer) Fahey, Alizabeth (Terry) Towery, Morgan McCullough, Michael Churchward, Jesse Churchward, Drew Churchward, Erica Gray, David (Tasha)Gray, Annie Gray Horn and her great grandchildren, Liam, Nora Jane and Aidan Fahey, Jonathan, and Christian Gray. Her funeral service will take place at the Albion Methodist Church, Wesley Chapel at noon on Saturday, March 3, 2007.
Elizabeth Ann, Robert Dobson and Martha Ellen. Though she left full time teaching to raise her family, Luella returned to work at Albion College in the admissions office, the library and as an instructor in the Home Economics Department. Luella’s home in Albion shone with the fruits of her labors and her love for order and beauty. She was a brilliant seamstress, an inspired cook, a practical magician, a devoted friend, an unbeatable crossworder, cribbage and Scrabble player, and a voracious reader. Starting from the town of Empire, population 378, Luella’s travels took her all over the United States, Hawaii, and Great Britain. Small in stature, she was huge in influence for her five children. She followed their accomplishments with unstinting and quiet pride. You would find her in the stands of every ball game her son played, in the audience of every piano recital her daughters played, at the graduation ceremonies of all of her children. She loved to dance, she loved music,
she loved flowers and birds, she loved the company of her grandchildren, she loved her private times on the porch swing, novel in hand, radio softly playing in the background. She slipped away from us as she had lived with us – quietly, without complaint, with dignity and courage. Preceding Luella in death were her husband, Ernie (1999) and her oldest daughter, Jane (1999). She is survived by her children, Mary Gray, Elizabeth Gray, Robert (Sharon) Gray, Martha Gray (Fred) Horn, her grandchildren, Padraig (Jennifer) Fahey, Alizabeth (Terry) Towery, Morgan McCullough, Michael Churchward, Jesse Churchward, Drew Churchward, Erica Gray, David (Tasha)Gray, Annie Gray Horn and her great grandchildren, Liam, Nora Jane and Aidan Fahey, Jonathan, and Christian Gray. Her funeral service will take place at the Albion Methodist Church, Wesley Chapel at noon on Saturday, March 3, 2007.
Before
Three weeks into the semester and all my good intentions have fallen away. Not that I wont be picking them up and trying again, but really, how hard does one have to get kicked in the behind? And really what was the lesson of this past two weeks about anyway?
I imagine that when the universe kicks you in the ass, there is some lesson you can learn or take away from it. Instead I just feel incredibly stupid, exhausted, and grouchy. Not the way I want to enter my 40th year. Perhaps the lesson is to stop procrastinating and pay attention to details. This would not be the first time that lesson has been painfully administrated, I have been taught that lesson, but somehow it still hasn’t sunk in yet.
I imagine that when the universe kicks you in the ass, there is some lesson you can learn or take away from it. Instead I just feel incredibly stupid, exhausted, and grouchy. Not the way I want to enter my 40th year. Perhaps the lesson is to stop procrastinating and pay attention to details. This would not be the first time that lesson has been painfully administrated, I have been taught that lesson, but somehow it still hasn’t sunk in yet.
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