Vivid Living

My friend, Sarah, recently lost her 95-year-old grandmother, a mite of a woman in terms of size but giant in spirit and determination.

Grandma Kimi, a Japanese American, survived the Great Depression, internment at the Manzanar camp during World War II, and later, her husband’s suicide. Kimi was an enormous presence  – a life force – for Sarah and her family, and Sarah is naturally reeling from her death.  I, too, lost a beloved grandmother, Casey, five years ago at age 96, and I think a lot about the eventual death of my remaining grandma, Mrytle, who’s 93 and in the final, ugly stages of Alzheimer’s, or so I hope. 

Living into your 90’s is an incredible feat.  Good genes? Luck?  My guess is probably a bit of both.  My first husband, Brett, died of a brain tumor at the age of 39 so trust me when I say, “living a ripe old age is a fine, fine thing.”  While Brett’s death was a tragedy and remains very different, the loss of older loved ones still leaves deep pangs of grief.  We don’t miss those we love any less because they die later in life. In fact, I’d argue that in a sense, we miss them more because we can’t help but see our lives and histories reflected in theirs.

Time is the great healer, for sure.  So, too, is the power and sweetness of memory.   I think about my grandmothers all the time – but always alive and vital.  I can still taste Grandma Casey’s crispy chicken wings and picture her masterfully slicing, dicing, and fanning vegetables.  Had she lived, she might have been dubbed “Iron Sous Chef” by the Food network.  And Grandma Myrtle … it’s awful to see this classy lady reduced to diapers and utterly removed from reality.  So I try not to.  Myrtie can no longer form words and understand language, but I still picture her staying up half the night reading.  She’d plow through six books a week in earlier days.  She doesn’t hum anymore either; yet I hear her clear as a bell singing dah dah dah, dah dah dah, dah dah dah.  I wish I held onto her gold lame slippers, but I wore them threadbare.

What I’ve discovered is that sharing stories and traditions, even recipes, allows lost loved ones to endure.

I’ve just opened my Grandma Casey’s recipe box, lovingly written in her own exquisite hand.  Here’s her recipe for strudel:

2 cups flour

½ pound oleo or shortening or butter

1 egg yolk

¾ cup sour cream

Mix well and knead into three balls.  Refrigerate overnight.  Roll dough into three thin sheets – spread coconut, raspberry jelly, chopped nuts, raisins, and cinnamon.  Roll into long strudel.  Spread milk on top.  Bake 375 degrees about 45 minutes or until done.  Cut into pieces and serve.

Enjoy.  That’s my ode to grandmothers loved.  Grandma Casey would approve.

 So, here goes.  My first foray into the blogosphere.  

This morning I was painting a desk for my daughter that was handed down from a friend.  We chose a deep, burgundy-pink offset by white.   That first coat..wow..it was surprisingly hard.   No matter how much paint I gobbed on the brush it looked streaky and badly in need of, yes, more paint.  Which delayed things quite a bit because I  had to wait for everything to dry.   Some 30 minutes later, I applied the second coat.  It was a little tacky (no way to avoid the summer heat) but the fresh layer easily covered the streaks and took less time than the first round.  Still, the darn desk needed a third coat.  This time I had to wait an hour, which irritated me because I was now caked in paint and didn’t really want to wash and change clothes only to return to the task again moments later.  Finally, I picked up my brush and with great satisfaction quickly and rather artfully glided over the desk, the finished product like a creamy popsicle, smooth and shimmering. That’s when it struck me: Aren’t we all in need of a fresh coat of paint once in awhile?    

This is what Vivid Living is about: possibility and hope and renewal, from the smallest of matters like painting a desk to giant, ongoing (or maybe first-time) events like dating, relationships, careers, parenting and loss.  No doubt about it: life can be hard, and the best, most precise intentions do not always work according to plan.  Life happens.  It just does.  See my About Vivid Living page to read more about my story and why I wanted to start this blog.  

Today is a great day for me to begin Vivid Living.  My  8-year-old twins are back in school and their full schedule provides me with much needed work and think time.   Other than painting the desk, I’m using the day to reflect on all the transitions in my life: I’m about to dive into a part-time project that will require me to work away from my home office 25 hours each week; I’m coping with my very smart husband being unemployed and his process of recasting himself; I’m worrying, like so many of you, about the economy and long-term financial security; and, I’m preparing to help usher my oldest stepson to college in a few weeks.  My twins, too, are in a new school, which means that all us must build community.  All this as well as the little things in life that both press and rejuvenate us like cooking, laundry, exercise, and keeping up with family and friends.  As I said, life happens, everyday…

I’m so looking forward to exploring life in full bloom with you, thorns and all. 

P.S. Bear with me as I get this blogging thing down…