Posts tagged family
Posts tagged family
OK, perhaps an interview in the Sarasota Herald-Tribune isn’t quite Britney level fame, but I was still so tickled to get a copy of this article in the mail Friday night.
(Even though I’m pretty sure my grandmother is going to demand a correction to her description as retired nursery-school teacher.)
I kind of can’t believe it’s already Friday. I really can’t believe it’s already December.
Stay warm this weekend, bunnies!
Here’s a hint - I’m a terrible liar. They’re all true. Happy Thanksgiving, you little turkeys!
My youngest sister wants to interview me tonight (via Skype, fancy!) for a class project. I’m touched that she asked and thrilled to be able to help her out.
My only caveat? That I get to interview her in return about her (first serious) boyfriend. I’m working on my list of questions now.
I’m a day late wishing my grandparents a happy anniversary.
My grandmother is a just a bit older than my grandfather (and would probably kill me for sharing that here) and when they decided to get married, they eloped to Baltimore (what’s more romantic?). Over sixty years later, they remain one of the cutest couples I’ve ever seen.
My Pop-Pop still golfs regularly, and my Grandma just took up acting - and I quote, “stole the show” in her first production. They’re regulars at their retirement community’s bar, love their cruises, and an e-mail with the subject line “From Grandma” is guaranteed to make my day.
And they’re still very much in love. A few years ago, my grandmother tripped and broke her hip on a birthday cruise. She was airlifted back to Florida for surgery, and for a very scary day, she could not wake up. Being Lucille, she did wake up (and is long since back to stealing the show wherever she goes.) But that day, the first words out of her mouth to my grandfather were “I thought I’d lost you but now I’ve found you again.”
I may be a day late and a buck short, but happy, happy anniversary to a couple that I’m so very glad found each other.
* Not pictured above: Two grandchildren, a great-granddaughter, and a grandson-in-law-to-be. Quite a crew for the parents of an only child!
Two weeks after my dad died, my older sister and I were tasked with starting to clean out his office. Given the fact that he had six kids, the numerous family pictures scattered across his desk were no surprise. What shouldn’t have been a surprise was the fact that the credenza next to his desk was also covered in framed pictures — of his trip to St. Andrews several years earlier. The obvious fact that he had spent a great amount of time framing and arranging these pictures (much more prominently than the others in his office) provided some much needed humor that afternoon.
The father-golf cliche may be tired, but so many of my memories are tied up in my dad’s love of the game. He practiced and played constantly.
If I close my eyes and picture him, he is always dressed for golf. The hushed voices of announcers during tournaments reminds me of countless Sunday afternoons at his house. If one of my visits coincided with Washington Golf Center’s annual sale, I could be sure I’d be spending part of my day using golf club covers as puppets while he shopped. Five years later, we are still unearthing hidden golf equipment purchased on the sly.
I’m watching the US Open this afternoon and taking comfort in the nostalgia it provides. Happy Father’s Day, Merk.
Is there a difference between a true memory and the memory of a story told? As the grown-up version of a child with a voracious imagination, it’s easy to question the things I remember.
A crystal-clear memory, whether from some crevice of my brain or a borrowed memory, is of the weekend my mom, sister and I were snowed in together while my stepfather was skiing in Lake Placid. The three of us, my most nuclear of families, ate cinnamon toast in bed. We huddled for warmth. Lizzie and I most likely fought.
And in a very visceral way, thirty years later, I am sometimes caught off-guard by how right it feels when I am with these two women. I have spent too much time mourning what my family was not, and am grateful that I have finally realized how lucky I am for what my family is.