Family Resemblance

Poem for Grandma

Grandma W passed away four years ago today. This is the poem I wrote for and read at her services.

Mrs. B

I Know

We’re not together

So very often

Those of us gathered here

And although we are all missing you

I know that you are near

Your sweet face

Is reflected

In many of those that I see

And your eyes are also reflected

I know, when they look at me

We’re sad but

We’re also laughing

Our family bond is strong

We’re catching up on all the news

For which I know you always longed

Last night

I saw a picture

Of you swinging on the moon

From little girl to 89

I know--it came too soon

And now we must

Come to the part

Where you go away, so very far

You’re with Grandpa and Uncle Bill now

I know that’s where you are

Happy Birthday Grandma W

Today is my grandmother's birthday. She would have been 93. Grandma died two days after her 89th birthday in 2006.

In her memory, here is a repost of something I wrote (and subsequently revised) for a college course back in the 80s. Parts of it may seem a bit out of place; this is because it was the middle section of a term paper for a women's studies course in which we were discussing our female ancestors/relatives and how they either did or did not involve themselves with the women's movement and whether they did or did not use birth control, breast feed, work out of the home, etc.

Love you, Grandma.

Mrs. B

My grandmother, Virginia, was born February 25th 1917. The youngest of five children, she inherited strong religious and moral beliefs from her mother, Elsie. Hard work was the family norm; especially after the onset of the depression. Virginia knew that her working was vital to the economic stability of her family and she regarded her education as preparation for this work. This was a marked difference from her mother and her mother's family's stance that education for females was a necessary evil only so much as (and for so long as) to make them appropriate marriage material.

Virginia’s Senior High School Picture

Virginia graduated from high school in 1935, yet, because of the depression, good jobs were hard to find so she was hired out as domestic help. She told me when she filled out her questionnaire (the answers to which I used to write this paper) that her dreams were unfulfilled. She did not specify then what those dreams were and, sadly, at twenty-one or twenty-two, I didn't have either the interest or the maturity to probe further. From her second daughter Mary, I learned she wished she could have gone to nursing school. Perhaps this was the unfulfilled dream Virginia referred to? If so, she lived it vicariously through Mary who did indeed go to nursing school and become a nurse.

Eventually, Virginia obtained a job in Indianapolis working in a clothing factory making neckties. Here she worked until she met her future husband, Marvin, who was a bus driver at the interurban station.

Virginia (right) with her older sister Cordelia in Indianapolis circa 1939

There are different views in family lore surrounding how exactly they met and subsequently entered into a romantic relationship. One is that they were introduced by mutual friends. Although probable, I prefer the version told to me by my mother, which is certainly more romantic, and, to my way of thinking, more in line with how I envision my grandmother must have been as a young lady and as a precursor of my family's tendency to be passive-aggressive (otherwise known as "Welty-ese").

My mother’s story goes that Virginia took the interurban bus from the small town where she lived to the big city of Indianapolis each and every weekday to her job at the clothing factory. Marvin was usually the driver and conductor of the bus she took. Tall, blond and blue-eyed, Marvin most certainly would have caught Virginia’s eye. But how would she manage to steer him towards asking her out for a date? To come right out and ask certainly was not done in those days and even if it were, Virginia was not the type to be so blatantly forward. After weeks of internal debate, Virginia finally arrived at a suitable solution. She left her gloves, with her name and address clearly and neatly printed on the inside of them, on her seat when she got off the bus one evening. It took a few days, but Marvin eventually showed up on her parent’s doorstep with Virginia’s gloves in hand and while he was there, asked permission to take her out. So, obviously, Virginia had caught his eye as well!

Marvin and Virginia shortly after their marriage

They courted and married in 1939; she was twenty-two, he was twenty-six. After their marriage, Virginia dropped out of the work force. Marvin had a lot of old country beliefs in him and didn’t think married women should work or even learn to drive a car (and my grandmother never DID learn to drive a car). Women were to be dependent on men.

Virginia bore four children over the period of eight years. Her first child, my mother Dina, was born in 1941 when Virginia was twenty-four. The next, my Aunt Mary, was born a year and a half later; the others, my Uncles David and Bill, in 1946 and 1949. After Bill’s birth, Virginia’s doctor told her to have a tubal ligation, and this was done.

Virginia and my mother, Dina 1941

Marvin didn’t go to war during WWII, leaving no opportunity for Virginia to become a female war worker, and it is doubtful that she would have desired to do so. My mother says that her mother was completely in love with and a total slave to Marvin; she wouldn’t have disobeyed him or manipulated him even if she had the chance to do so (that glove incident not-with-standing!)

Virginia, like her mother Elsie before her, became a devoted wife and mother. She instilled religion into her children by herself since Marvin was not a religious person until later in his life (likely after years of Virginia’s influence in that regard). As with her mother, her husband and children remained her primary relationships and she also maintained a close relationship with her older sister, Martha. Additionally, Virginia established close friendships with other mothers during the years of raising her children. One of her closest friends and all of her children were killed in an automobile/train wreck. My mother recalls how the accident changed her mother. “She would never consider getting a driver’s license after that, even after daddy was no longer around to express disapproval”.

Life flowed smoothly along its domestic trail. Three of her children married and her sphere opened wide enough to envelop the grandchildren. Cooking, doing laundry, ironing, babysitting grandkids, sewing baby clothes planning family dinners and supervising her youngest child Billy through his remaining years of high school occupied Virginia twenty-four hours a day, leaving virtually no time for herself. Certainly, with her complete deference to Marvin, no time for involvement in the women’s movement. She was the perfect Freudian mother; the family a prime example of the new American way of life after WWII.

Soon all of that would change in the course of two tragic events. In 1968, Billy was killed in an automobile accident and soon after, Marvin became terminally ill. Virginia, after nearly thirty years of housewifery and once again out of pure economic necessity, returned to the workforce. There was no objection from Marvin about her working; he had Alzheimer’s disease.

Marvin, Virginia and Dina 1969

She obtained a position in a nursing home while Marvin, who with his strange behavior and difficult health issues was becoming increasingly unmanageable, was ultimately placed in another.

Marvin remained ill for several years before dying in 1975. Throughout this period and beyond, Virginia worked full time to cover expenses. She remained fairly isolated from all but her family, close friends and co-workers.

Virginia and Amy 1986

My grandmother passed away in 2006; two days after her 89^th birthday. There is much that I might add by the way of memories of her that would have little to do with the original intent of this paper. However, one very important observation that is relevant, I believe, is that my grandmother, for all her earlier dependence, turned out to be fiercely independent in her later years. Although her family continued to be extremely important to her, the ability to come and go as she pleased (even if it meant walking, taking a cab, riding the bus or securing a ride with friends) was equally important. When the time came that she could no longer care for herself, she opted to go into a nursing home rather than to live with any of her surviving children. This she did, I believe, both from the desire to not become a burden to anyone and to maintain some sense of liberty by staying in familiar environs of the town she’d lived in for the majority of her life. Even the nursing home she chose was familiar to her as it was the one she’d worked in years before when her husband first became ill.

From her answers to my questionnaire, it was very apparent that in no way did my grandmother believe that she was oppressed. She was a product of her generation and once she was married, she adapted to the prescribed style and went about it in the most moral and efficient way possible.

Rainy Day Ramble About Our Pets

We had a few days of nice weather; now, it is back to crappy rain. Seriously, we've had far too much moisture these past months. I'm tired of it. It's a pain in the butt, too, when you have a dog. Every time she has to go out, one of us (usually me since I'm home with her) has to wipe Lucy's feet off or else she'll leave wet doggie foot prints all over the tile floor. Of course, it typically happens that it starts to rain right after I've newly mopped the floor. Then, I have to admit, I tend to make her wait longer than I probably should to go out, in hopes that it will stop raining. Not that this really matters because the ground is still wet and muddy. And, boy, does she HATE having her feet wiped. We've finally gotten her to the point where she won't try and yank her feet away and will actually give us, in turn, her front paws. The back ones, well, it's sort of hit or miss.

Anyway, I'm tired of the rain for a lot of reasons, not just because I have to wipe my dog's feet. On to the subject at hand, our pets.

I think our cats are convinced my alias is Carlton the Door Man. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you are far too young and/or never watched 70s comedy TV. So, yeah; the cats love to be out in the sun room. Pete and Lily in particular, Lily the most. She'll go out there first thing in the morning and won't want to come in unless she is hungry or needs to use the box (no, I don't leave anyone out there if I'm going to be away for a long period of time). Ares and Apollo like to be out there as well but they tend to want to come right back in. Ares has an incredibly annoying habit of scratching at the door when he wants to come inside. Apollo just sits there letting Ares do the work. The weirdest, though, is Pete. When he wants out and hears me unlocking the deadbolt, he comes running from wherever he is; chirping away, and will literally jump up on the door and try to turn the door knob. If he ever manages to get the door open, I'll turn the Carlton The Door Man responsibilities over to him and call it a day. When he is ready to come back in, he'll sit at the door and stare at me through the glass. Like this:

Lucy usually gets in on the action as well; when I get up to open the door, she'll run over and try to barge out into the sun room. Of course, she is required to sit and wait politely to be told it is okay to go out (which happens, oh, zero percent of the time; she ALWAYS has to be reminded). So, not only am I ping-ponging up and down to open the door to let one cat or another in or out, I'm constantly saying "Sit! Sit!" to Lucy. The other day, I got all sorts of confused and found myself standing at the door instructing Ares to sit. He just looked at me and yawned.

The only cat who doesn't really like to be out in the sun room (unless the door is left open) is Athena. She'll stay inside; either upstairs napping or down in the kitchen with me. This usually is of great benefit to her as, if I'm cooking something, she'll get a treat while the others remain clueless out in the sun room.

Another sort of funny thing that's come to our attention and that is Ares HAS to be with Pete as much as he possibly can. We should probably nickname Ares "Shadow" because that is exactly what he is, Pete's shadow. If Pete comes strolling into a room and Ares is not already in the room, you can rest assured Ares will be right behind him, trying to cozy up to him, even while Pete is walking. If Pete's in an ok mood, fine. If not, Pete starts to growl and hiss, which doesn't really detract Ares all that much. If Pete jumps up onto our bed at night, Ares is right behind, purring away. If I go into the bathroom and Pete follows me (both Pete and Lily have a "thing" for climbing into the magazine basket next to the toilet and keeping me company while I do my business (and I must pet them, too, which is sometimes quite a feat early in the am when I'm half zonked; pee, pet, wipe, flush)); Ares will run in behind him and try to climb into the basket, which causes all sorts of fuss. Every once in awhile, Apollo will attempt the same trick but if he does, Ares usually butts him out of the way.

We're finally getting to the point where The Little Kids don't typically run away from us and might even venture down if we have company (but if there is any attempt to touch them, off they'll scamper). Pete and Lily don't care one way or another; Pete, in particular, will be a bit sociable if he's feeling generous. They still run a bit from Mr. B (usually Athena), but, she'll climb up on the bed and cuddle next to him so she must be deciding he's not half bad.

When Mr. B comes home, not only do we have Lucy running around like ape shit when she hears the garage door go up carrying one of her toys and dashing madly about the island until he comes in, now Apollo comes running when the garage door goes up as well. Seriously! If he's upstairs, I'll hear the "thud" of him jumping down from wherever and down he'll trot. He'll usually go right over to the refrigerator so he can wait for Mr. B to make the evening martinis and give him a few pieces of ice (which he plays with but does ultimately eat).

Lily had some gunk in her ears so I took her to see Uncle Chuck who determined it was some sort of bacterial infection; no big deal. She had to have drops in her ears twice a day for two weeks. She HATED HATED HATED having those drops put in her ears. Pets are not dumb; she'd try to go running when she saw the bottle. Before we started this procedure, she slept on the bed every night next to Mr. B. Now, she's pissed off at both of us and doesn't so much any longer. Hopefully, she'll come around soon (although she still has to assist Mr. B with getting ready in the bathroom each and every morning).

And then there is Lucy. Oh, Lucy, God passed over you in the brains department, my dearest Goosie. I think, frankly, she may have suffered some brain damage in her other life. What else can explain it? It's not AWFUL but, cheese! Sometimes, however, her lack of mental attributes is very comical, like yesterday. We were outside enjoying the afternoon sun. Lucy was laying on the patio next to us when Mr. B (who has been trying to work with her on fetching) said, "Lucy! Go get your ball!" Ok, she knows what this means and she did go get her pink tennis ball. However, she still won't bring it to you so you can throw it. She still does this thing where she runs around you, almost like she's showing off; "Ha ha! My ball! My ball!"

Anyway, Mr. B finally got her to drop the ball close enough that he picked it up and threw it. She went after it; brought it back to the patio; repeat the process. This time, he picked it up and threw it and either the sun got in her eyes or she turned her head and didn't see where it went, but, she couldn't find it. She went running off in the wrong direction, then, eventually, trotted over to Mr. B and looked at him as if to say, "Where is it? Where is my ball?" He made a movement as if he was tossing the ball and damned if she didn't go running off in the direction his hand went. She still couldn't find it, though; so, he did this a few more times until she accidentally stepped on it. By this time, I was laughing so hard, I could hardly stand it!

Ah, pets are so amusing!

Mrs B

Mardi Gras Masquerade

Here are a few pictures from last night's bash. An official photographer also took a shot of the B's; I will post it when I receive it (unless I look terrible, that is!)

It's not every day that I get the excuse to wear my slinky red gown (which I'm proud to say I still fit in nicely; I bought it over 10 years ago). I found the perfect red feather mask at Party City to go along with it and Mr. B looked smashing in his tux and red accessories! Too bad the cell phone didn't capture all of us!

The masquerade was great fun; Mr. B bid on and won a nice bottle of scotch (32 years old); Mrs. B ended up with a few items that will eventually be gifts for others (except the wine gift certificate, that is).

We spent most of the evening chatting with brother Jon and SIL Shannon and the girls's Godparents (turns out their Godmother plays with the orchestra; something you'd think I would have known but I somehow didn't).

Food was catered by Blue Mountain Catering Co; bang up job of a Cajun meal.

Wine, dancing to a fantastic live band (the woman had a VOICE on her); really, a delightful evening and a nice way to end my stint on the Board of Directors for the Durham Symphony.

Mrs. B

Jon and Shannon

Hope (President), Jane (Co-President) and Linda (President Elect)

Our GM Kelly; probably the happiest I've ever seen her. The wine helped, I think :-)

One of the tables

Mr. and Mrs. B (some of her, anyway)

Red Lady

Mrs. B's 2009 Book Reviews -- 4 Stars The End

People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks (Book Club Selection)

A fascinating tale of the journey of a rare, illustrated Jewish prayer book and the people it came into contact with from its inception in the 15^th century to its final resting place. Wonderful characters, interesting sub plots (with the exception of a silly romance; why do authors feel it is necessary to throw this unrelated drivel in?) and mystery as the primary narrator of the book, a woman in charge of restoring it, attempts to put the puzzle together as to where it originated and the places it had been to using as clues small artifacts left behind in the book itself.

This was my first exposure to Geraldine Brooks. Immediately after finishing it, I put “March” on my Christmas list, which I devoured a few weeks ago (and also gave four stars). I’m looking forward to reading everything Brooks has written/will write. She’s in the same league with a few of my other personal favorites who also excel at character development and interesting tales; namely, Pat Conroy, Amy Tan and Anne Tyler.

Roots by Alex Haley

Highly interesting, engaging, moving and significant from so many different perspectives.

Roots was and is obviously an important work in telling the tragedy of slavery, but, also, as a reminder that we all have roots somewhere and the importance of remembering our ancestors. In this case, the history and stories had all been oral; passed down to Haley through his maternal grandmother (his mother having passed away at an early age) all the way back to "The African" Kunta Kinte relaying what he could, in his broken English, to his daughter on a plantation in Virginia (about where he came from, what happened to him, how he was taken from Africa on a ship to a place called "Napolis" (Annapolis, MD) and a few words in his native language); which is how Haley eventually tracked down where in Africa he came from.

A few things that really struck me from reading the story (that didn't from watching the TV miniseries) was how and why the telling of the story changed voices: Kunta, then his daughter Kizzy, then her son Chicken George, then his 4th son Tom, etc.; these being the primary carriers of the tale and Haley's direct ancestors. And, as a tiny mirror of how terrible the actual gut wrenching pain must have been when slaves were sold away from loved ones; certain voices just simply and abruptly stopped.

As was intended, I found the section of the book where Haley recounts going to Africa and finding where his ancestor came from and hearing from a aged story teller the long lineage of the Kinte clan and where and when "he was never seen again" (when he was stolen by slave traders) quite moving.

I listened to this on audio; 24 CDS! It was read extremely well by an Avery Brooks.

The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler (CD)

If you like Anne Tyler's style, you'll love this book. It spans several generations and perspectives/the telling of the story alternates between the major characters. As many of her other tales, it takes place in Baltimore, MD and involves typical middle class American families with strong roots to their original heritage (in this case, Polish).

The marriage in question is that of Michael and Maxine who meet during start of WWII and get caught up in the emotion and drama of boys signing up to go off to war. They hook up, marry, and spend the next several decades trying to figure out why they did; all the while attempting to raise their three children and then, later, take in a 4 year old grandson after his mother goes missing.

This is an engaging story with no nicely tied up happily ever after ending, but, rather, a realistic one. It is never dull!

I believe the narrator was the same who narrated "Digging to America". She's very easy to listen to.

So, there you have it! You have, with this posting, just read thirty-seven book reviews!

Mrs. B

Pet Pictures

I've got Blog-block going on so in the meantime, here are recent (as of this afternoon) pictures of our zoo. I've referred to them by their nicknames (they each have several). Funny how I tend to call them by their nicknames more often than I do their real names. I guess that is because we gave them their names before we really knew them all that much; in fact, all six's names were chosen before we even had them in the house. As for their nicknames, they've earned them and they better describe their personalities.

Mrs. B

Gooster The Rooster (yeah, I know; two different types of fowl but somehow, it works for her!) She was looking expectantly at me as she watched me take pictures of the others and knew her turn was up.

Pan Man. Can you figure the nickname out? He has taken to refusing to look at me when I point the camera at him.

P.P. The Queen of the Zoo; not happy that I woke her up from her pm nap.

Jaba the Butt. This should be fairly obvious! This cat is ALWAYS eating. He's got a good several pounds on his brother and sister and is gaining on P.P.

Little Boop. One of her prior nicknames was "Fat Face Feena"; I got to thinking that wasn't so awfully nice! This has to do with a noise she makes when you swat at her tail end. As an aside, I don't know why this is being underlined. I can't get it to go away! ARGH! Anyway, she was sleeping next to P.P.

Scrappy. And he is just that. It fits him to a "T"! He was asleep two seconds prior to taking this, hence why he looks a bit startled.