prosodic: (Fairy)
This will be our only Christmas decoration this year.

And that's only because Mom shipped it to me from Grandma's house, and it arrived with one of the peppercorn eyes missing. I just glued that back into place today, and hung it on the hutch. I have to put it in the Christmas box anyway. I might as well just wait until after Christmas.

I think Grandma got this at her Christmas party with her siblings. It was still hanging in her kitchen when I arrived in late January. I guess it used to hang by the back door all year round. It was either Mom or Sue that wanted to make sure SOMEBODY in the family got this, because the stocking is made out of an antique quilt that's been passed down through the family on Grandma's side. The quilt had apparently seen better days, so stockings were made from it. I seem to remember something similar happening several years back with a quilt being made into pillows. Either Mom or Sue has that pillow now, I suppose. And I, the eldest granddaughter, am now keeper of the heirloom quilt stocking.

I glued a few other things of Grandma's back together too. Pretty much everything that came in that box arrived broken - some of it beyond repair. I thought the little angel bell that once graced her fireplace mantel could be saved. But I couldn't repair it. The wings broke off, and I tried to glue them back on separately, and that didn't work. And I realized that the wings fit together, so I glued the wings together and then tried to glue them on the back, and that also didn't work. I think another piece chipped off somewhere that I no longer have. I had to throw it out.

I have another ceramic knick-knack that I tried to glue back together, but the broken piece wouldn't adhere no matter how much glue I used or how long I held it together (I was using Gorilla Glue, btw). I just fit the broken piece into place and left it alone, hoping it would adhere on its own. And it seems like it is, but there is a big enough gap between the broken piece and the rest of it that I think it'll break during the move and I'll have to glue it again.

There was another angel with one broken wing. I successfully repaired it, but you can still see a crack, and I'm pretty sure it'll break again during the move. That was something handmade by Grandma's SIL in 1990, so I would really like to save it if I can.

So that's been my main task today...trying to repair these little trinkets. None of these things are items I have memories of growing up (one of the few things I took from her house that does is the tiny metal and stained glass hand mirror that I used to play with). But they have sentimental value simply because they were once in Grandma's house, and they are the only tangible things that still connect me to it.


Oct. 8th, 2007 02:54 pm
prosodic: (angel1)
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One year ago, you began your lives together. And in that year, you've dealt with an overseas move, and now you're one month away from being parents! (And I, an aunt...YAY!!!!!!!!)

I hope you had a lovely day and a wonderful celebration, reflecting on how far you've come in this past year. Here's to many many more!!


Sep. 16th, 2007 09:28 am
prosodic: (tangle)
She's gone.

But I'm okay, because a few days before she passed on, she learned to walk again, and she was so happy.
prosodic: (my sweet rose)
No phone call yet. Waiting is terrible. I hate not knowing what is going on.

But I'm going to the airport with Lance. I don't want to be alone...waiting. If there's a call while we're out, well, I'll find out when we get home. I'd rather grieve with people around me.

We're leaving in about half an hour. Kim's plane comes in an hour earlier than scheduled.

I've been thinking about particular memories I have of Grandma...trying to decide which is my favorite.

I think I know.

I don't remember how old I was, but it was when she lived in her old house on Concord Court, so I was fairly young. I was sitting in the kitchen and Grandma was hammering a nail into the wall.

She hit her thumb with the hammer, and instead of screaming out an obscenity, she screamed out, "God Bless America!" And she stuck her thumb in her mouth and started sucking on it.

I screamed with laughter. I thought this was the most hilarious thing ever. And then Grandma started laughing. And we were both sitting there, practically in hysterics.


Grandma was also a bit unconventional. When my first boyfriend broke up with me (and yes, I was legally of age to drink), she took me bar hopping and got me drunk for the very first time. Not drunk enough to throw up or pass out. But just drunk enough to be giggly and find everything hysterically funny.

She was also a member of the Moose Lodge and took me to a country line dance one night. It was my 19th birthday. Anyway, I hate country line dancing. I hate country music. But I went with her. And these elderly men kept asking me to dance. And I got up and danced with them, and I thought it was so funny. And I laughed more than I danced. I know Grandma enjoyed herself a lot more than I did, but now I'm glad that I have that memory.


Sep. 14th, 2007 09:23 pm
prosodic: (tangle)
Now that I'm breathing normally and calmed down, I need to make sense of things.

Grandma England is dying. She is dying.

She just got out of the nursing home a few weeks ago. She was recuperating at her niece's house in Fort Wayne...learning to walk again (maybe). She was happy. She was getting healthy again.

A brain aneurysm took her down this morning. Just like that. She's on life support, but she's being taken off as soon as everyone can get to the hospital. She had a living will. She wanted it this way.

She's going. And I feel helpless. And the first thing I did after sobbing into Lance's shirt was call my other Grandma to tell her that I love her. I made her cry. I didn't mean to do that.

I'm just glad that I saw Grandma E. this summer on my visit home. She was so happy when I came to the nursing home. She didn't know I was coming. And she bragged to all the nurses about her granddaughter who came all the way from Germany to see her.

I love you, Grandma. Peaceful rest.

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