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cerridwynnI'm back in Massachusetts -- I got back this morning. The past few weeks have been exhausting but, while it's nice to be back, I'm not sure how I feel about returning to normalcy. I had hoped for some sort of closure at the Memorial Service but instead it felt frantic and fragmented and not at all cathartic (though people less involved assured me it was lovely).
We also started breaking down GR's apartment, distributing the knick-knacks and furniture and jewelry. I find myself wanting to hold on to everything, though much of it isn't my taste. We also found she had folders for each one of us containing cards and letters and other sorts of things. My folder had, among other things, an e-mail home from my first week in college, programs from every play i had ever been in, tons of my poetry, a copy of my Bat Mitzvah invitation and a note card with the speech she gave when she presented me with my grandfather's prayer book, the lit mag I edited in high school, a story i wrote in elementary school -- even a sticky note with my GRE scores jotted down.
I still just don't believe she's gone. She was so vibrant and involved and such a part of our lives and now, suddenly, she's not there.
There are all of these stories to tell. Memories of of toaster waffle breakfasts on weekend mornings spent at Grandma Ruthie and Pop Pop’s house, trips to Hershey Park and Williamsburg and Skyline Drive. There was the time when the service at IHOP was lousy and GR declared we weren’t going back. The time at the department store when the sale price on Paul’s coveted baseball jersey didn’t ring up and GR politely but firmly persisted until, what felt like an hour later, the manager finally admitted the error. There was the time in seventh grade when I pretended to get sick at school to avoid a pop-quiz. When the school nurse couldn’t reach my parents she called GR and, caught up in my lie, I had to let GR take me home and make the bed for me and pamper me and I was so wracked with guilt I never feigned sickness to avoid school again. (Looking back now, I suspect she may even have known.)
But to tell the truth, these stories don’t capture GR or my memories of her or what she meant to me. I have more than just a few specific memories of outings or holidays or special occasions. Instead, throughout my whole life GR has been a presence, supporting and encouraging and enriching and never, ever critical. I cannot remember a time without regular trips to museums and Smithsonian workshops and Adventure Theater – or, later, to plays at Olney stage and Arena and the Kennedy Center. I cannot think of a single birthday or holiday or school performance that she missed. Grandma Ruthie was always there, a given. When I ran out of gas on my very first solo-driving attempt GR came to the rescue. When I was broke in college, GR was there with her “laundry money” to help. Just last week, when I needed a mid-morning ride to the airport, my first thought was “maybe Grandma Ruthie can take me.”
And yet, as nurturing and supportive and giving as GR always was, that wasn’t all she was. Going through the old slides from my childhood I noticed that GR is often in the background or on the sidelines (for of course, Paul and I were generally the center of attention!) But remarkably, GR’s presence is still there in those pictures, capable and strong, filling the scene. I’m not sure how she managed it, but from what I can tell it seems to have been a gift of hers – the ability to support and give so much of herself without losing herself. The ability to be a strong presence while at the same time yielding the spotlight to her children and her grandchildren.
And, as her granddaughter, I think about the kind of role-model GR has been for me: she went to college and had a career at a time when few women did, but she had a family too; she was active in progressive causes when she was in school; she stood up for herself and what she believed in, even the small things; and she always formed her own opinions, was vocal about them and always encouraged and participated in debate. Throughout most of high school Grandma Ruthie and Pop Pop took me with them to the Kennedy Center and one of the things I treasure most about those regular Saturday matinees were the car rides home. Sitting in down-town traffic we would discuss the play we had just seen, as well as the often contentious issues behind it. How many teenagers have the chance to debate “Angels in America” with their grandmother?! We talked about AIDS, about politics, about feminism and gender and sexuality, about art and literature and science – and GR was always as eager to hear my opinion as I was to hear hers.
In fact, at the same time that I suspect she was bragging about us to people here at Riderwood, I was bragging about her to my friends, telling them how amazingly dynamic and progressive and downright spunky she was. GR was warm and nurturing without ever giving in to the simplicity of a “grandma” stereotype. She was always and completely her own person – as unique as the jewelry she collected from her trips around the world; as vivid as her turquoise and fuscia outfits. Going somewhere with Grandma Ruthie always invoked a sense of adventure – albeit very punctual adventure. As a little kid even her house was exciting, full of interesting objects from far off places, costume jewelry galore, not to mention the fancy make-up table full of brightly colored lipsticks! A trip to GR’s house offered the best kind of adventure for even while visiting exciting, exotic, far-off places I was also safe and at home.
Grandma Ruthie taught me so much – she taught me to love theater and museums and travel and Chinese food! And there is so much about her I admire – her remarkable readiness to try new things and embark on new journeys; her fascination with the world, with culture of all kinds; her warmth and generosity; her sense of style and, most of all, of self. All of these and so much more make up my wonderful Grandma Ruthie. She has been and will be, always, an unfailing presence in my life.
We also started breaking down GR's apartment, distributing the knick-knacks and furniture and jewelry. I find myself wanting to hold on to everything, though much of it isn't my taste. We also found she had folders for each one of us containing cards and letters and other sorts of things. My folder had, among other things, an e-mail home from my first week in college, programs from every play i had ever been in, tons of my poetry, a copy of my Bat Mitzvah invitation and a note card with the speech she gave when she presented me with my grandfather's prayer book, the lit mag I edited in high school, a story i wrote in elementary school -- even a sticky note with my GRE scores jotted down.
I still just don't believe she's gone. She was so vibrant and involved and such a part of our lives and now, suddenly, she's not there.
There are all of these stories to tell. Memories of of toaster waffle breakfasts on weekend mornings spent at Grandma Ruthie and Pop Pop’s house, trips to Hershey Park and Williamsburg and Skyline Drive. There was the time when the service at IHOP was lousy and GR declared we weren’t going back. The time at the department store when the sale price on Paul’s coveted baseball jersey didn’t ring up and GR politely but firmly persisted until, what felt like an hour later, the manager finally admitted the error. There was the time in seventh grade when I pretended to get sick at school to avoid a pop-quiz. When the school nurse couldn’t reach my parents she called GR and, caught up in my lie, I had to let GR take me home and make the bed for me and pamper me and I was so wracked with guilt I never feigned sickness to avoid school again. (Looking back now, I suspect she may even have known.)
But to tell the truth, these stories don’t capture GR or my memories of her or what she meant to me. I have more than just a few specific memories of outings or holidays or special occasions. Instead, throughout my whole life GR has been a presence, supporting and encouraging and enriching and never, ever critical. I cannot remember a time without regular trips to museums and Smithsonian workshops and Adventure Theater – or, later, to plays at Olney stage and Arena and the Kennedy Center. I cannot think of a single birthday or holiday or school performance that she missed. Grandma Ruthie was always there, a given. When I ran out of gas on my very first solo-driving attempt GR came to the rescue. When I was broke in college, GR was there with her “laundry money” to help. Just last week, when I needed a mid-morning ride to the airport, my first thought was “maybe Grandma Ruthie can take me.”
And yet, as nurturing and supportive and giving as GR always was, that wasn’t all she was. Going through the old slides from my childhood I noticed that GR is often in the background or on the sidelines (for of course, Paul and I were generally the center of attention!) But remarkably, GR’s presence is still there in those pictures, capable and strong, filling the scene. I’m not sure how she managed it, but from what I can tell it seems to have been a gift of hers – the ability to support and give so much of herself without losing herself. The ability to be a strong presence while at the same time yielding the spotlight to her children and her grandchildren.
And, as her granddaughter, I think about the kind of role-model GR has been for me: she went to college and had a career at a time when few women did, but she had a family too; she was active in progressive causes when she was in school; she stood up for herself and what she believed in, even the small things; and she always formed her own opinions, was vocal about them and always encouraged and participated in debate. Throughout most of high school Grandma Ruthie and Pop Pop took me with them to the Kennedy Center and one of the things I treasure most about those regular Saturday matinees were the car rides home. Sitting in down-town traffic we would discuss the play we had just seen, as well as the often contentious issues behind it. How many teenagers have the chance to debate “Angels in America” with their grandmother?! We talked about AIDS, about politics, about feminism and gender and sexuality, about art and literature and science – and GR was always as eager to hear my opinion as I was to hear hers.
In fact, at the same time that I suspect she was bragging about us to people here at Riderwood, I was bragging about her to my friends, telling them how amazingly dynamic and progressive and downright spunky she was. GR was warm and nurturing without ever giving in to the simplicity of a “grandma” stereotype. She was always and completely her own person – as unique as the jewelry she collected from her trips around the world; as vivid as her turquoise and fuscia outfits. Going somewhere with Grandma Ruthie always invoked a sense of adventure – albeit very punctual adventure. As a little kid even her house was exciting, full of interesting objects from far off places, costume jewelry galore, not to mention the fancy make-up table full of brightly colored lipsticks! A trip to GR’s house offered the best kind of adventure for even while visiting exciting, exotic, far-off places I was also safe and at home.
Grandma Ruthie taught me so much – she taught me to love theater and museums and travel and Chinese food! And there is so much about her I admire – her remarkable readiness to try new things and embark on new journeys; her fascination with the world, with culture of all kinds; her warmth and generosity; her sense of style and, most of all, of self. All of these and so much more make up my wonderful Grandma Ruthie. She has been and will be, always, an unfailing presence in my life.
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