A Roll in the Universe

My mother has come over from the US, to attend her mother's funeral. She went with me to see the minister to discuss details about tomorrow's funeral and the eulogy. We thought we had covered everything, but just now remembered one thing about Grandma that was so obvious that we missed it: Her love of books. My childhood home with Grandma and Grandpa included a room that was lined with books. Grandpa built shelves and Grandma put books on them: Fiction and non-fiction, glossy coffee table books and cheap paperbacks. Murder mysteries, history books, biographies, classic novels, how-to books, travel books, art books, books about cats, flowers, Norway, Germany, the pyramids, science, astrology, meditation, yoga, diet, etc. I once asked her if she had read all those books and she said she had. Grandma's love of reading got passed on to her daughter and granddaughter. Mom is immersed in a book right now while I blog, which is what reminded her of her mother's voracious rea

I can't believe that the woman who has been in my life all my life is gone. The death notice was in the newspaper today, and to see my grandma's name in print made me bawl out loud. I'm expected to handle funeral details, some last minute paperwork, clearing out her room at the nursing home, etc., and this part of the process irritates me (it did when Grandpa died, too). I don't want to think right now, dammit! I want to curl up in a ball and just go numb until I think I can handle the change, the loss, the foreverness of her never, ever going to talk to me again, look at me again, touch me again, nor will I see her again, touch her again, speak to her again.

Life has interrupted blogging. My wonderful grandma, who has been like a mother to me, is on her deathbed. 11 years ago this week, her husband - the wonderful man I called Grandpa - died. Years ago, when I went to visit his grave, I got such a sense of loneliness. I told him that he'd have to be patient; we girls weren't done gabbing yet. The grave no longer looked lonely; he knew what we were like. This evening I visited Grandma. She's sleeping, unconscious, free of the chronic pain that has plagued her for years. Her kidneys are shutting down, making her fingers swell, and the wedding ring she asked for last week is cutting into her ring finger. I felt like visiting Grandpa's grave on my home. I spoke to the lone name on the headstone, the name that has been alone for so long, waiting for a second name to fill the gap underneath his. "She'll be here soon," I said. "It won't be long now. Receive her. She's coming soon to be with you aga

I enjoy how people play with words, making up new ones, and you automatically understand what they mean. (Can't think of any good examples, off-hand, except spork .) Just now, I came across "successories", "success" and "accessories" combined. Successories are motivational items, like a poster of a cat seeing a lion in the mirror with a caption along the lines of "It's how you see yourself that matters." I came across the word, reading someone's blog complaining about the phenomenon, meaning seeing people's offices full of successories . I know that stuff like that doesn't work with me. It tends to become visual clutter and get mostly ignored - until the day I feel like shit or do something really stupid. Then it too easily turns into a reminder of what an Absolute Failure I am. Who needs that sort of "motivation"? It's the mental equivalent of sugar highs: Sweet and satisfying now, doldrums later. As far as m

Well, that's how I'm dressed, at any rate. I said I'd blog more often and, darn it, I'm sitting here, dressed in black and white, and suffering from writer's block. I wrote something about stuffed closets and couldn't figure out where I was going with that, so stuffed it. So here I sit, white pants, black top, black patterned jacket, black shoes, white socks, black wristwatch and earrings with white flowers, feeling incredibly coordinated with my black purse and new black-and-white umbrella, which I used today, grateful that the rain was light and coming straight down so it didn't splatter my white pants. I really wish I could think of something to write about.