Ay Dios Mio

For a bunch of atheists, we sure do get into this Day of the Dead thing.  Last year, I explained, or tried to, why.  You can read all about it HERE.

This year we only had to make two additions to our Day of the Dead display.  One was a tombstone for Nibbles, the mouse.  I wasn’t too attached to Nibbles, and I will confess not exactly busting my hump to commemorate his passing.

The other was a remembrance of my grandmother, and this was a little harder.  I found myself amassing piles and piles of things to include, but that started to get ridiculous.  I left it at a fantastic rhinestone bracelet and one of her lipsticks, Revlon Cherries in the Snow – her lunchdate and bridge lipstick.  And a skeleton wearing pink heels, a matching bag, and earrings, of course.

I miss my grandmother a lot.  Every day.  At least once a week I’ll be doing something mindless, washing the dishes, putting gas in the car, pushing a shopping cart around the grocery store, and I’ll think, “Shit!  I haven’t called my grandmother this week!”  And then I remember.  And that sucks.

It’s been almost a year.   There’s a lot I’d like to talk to her about.  I’d like to tell her about her great grandchildren, about how one of them is turning out to be really girly – something none of us, especially her, would ever have expected, but that she is also tough as nails.  And that she’s a great ballet dancer, and she was asked to be in the nutcracker and her commitment to it, despite the fact that her ballet teacher is the scariest person I’ve ever met, impresses me every day.  Her great grandson is learning how to play the cello, something he chose himself out of the clear blue, even though neither his father nor I possess a hint of music ability (or interest).  He’s on a winter swim team, and he continues to be placid, and friendly, and funny as hell.  They both look like me, except for their hair, and they have, as her own mother said about me when I was born, eyes that “look like they were put in with a sooty finger.”

She would love the fact that my brother is working up here near us four days a week, although she would also worry about what that meant for him and his wife, who is living in DC while he’s up here.  I would reassure her that they are fine, better than fine, and that this arrangement works terrifically, but to a woman born in 1915 and married in 1935, this would still be confusing, no matter what I’d say.

She would think it’s hilarious that we have a dog who is totally uncontrollable, and she would wonder aloud, and often, what on earth we were thinking when we got her.  But she would also remind us that every family needs a dog.  In her mind this is not optional;  my grandmother had rules, and this was one of them.

I am actually grateful NOT to have to talk politics with my grandmother this election season, but I like to think that even we could agree that the tone is too toxic and not good for anybody.  Maybe I could even get her to tune out Fox News long enough to watch something fun;  I bet she’d love Glee.  She’d love the fact that the Giants won the World Series.  A California team.  Although she’d have preferred that the Phillies won.  Loyal to us, even though we, or my parents, left California in the mid 1960′s and never looked back.

My Grandma said she believed in a kind of heaven, although she got awfully vague when pressed for details and tended to change the subject when religion came up.  If she did think she was going to an eternal reward, I sure hope she’s enjoying it, and if not, we’re remembering here in the funky and weird way we do.  With love, lots and lots of love.  Also misshapen skull and bones sugar cookies and the odd modeling clay skeleton.