Thursday, April 1, 2010

This One Goes to the One I Love

I know our (few) readers are used to funny and ironical posts. This one is different and entirely not related to Scrabble. This is about my grandmother, who passed away last Friday. I was not there and I never had the chance to say good-bye. So this is my farewell to her.
My grandmother was a lovely lady and she stayed beautiful in death. She did not suffer and I am grateful for that. She had pruned her hydrangeas, mumbled and grumbled about the workers in her vineyard (nothing they ever did could match her skills in tending to the grapevines, but she no longer had the strength to do everything herself), cooked and baked some cookies for my parents, then went to sleep. And never woke up. It was sudden and painful, yet I am grateful that she did not suffer and she stayed unchanged to the end.
She passed away with her hair and nails carefully done, as usual. Since I was little, she taught me to always be careful about my appearance and particularly about my underwear, because one could never know when one might suddenly feel sick and be taken to the hospital. And could be more embarrassing than appearing less than perfect in front of doctors? So, the rule was: impeccable underwear and carefully trimmed nails and toenails.
My grandmother was a great cook. She had always been plump and she loved bread, sweets and cheese. I obviously take after her, as neither of us could truly enjoy a life without cheese or without a small dessert after each meal.

My grandmother believed in the old Romanian saying “A fat person is a handsome person” and she did her best to keep me as chubby as possible. She constantly sabotaged all my high school attempts at dieting by making pancakes and cheese pies, because she knew the temptation would be too big for me. Yet she knew moderation, and she had always measured her own food. No more than half a glass of wine a day, two thin slices of bread and small portions. She could have written the health articles on Yahoo.
My grandmother could read the cards. Her ability was uncanny and she knew it. Only once did I convince her to do that for me, and it was enough, because she could read in those cards more than I wanted her to know about my teenage love life.
My grandmother took care of her husband, her two children, a huge house, a vegetable garden and a small vineyard. She used to climb the cherry tree in our yard until she was well over fifty and my mother forbid her to do so. Unfortunately, neither my mother, nor I have inherited her courage and agility. My mother inherited my grandmother’s obsession with cleanliness and I her love for cooking. And baking.
There are many things I could say about my grandmother and I might do so in the future. Today I had the courage to look at her photos again and I’m sharing them with you.
This is for my grandmother, with love.

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