Antietam

 

You can't sell memories

If the walls of my grandmother’s house could talk, they would laugh. Not a hilarious laugh, but a cheerfully happy, I’m-so terribly-glad-to- see-you chuckle, the sound that accompanied my Grandma Marilyn’s hugs.  I idealized my childhood days spent at Grandma’s house but the residence itself is entirely unremarkable. It’s a 1970’s split-level near the end of a boring street, at the end of an aging neighborhood. It is not pretty, but it represents the extraordinary nature of my grandma, and our endearing, and enduring, relationship.  This month her house is being sold.   

Once you die, there are a finite number of remnants you’ll leave behind.  These tokens get boxed-up, used-up, and sadly, the longer you’re gone the more your presence dwindles. I feel like by selling Grandma’s house I am saying good-bye to one of the last and best artifacts of my Grandmother.  

The house has been my sister’s home since Grandma passed.  She’s recently purchased a new place on a hill with a view, one that fits her family much better.  They have been perfect stewards, but it has been a sacrifice for her to be there. It would have been hard to be my sister, forging her own memories and paying rent in a space so long inhabited by Grandma. It would’ve been emotionally taxing, but she’s done it and I feel grateful.  Her blonde-haired, blue-eyed twin girls swung in the back yard, her doctor husband parked his new car in the garage, my sister’s outpouring of talent showed in the home’s deliberately crafted décor.  This summer I mistakenly feared that when I came back to Grandma’s house after her death I would immediately feel grief. But instead, upon my arrival I was showered with hugs and food. It was just the way Grandma would’ve met me at the door.

Grandma’s love for my siblings and me was both irrational and effusive. She had darkly- tinted, rose-colored glasses for us. I’ve spent time imagining myself in various states of plunging ‘off the deep end’ but honestly, I can’t fabricate anything that probably would have stopped her love.  

Grandma spoiled us rotten.  Her house was a perfect combination of genuine love mixed with a taste of hedonism.  It was like Brazil’s Carnival but for kids.  We OD’d on hot cinnamon rolls and soaked up her doting, praising admiration.  My grandma always had a crystal candy jar perched at the top of the stairs full of red and green M&Ms or wrapped chocolate eggs-- she refilled it as many times as we wanted. We’d saturate ourselves in Nickelodeon and get 7-11 Slurpees which were consumed way past our bedtime.  My cousin Krystal lived just a 3-house-stroll down the alley and we played relentlessly. The longer we played the more creative, complex our play became.  The set-up at my grandma’s house was ideal.  Once my sister and I went on vacation to Hawaii and as a consolation prize, my dad took my brothers to Fairbanks and called it “Boys' Hawaii.” Since Grandma’s house was so vacation-like, they bought it like suckers. Many of life’s best hours were consumed there.

It’s inevitable that Grandma’s home would eventually trade hands, but it makes me sad to think that soon I will not have access to a space that has been made sacred. I will cry the day I drive up to her house and I won’t know the code to the garage door.

It bothers me to think of faceless strangers moving their lives into her spot. I abate my worries by trying to imagine the supplanting family as idyllic and loving. I try and imagine that an attractive young couple will buy the place, one with a mother that gives her babies lots of kisses.  Or would it be too much to ask to get another grandma in there, one that always smells great and bakes gourmet cookies? Whoever it is, I hope the new family can feel the soul of Grandma’s well-loved home. I hope good feelings still saturate the air.  

 I hope the new family spends cool summer evenings out on the back porch drinking Crystal Light and listening to the late-night trains.  I hope that on Christmas Eve kids snuggle up in blankets downstairs listening for reindeer to land on the roof.  I hope that they whack down the spruce tree in the front yard and put down lush green sod, the kind of lawn Grandma always wanted.  

Grandma’s house is brimming with memories. When it comes down to it, her house can be bought, but my memories cannot.  I will keep them with me and they will continue to take shape, they will be cataloged and referenced. They are moments that will always hold value long after her home has sold.

-My lovely niece Liz, playing in front of Grandma's house

Baby Sweet Cheeks

Just when I turned my back, Layney tumbled down our wickedly-steep wooden stairs. It was about the same velocity of a bowling ball, so she's probably used up one of her 9 lives. Recently she's become coordinated enough to climb up stairs too.

Part of growing up is developing a taste for life’s finer things- chocolate, books, and  good music.  Witnessing a baby’s first musical awakening is tender. Those first few times a baby bobs her head, sways back and forth to the beat, or whines for you to turn on music is a sweet milestone.

 

Fashioning myself

  Good-fitting jeans are hard to come by. The pants in my closet all fit like they were abandoned there by strangers- women both bigger and smaller than I.  This past year I've gained and lost 50 lbs of baby weight and my body has continually morphed. Many of my clothes are from a different era, a different body. Part of being 30 for me is an increasing desire to put my best (or at least better) foot forward. Clothes are a part of this vision. 

I've long told myself when I was done having kids I would put money aside and grant myself some new clothes. So here I am.  I celebrated Alayna turning 9 months old by playing peak-a-boo and then going downtown to purchase 3 new pairs of pants at my favorite store. (Don't worry, they were miraculously just $15/pair.) I may be 10 years behind the trend, but I just bought my first pair of skinny jeans.   Over the period of a year my goal is to update to a small wardrobe of simple basics that fit. It may take a few tries to get it right.  This re-fashioning is my attempt to be less haphazard and more deliberate about my life.  It's not about materialism. Getting new clothes for me will be about finding enjoyment in myself.  

Many of my clothes were bought because of price, size, an upcoming event, or some other reason that is not 100% for me.   All my best clothes were given to me as gifts, from Brady or family.  I'll of course keep these items that still work for me, but add to them.  I pledge to buy only clothes that make me feel good, clothes that fit, that resonate. I promise to only bring home things that I love and never shop or buy too much. If I can't afford something, I'll save up or wait 'til it comes on sale.

I don't have any fashion intuition and I have never been stylish. Shopping is stressful and I can't stand overcrowded malls.  In an ideal world Kate Middleton's stylist would set out clothes for me in the morning, and I wouldn't ever have to chose outfits for myself.  Since I don't have the luxury of a stylists, I am soliciting the help of friends and family.  I may pry for advice but also feel free to let me know if you have any "This would look great on Dani!" epiphanies.  I'm not aiming to have perfectly crafted outfits, just for a simple, classy look.

I took this self-pic to kick off my new, more fashion- aware, me. I'm in the dressing room of my favorite store, LOFT.

Today we spent the drizzly day walking under the awnings in DC's Galleryplace-Chinatown.  There is nothing particularly Chinese-ish about this place, save the characters on the signs, but it consistently emits a cool vibe, and it's conveniently on our metro line.