Posts Tagged ‘Long Distance Relationships’
Alternate History
Posted in Fear, self-worth, writing, tagged family, Fear, Friendships, Getting Old, Growing up, history, letting go, Long Distance Relationships, love, rules and expectations, unwavering faith, writing on January 12, 2014| Leave a Comment »
Giving Thanks
Posted in England, Family, Holidays, parenting, self-worth, Thanksgiving, tagged 1940s, 1950s, ancestry, Appreciation, Christmas, England, family, grandparents, history, Illuminations, Long Distance Relationships, Thanksgiving on November 26, 2010| 1 Comment »
I miss my grandparents the most during the holidays.
My maternal grandparents were never physically present during the holidays: they lived in England and, so far as I know, never visited over the holidays. I do remember seeing the Illuminations at least once: I was bundled up in a hat and coat, my grandpa was driving, and the lights swirled over me like a fantasy. Given that the Illuminations switch on late August or early September and run for 60 days, it’s doubtful we were there any later than early September, and it’s even more doubtful I was wearing a winter coat and hat. But that memory is bundled up with my ideas of Christmas: to me, the lights were magic, and until I was 12 (yes, 12), Christmas was magical.
(To my siblings and parents–if you read this–I am fully aware I am probably jumbling several different visits. I don’t care. Don’t call/email/FB/text/twitter me to correct me. Let me have this….)
Grandma in the 50's
My paternal grandfather died before I was born, but my paternal grandmother was a fixture at holiday dinners. Every year, she would announce that year was to be her last year on this Earth, and then, as if to make that prediction certain, she would smoke a pack and a half of cigarettes before the day was out. I loved her, though, and as I got older, I even came to like her for reasons all my own. The last time I saw her was at the office supply store where she was doing administrative work some six months before she died. Grandma had always been petite, but somehow as I got older she got smaller, even though in truth we were the same size. She was wearing a beret-type hat she had knitted herself. She made all my mittens for me growing up. I don’t know why I didn’t keep them.
My maternal grandfather had died in between the time Grandma and I had last seen each other, and she offered her sympathies.Then she said, “I envy him. I wish I could let go. I really do.” I understood this not to be a moment of suicidal longing or depression so much as an honest admission of weariness. She was in her seventies, not in good health, and she’d survived so many more Christmases and Thanksgivings then she’d ever expected to. She had at least two grandchildren, and I think she’d given up hoping I would gift her with another one soon (“What are you waiting for?” she asked me once. “To grow up,” I said. “You already are,” she said with a cigarette-smokers laugh. “You’re just afraid to accept it.”).
I hugged her that day, wrapping my arms around her thin body, told her that she would know when the time was right.
That following December, she died while I was in L.A. I knew before I was told. I don’t know how. I just did. I almost called my parents while I was still there, but there was no point: I wasn’t going to cut my trip short. It was Grandma’s time, and she knew that better than anyone.
I don’t remember when my Nana died. She was one of the most influential people in my life, but I cannot remember when she died. When my grandfather died, I had just come out of the shower, and I almost didn’t answer the phone but I felt I should. I had a pink towel wrapped around my hair and my blue robe on. The sun was out. I hung up and cried on the floor.
But my Nana–I have no clue. I remember needing to go to the ocean. We drove up to Whidbey Island the next weekend and I walked along the
Grandpa and Nana in the 40's
beach for a long time. I always figured she would linger with me for awhile, like other family members have. But maybe she didn’t need to stick around: she had introduced me to Agatha Christie and Barbara Vine, P.D. James and and Minette Walters. I still have all the books she bought me. My son has just started reading my worn-to-tatters Agatha Christies. Not for nothing were all the books she sent me female authors: she completely believed in my writing goals. Almost every Christmas brought a package of books along with a hand-knitted sweater. I wore the sweaters even past the point when I was well aware I looked like a dork.
I was OK with being a dork.
Today, my grandparents’ influences on me run through my blood, shape my thoughts, echo in my heart. But I still miss them. Especially today.
Grandpa and Nana in the 90's
Facebook Addiction and Parenting: Can They co-Exist?
Posted in blogging, Facebook, parenting, time management, writing, tagged blogging, Burning Meals, Facebook Addict, Friendships, Long Distance Relationships, parenting, writing on March 2, 2009| 3 Comments »
Hello, my name is Elena, and I am a FB addict. I just can’t help myself: when I should be doing other things, fulfilling other commitments, I just need my FB. I decide to go in for a quick look, a tiny peek, and then I get tangled up in statuses and profile pictures and applications that tell me what Starbuck drink I am. I lose time to saving the planet by sending people pretend flowers. I burn breakfast accepting friend requests and tagging people on my “Notes About Me” page. When a friend recently apologized for not accepting my friend request because he had been so busy, I wondered what on earth could he have been doing? It had been TWO WEEKS! I can barely stay away from Facebook for two days.
A year ago, I had no Facebook in my life. Was I happy? Was I content? Did I have enough friends? Yes, yes, and definitely yes. True, I felt very isolated some days. Being a stay-at-home mom is not the life of luxury I imagined as a kid. With newborns and babies, time is one long moment during which you might not speak to anyone else even close to your age for several days. Toddlers are a bit easier: you have a little more energy, and you start to take the kids places and meet friends for coffee…but then you decide, when your child presents you with a wilted dandelion after a very long week of Terrible Two temper tantrums, that it’s time to have another baby. And you’re back to Square One.
Since my eldest entered preschool, I’ve felt my days are bits and pieces, snips of comings and goings and clock-watching to make sure he was picked up even while making sure my daughter didn’t nap too long or miss her meals .
Now that my eldest is in elementary school, and my youngest is in preschool, some days I spend almost the entire day in the car, running back and forth, shopping for groceries in between dropping one off or picking another up, squeezing dentist appointments in between soccer practice or pony class.
Yes: now I do have time to have lunch with friends, or get to the gym or just sit and read, if I ignore the rug that needs vacuuming. Of course, doing any of that (even the vacuuming) means I also need to ignore the itch at the back of my neck that tells me I need to work on my writing projects every day.
So, am I really so bored that I need to give up fifteen minutes to the writing “25 Things About Me,” or five minutes to finding out what song I am?
Not so much.
But here’s the thing: I’m having the best time doing all of that, and an even better time having all my friends in one place. I always wanted to live in a place where I and my family and all my friends and their families—old, new, liberal, conservative, Lattes or Skinny Mochas—could co-exist happily. Sounds like a Peter, Paul and Mary song, I know. But that was my dream, and look! Here we are: in my own little cyberspace town, having a common bond, at the very least.
It’s not as if I’m choosing my kids over FB. Yes, I’ve burned their breakfast a few times because I was checking statuses, but the truth is I’ve been burning bacon for years without Facebook’s help. Bacon takes awhile to cook, and I get…distracted. Sometimes I even forget I am cooking bacon and start to take a shower (that only happened once, and I was tired that day).
My point is, my Facebook addiction isn’t hurting anyone. It helps me feel connected, it gives me somewhere to go for a few minutes when it’s difficult to get out, and I REALLY need to talk to someone who isn’t asking me where their book is or what do I have to eat THIS week. Some would argue it’s a one-sided conversation on Facebook. I see it as a conversation with a time lag.
No, I have to say: this is a much, much, much better addiction then when I was addicted to carb-free ice cream (and just so you know? Even though it’s carb-free, you can’t eat a giant bowl of it every night and not put on weight, or not have crying jags the next day from the artificial sugar giving you insomnia and mood swings).
So, never mind. I take it back. My name is Elena, and I am proud to be a Facebook-er.
Welcome to my little town.
SavageTimes 