Three Years

It's hard for me to believe that it's been three years since I lost her.  One of the most important people in my life, my Grandma.  I'm lucky, so so lucky I had her for as long as I did.  I was 42 when she passed away, she was 99.  October 1, 2008.  Only 3 weeks from her 100th birthday.

I've written about her before, several times.  One of the things I wanted to accomplish with this blog was to let others know her too.  If only everyone could have known her in person.  She was so beautiful, so funny, so smart, the best cook ever, someone I could tell anything to, someone who never ever judged.   So often I find myself wanting to talk to her, ask for advice on some things, cook with her, eat with her, just be in her presence again.  Any time I was with her, I felt like the luckiest person alive.  I so wish I had an answering machine message from her saved somewhere. They always made me smile and went something like this....

"Lalia, Can you come and take me to Gallucci's?
*pause*
*pause*
*pause*
This is Grandma, I love you."

Remembering that, hearing it in my head, makes me very emotional.  The message wasn't particularly clear ever.  She never would say when she wanted to go or anything like that.  She didn't mince words.  I'd just call her back and we'd figure out a time to go.  Gallucci's, by the way, is the greatest Italian foods store in Cleveland.  And when we went there it was heaven.  The aroma of the place is intoxicating.  I want to wear it as cologne!  I loved going with her.  Everyone knew her, everyone took care to make sure she got the best of what she was buying, and we always had a feast when we got back to her house.  We would sit at her kitchen table with a little wine or maybe some espresso, and then start opening our bags and laying our feast out on the table.   Delicious crusty bread that you pull apart with your hands, five or six different kinds of olives, super sharp provolone and fontinella, salami, pepperoni, capicola and sopressata.  Absolutely the best.

I miss those days with her.  Just her and I.  We talked about everything.  She told me stories about her life that always somehow related to something I was going through or having trouble with.  She was so smart and so intuitive.  She loved her family with a fierceness that really doesn't seem as prevalent today.  I don't know that I can explain what I mean by fierce love, but I'll try.  When she loved you, she held you close to her heart.  You knew.  You knew you were in there and there isn't a better place in the world to be.  And no matter how she was treated by other family members, because yes, there were people in our family who didn't treat her with the respect she deserved, she loved and held everyone close.  She only wanted everyone to get along and be together.  It didn't always happen.  But I can say we tried, for her sake.  I can't say the same for others and still can't, as fights and lawsuits continue so the greedy side can get what they seem to think they deserve.   Death sometimes brings out the very worst in people.

But for me, I continue to honor her from the tattoo of her on my arm to wearing her wedding band every day.  Whenever I put it on I think of her.  I feel so lucky that I get to wear it now.

Yes, I'm lucky.  I'm lucky I had her in my life for so long.  I'm lucky she lived so close to me.  I'm lucky that she loved me.  I'm lucky that I learned as much as I did from her, even though I wish I could have learned more.  I don't think I would have ever stopped learning from her.  I wish everyone could have known her.

Strange Memories

For some reason, while I was showering today, a strange memory popped into my head.  I can't exactly remember how old I was, but I'm going to say around 14 or 15.   And I can't remember how I hooked up with this guy T, because he went to public school and I did 12 years of Catholic school.  But he lived nearby so that's probably how we ended up knowing each other.  He would occasionally call me up and ask to come over.  The only purpose of these visits were to make out in my basement.  It happened a few times.  But I was a very naive young girl and he was far too fast for me.  He was the first guy that got to third base with me and it was way too much.  Catholic school drilled into my head from an early age that any kind of sexual activity is bad bad bad!!!   So at the time, I was probably thinking I was going to hell.  But third base aside, this boy T, had a very unusual move.  Thankfully he was the only one who ever did this to me and I never ever had to experience it again.   He French kissed my ear, a lot.  He actually put his tongue in my ear and went to town.  It was really gross, like a wet willy that went on and on.  I have no clue whatever happened to him but I know he stopped calling me when I told him to get his hands out of my pants.

One memory leads to another and I started to realize wow, I made out with a lot of guys when I was young.  What a dick tease!  My first kiss, was it M or was it J?  I want to say it was J, but I can't be sure.  J and his brother F, both had been my boyfriend at different times.  And come to think of it, both were public school boys too.  F was definitely the studlier hotter of the two.  Oh F, I was so in love with him, as much as a 13 year old can be in love.  Even at a young age I was attracted to the Guido's.  F had a Polish last name, but so did I.  There was no mistaking his Guidoness though.  He with the long dark feathered back hair, the white tank top muscle shirt (now known as wife beaters), green eyes (oh damn I'm a total sucker for dark hair with blue or green eyes), tight jeans and a chain on his wallet.  What a freakin hottie of a 14 year old!  He used to come over to my house with this Triumph albums and we'd listen to them in my basement and make out.  I never liked Triumph, but I liked making out with him so who cares what was playing!  He was the first boy I ever said "I love you" to.  Although I think I never really actually said the words.  What I did was, I called him up and put on my brothers Led Zepplin album.  When the song "All of My Love" came on, I put the phone up to the speaker.  In 1979, that song was huge and it conveyed, I thought, what I wanted to say.  And after I "said" it, he came over a day or two later with a gift.  A lovely blue Timex watch without a box.  He just put it in my hand and kissed me.  It was official, we were in love.

Unfortunately from there my memory gets fuzzy.  How did we break up and why?   No clue.  But most likely because I wouldn't put out.  That's why most boys broke up with me.  Whatever happened to him?  No idea.  I do know that whenever I saw him after that, I'd swoon.  He was and remains one of the hottest guys I ever knew. 

Memories are a strange thing.  The littlest thing can spark them.  Why did I think of ear kisser T while I was in the shower?  Did I get water in my ear and suddenly have a strange flashback?  And why do I remember some weird minute detail like Triumph albums but not how F and I parted ways?  I guess this quote puts that in perspective...

"We do not remember days; we remember moments."  ~Cesare Pavese