This is a beautiful time of the year; the approaching holidays filled with sentiment and tradition, the New Year on their heels bringing hope and new life. The actual holidays are much less important to me than the season they reside in. Appropriately, in this time of looking back, I received a note from my mother. It contained two articles about my Grandfather, written when he retired as CEO of Security Life.
Unfortunaty, I know my Grandparents more in theory than reality, through the stories my mother tells and childhood memories. Over the past couple years, my once brilliant and mysterious Grandpa began to fade away. His body remained healthy and strong, but his mind was crumbling under the crule (and undiagnosed) onset of alzheimers. During the past year it became too severe to ignore; he was offically diagnosed and sent to live in an inpatient facility.
Something else was crumbling with his mind, the family portrait my mother had painted and I had come to know. My grandparents, the madly in-love couple who adored one another and said "to hell with the rest of the world". The brilliance of my quiet grandfather and the fiesty vigor of my wild grandmother. The picture perfect love that spanned six decades. My mother idolized and adored them.
As my Grandfather's mind began to go, so did the affection of my Grandmother. She became so angry at her abandonment, at losing her best friend and provider. The cruelty my mother saw from her seemed to open an emotional pandora's box. The new picture painted was not that of an evil woman, but a cold one. The fun-loving Grandma was becoming more clearly the narcassistic one. It seems that this was always the case, but we have a way of painting the past in colors that suite us. Grandpa became the loveable old fool, unable to really relate, but at least happy and taken care of.
The emotional toll this took on my mother was significant, I only experienced it through her stories and tears. But, amazing woman that she is, she took everything in stride and made the most of it. We have all fallen into a state of acceptance, acknowledging the new family portrait as a basic reality.
She told me that she had ripped apart her home looking for an article, then miraculously found the original when visiting her mother. Until I read it, I did not understant the importance of these clippings.
The articles described a briliant man defined by unwaivering integrity. They described a man who came from nothing to become the CEO of a company, yet maintained the humility of the young army band leader he once was. They contained photographs of the quiet smiling face of the man I never fully knew, but always loved. And they showed a happy, fun-loving couple facing the great whells of their lives with a sparking humor in their eyes. This couple, in a room of executives, looked as though they had an inside joke, as though everthing around them was inconsiquential, just senery in the set of their lives that contained only the two of them and their adventures.
After reading the articles and looking at the pictures, I heard a familiar humming. A bum bum bum, the quiet drumline my Grandfather was always singing to himself as he walked through his home. This sound embodies the mysterious band leader and genious my Gradpa was to me. I could see him walking past me humming, with my happy Grandmother making me and my brother noodles in the kitchen behind him. I saw the old family portrait in a new light. The picture my mother painted me was real, if not complete. They were all the wonderful things she described, but they were in their own world built for two, we were just fortunant enough to be close enough to bear witness to it.
As the seasons change we remeber the past and bravely look toward the future. The memories we carry into the new season act both armor and compass, comforting us and pointing us toward (or away from) future possibilities. Perhaps this is why we have the holidays before the New Year, we must look back to look forward. Family is at the core of this reality, giving us a history and ideal to live-up to or surpass. In my tiny family I am so unbeleivably grateful for my mother's stories. She is the keeper of her parents' history and she passionatly gave that gift to me. No matter how much things change, and they always do change, the family portrait she gave me will live in my heart and mind, as my comfort and compass, forever.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Culinary Adventures of Katie and Keith
It was a busy week last week; I decided to keep my apartment after working out a killer deal with my landlord (and seeing the bullshit that is on the market right now), I threw a successful EWI event at the Empire State Building for 30 guest and I have begun planning a complete overhaul of my apartment. I have an EWI meeting tonight to discuss the future of the group, but through all that the one thing that remains in the forefront of my mind is my brother, Keith.
This boy (really a 6'2" ex-marine) has always been the baby of the family. Despite his anger and behavioral problems, all I have ever been able to see is this mysterious, sensitive, amazing creature. We have a very close bond, but I don't really know him all that well. Looking through his Facebook pictures, I see an adventurer. Pictures from Japan, Mexico, Iraq, Florida, California.... I want to get to know this man.
He is going through a fucked-up time right now. A diagnosed alcoholic, dropped out of college this semester and on his way to rehab in the (hopefully not too distant) future. When he talks to me about his drinking, I am grateful for his honesty. He is really letting it all out. But today was different. I was angry. I hid it from him, I don't want to push him away, but I really just wanted to kick his ass.
When we are not talking about his drinking we talk about food. Like me, it is a passion for him. He sees places as culinary destinations and he indulges duelly. As I hear his stories and tell him mine, I feel that I am getting to know this mysterious man. I look forward to his Christmas visit to New York, where we can create an adventure of our very own.
I want to hear his stories, tell his stories and create new ones with him. Reverting back to my childhood name, I want to begin a journey into my brother's history, into his experience, the culinary adventures of Katie and Keith. Perhaps through "The Great Equalizer" we can become adult versions of the two children who once played in forts made of cardboard boxes. I don't want to lose him and I want to get to know him now, before the memories fade into the sunset of the past.
This boy (really a 6'2" ex-marine) has always been the baby of the family. Despite his anger and behavioral problems, all I have ever been able to see is this mysterious, sensitive, amazing creature. We have a very close bond, but I don't really know him all that well. Looking through his Facebook pictures, I see an adventurer. Pictures from Japan, Mexico, Iraq, Florida, California.... I want to get to know this man.
He is going through a fucked-up time right now. A diagnosed alcoholic, dropped out of college this semester and on his way to rehab in the (hopefully not too distant) future. When he talks to me about his drinking, I am grateful for his honesty. He is really letting it all out. But today was different. I was angry. I hid it from him, I don't want to push him away, but I really just wanted to kick his ass.
When we are not talking about his drinking we talk about food. Like me, it is a passion for him. He sees places as culinary destinations and he indulges duelly. As I hear his stories and tell him mine, I feel that I am getting to know this mysterious man. I look forward to his Christmas visit to New York, where we can create an adventure of our very own.
I want to hear his stories, tell his stories and create new ones with him. Reverting back to my childhood name, I want to begin a journey into my brother's history, into his experience, the culinary adventures of Katie and Keith. Perhaps through "The Great Equalizer" we can become adult versions of the two children who once played in forts made of cardboard boxes. I don't want to lose him and I want to get to know him now, before the memories fade into the sunset of the past.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
An Aunt in New York
The aunt descended on Friday and, true to form, she tested my self confidence. You see, if I were younger or less secure, she could really embarrass the shit out of me. Thank God I have gotten to the point in my life where I can just grin and bear it.
She waltzed into my office to pick me up from work as planned, and of course to meet my co-workers. My infamous boss was in, so naturally an introduction had to be made. Watching them together was as humorous as it was uncomfortable. It was "battle of the talking heads"! They both love nothing more than talking about themselves, so each would begin a story only to be interrupted by the other with a tidbit about how this story related back to her, and on and on it when. That is, until aunt made an announcement. She wanted to present something to me in front of my boss. UUUUUUGH! I knew what was coming as soon as the words came out of her mouth.
She began her speech by expressing the importance of a general's coin in military culture, calling it a soldier's most prized possession (believe me, it is not) and proceeded to tell the story about how I gave the coin I received by General Petraus in Iraq to my brother when he graduated from the Marines. Triumphantly she declared that she had a new coin, from the now 4 star General Petraus, to present to me. I reached out to take the coin from her and she recoiled, she said, "come-on you know how to do it right!" requiring me to take it during a handshake.
After this ridiculousness, my boss actually teared up a bit, something very unnatural for her. She exclaimed: "My ex-boyfriend from high school died on a plane next to me and they found a coin in his pocket!" Ever the narcissist, it still came back to her! Thank God.
I think it is clear that I do not care about Army shit anymore. It was a part of my life, but now I have other things. Give me a spatula from Chef Eric Rippert and I will be excited, a coin from a general I never liked to begin with, what am I supposed to do? Jump for Joy? Cry? I don't think so. D. summed it up best, he asked me, "Is she a military groupie?" Ah, that is the best explanation I have ever heard!
Well, after that I had made reservations at the Season 1 Top Chef winner Harold's restaurant. I was pretty excited to check it out. I cleared it with her before making the reservation. She had mentioned she wanted to go to a bistro. Well, I found a few French bistros and then Harold's American bistro. As soon as we left my office she began talking about pasta. WTF. I mentioned that I would have found us a great Italian place if that was what she had mentioned, she replied that she had. No, you asked for bistro, not Italian, bistro. She conceded. D was running a bit late, and I knew she was not feeling my restaurant pick anymore, so I began looking for other options.
In the mean time she called an old friend of her's who lives in New York. He only lives a half mile north of me, so we decided to meet him for drinks. He also made us a reservation at a French bistro below his apartment. We gladly would have walked, but aunt was tired and preferred to wait 15 minutes for a cab. No matter, when we arrived, it was a fabulous little sidewalk bistro.
I asked for wine immediately.
There was an older man and a young woman at the table next to us, and he kept trying to talk to us, while she embarrassed, tried to stop him. It was clear he had had a stroke or some other mind altering ailment, and sweet D patiently spoke to him. It was touching to see that kind of compassion. The next set of guests next to us were a beautiful, hip couple with a baby. We spoke to them briefly and found out the man was French and the woman African. That is why I love New York, it is a city of casual friends and conversations. This is a sentiment I cannot share with the aunt, who hates New York and is an LA fanatic. Se la vi.
The food was good, not amazing, but good. We had beet salad, french onion soup and calamari to start; beef bourginon, seared bass with spinach and potato and cassoulet for dinner; and a truly terrible caremel flan and proifitols for dessert. Despite this, this weather was perfect, the wine flowed and the experience was good overall.
Her friend Vega joined us for dessert and then brought us up to his apartment for another glass of wine. Ah wine, I generally only drink it in celebration, but it also serves as my secret weapon for surviving family gatherings! Vega was absolutely charming and I see us becoming friends on our own, an absolutely wonderful, unexpected surprise.
The next morning I joined her for a small breakfast and lots of coffee before taking her to Grand Central to put her on a bus to La Guardia. Our conversation was typical and shallow and in a way that is a bit sad. As I have grown up we could have developed a friendship. She was, at one time, an interesting, fun, charming woman. We crossed paths though. As I came into my own, she retreated into a judgemental, semi-religious nag with her grating personality traits becoming her primary ones. I have grown a thick enough skin to tolerate this in small doses, but not to enjoy her company. Oh well, I survived another aunt experience and even made a new friend! Alls well that ends well.
She waltzed into my office to pick me up from work as planned, and of course to meet my co-workers. My infamous boss was in, so naturally an introduction had to be made. Watching them together was as humorous as it was uncomfortable. It was "battle of the talking heads"! They both love nothing more than talking about themselves, so each would begin a story only to be interrupted by the other with a tidbit about how this story related back to her, and on and on it when. That is, until aunt made an announcement. She wanted to present something to me in front of my boss. UUUUUUGH! I knew what was coming as soon as the words came out of her mouth.
She began her speech by expressing the importance of a general's coin in military culture, calling it a soldier's most prized possession (believe me, it is not) and proceeded to tell the story about how I gave the coin I received by General Petraus in Iraq to my brother when he graduated from the Marines. Triumphantly she declared that she had a new coin, from the now 4 star General Petraus, to present to me. I reached out to take the coin from her and she recoiled, she said, "come-on you know how to do it right!" requiring me to take it during a handshake.
After this ridiculousness, my boss actually teared up a bit, something very unnatural for her. She exclaimed: "My ex-boyfriend from high school died on a plane next to me and they found a coin in his pocket!" Ever the narcissist, it still came back to her! Thank God.
I think it is clear that I do not care about Army shit anymore. It was a part of my life, but now I have other things. Give me a spatula from Chef Eric Rippert and I will be excited, a coin from a general I never liked to begin with, what am I supposed to do? Jump for Joy? Cry? I don't think so. D. summed it up best, he asked me, "Is she a military groupie?" Ah, that is the best explanation I have ever heard!
Well, after that I had made reservations at the Season 1 Top Chef winner Harold's restaurant. I was pretty excited to check it out. I cleared it with her before making the reservation. She had mentioned she wanted to go to a bistro. Well, I found a few French bistros and then Harold's American bistro. As soon as we left my office she began talking about pasta. WTF. I mentioned that I would have found us a great Italian place if that was what she had mentioned, she replied that she had. No, you asked for bistro, not Italian, bistro. She conceded. D was running a bit late, and I knew she was not feeling my restaurant pick anymore, so I began looking for other options.
In the mean time she called an old friend of her's who lives in New York. He only lives a half mile north of me, so we decided to meet him for drinks. He also made us a reservation at a French bistro below his apartment. We gladly would have walked, but aunt was tired and preferred to wait 15 minutes for a cab. No matter, when we arrived, it was a fabulous little sidewalk bistro.
I asked for wine immediately.
There was an older man and a young woman at the table next to us, and he kept trying to talk to us, while she embarrassed, tried to stop him. It was clear he had had a stroke or some other mind altering ailment, and sweet D patiently spoke to him. It was touching to see that kind of compassion. The next set of guests next to us were a beautiful, hip couple with a baby. We spoke to them briefly and found out the man was French and the woman African. That is why I love New York, it is a city of casual friends and conversations. This is a sentiment I cannot share with the aunt, who hates New York and is an LA fanatic. Se la vi.
The food was good, not amazing, but good. We had beet salad, french onion soup and calamari to start; beef bourginon, seared bass with spinach and potato and cassoulet for dinner; and a truly terrible caremel flan and proifitols for dessert. Despite this, this weather was perfect, the wine flowed and the experience was good overall.
Her friend Vega joined us for dessert and then brought us up to his apartment for another glass of wine. Ah wine, I generally only drink it in celebration, but it also serves as my secret weapon for surviving family gatherings! Vega was absolutely charming and I see us becoming friends on our own, an absolutely wonderful, unexpected surprise.
The next morning I joined her for a small breakfast and lots of coffee before taking her to Grand Central to put her on a bus to La Guardia. Our conversation was typical and shallow and in a way that is a bit sad. As I have grown up we could have developed a friendship. She was, at one time, an interesting, fun, charming woman. We crossed paths though. As I came into my own, she retreated into a judgemental, semi-religious nag with her grating personality traits becoming her primary ones. I have grown a thick enough skin to tolerate this in small doses, but not to enjoy her company. Oh well, I survived another aunt experience and even made a new friend! Alls well that ends well.
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