On the way home from the cemetery, a crispy early November graveside service witnessed by a flock of beloved contemporaries, I stopped at Tractor Supply to buy a chanukah gift for my grandson.
I never knew my Aunt Beatrice, who was my mother’s sister, and I know almost nothing about her, other than she very much resembled Gramp, with the same dark hair and grey-blue eyes. Beatrice looks sad in the few pictures I have of her, perhaps she knew that she would die in childbirth at 24 . I imagine Beatrice to have been a fragile soul, melancholy and perhaps a bit artistic. I can see her as a young girl in the family’s apartment on Liberty St., over their grocery store, brushing the picture frames with a feather duster, dreaming that she lived above a bustling charcuterie on the left bank of Paris. I see her sitting in an old, overstuffed chair under dim lamplight, embroidering curlicues on handkerchiefs she would pack to take with her on her travels. I am so sorry that she never got to leave Newburgh.
Not thrilled to have that same DNA from the "sustained by pastry" relatives but at least we know there were some good times between the bad ones. Another terrific piece. Thank you, Susie.
Beautiful writing, Susie! And so evocative, stirring up memories, questions, feelings. Isn’t that what good writing does? Thanks. I look forward to your Wednesday offerings.
Thanks Susie for another mesmerizing piece of writing. Perhaps you DID help your grandfather in some mysterious way - to lift the load he might still be carrying. “We three” sounds very cryptic to me and there is some treasure hidden there - “there are treasures out of the darkness” - I think that is from Isaiah. Blessings and Happy Thanksgiving🦃
It is cryptic! I'm feeling increasingly that the stories I was told aren't entirely true. My mother always said that she chose to give up her academic diploma in high school to enroll in a secretarial program because her father was sick and she thought she needed to help support the family. But he doesn't look sick in the photo taken a year before he died. So it's inconclusive. Maybe she had to help support the family because he kept having financial difficulties. I agree that there is the possibility of redeeming him and that that is a sacred undertaking.
I just wrote a long response here about how your story about your grandfather evoked strong memories and deep feelings I have about my own grandfathers.
Unfortunately something messed up with the login and I lost the whole thing I tried to copy it which is very frustrating.
So I am trying voice to text, to recoup some of the feeling of what I wrote. Without having to thumb type the whole damn thing in again. Technology! What a concept!
I didn’t know my father‘s father Bert, but by all accounts he was a kind and loving man who really enjoyed bouncing me on his knee. My mom left my dad and moved us to LA when I was three so I have no memories of him, sad to say.
However I do have a wonderful history of happy memories with my grandfather on my mother’s side. We lived with them for 7 1/2 years after mom left my dad. They were kind and loving and serve in my personal history as the real parents who gave us, my sisters and I, the values that I cherish to this day.
I was afraid of my stepdad. He would knock me and my siblings around like bowling pins when he lost his temper. My mother also had a cruel and vindictive streak that helped us grow up with the feeling that we needed to walk around on eggshells, not that it helped because we would always get in trouble sooner or later. She was a narcissistic personality with lots of good traits but some really horrendously bad ones too.
So I can grok how Louis could’ve installed a lasting fear in his children.
But I also had the contrast of a beautiful, loving, kind and fun relationship with my mothers parents, my grandma and grandpa. They took us in for 7 1/2 years, think of that. Three children in our family, and another four children from my uncles family. We all lived in two tiny houses in south-central LA. It was a heavy mix of bloody noses and running all over the place in the backyard, small as it was, climbing trees and fences, getting in trouble constantly, The full catastrophe.
We were a poor family. You could definitely say that. But we didn’t feel poor of course because we had the richness of love from our grandparents. They never seemed to tire of delighting in our company and our antics, were always there to wipe our noses or bandage our knees, put iodine on a cut, make sure we were well fed. Many nights we sat around the table and played canasta or Monopoly or some other family game, laughing and scratching and thoroughly enjoying each other‘s company.
My grandpa in particular was a kind hearted, in truth soft hearted man who would tear up if he heard of somebody, even someone he didn’t know, having a rough time in life. A very sensitive man but also a self-made man. He started his own heating and air-conditioning business in 1947 and retired with plenty of money in 1965. But the thing I remember most about him how he was always good-natured, had a quick and big smile on his face, liked to horse around and tell stupid jokes, over and over, and I modeled a lot of my personality after him. He loved children, he loved us, and he and grandma both made it very clear that that was forever.
I cherish their memory and I relive the lessons they bestowed on me when I play with my own grandson, and will with our grandchild coming at the end of January with Tomma’s daughter. Their legacy, their gifts to us, live on in how we treat those we love. I’ll always be grateful to them for that and I’m sorry you missed that experience.
Thank you, Jim, for this rich telling of your family relationships. I can almost hear the clamor and see the blood and tears. I'm so glad you had that embrace from your mother's parents.
Hi Jan. Working on the dashboard problem.
Sometimes the relatives of our imaginations are more alive for us than the ones we actually experienced! Thanks, Susie.
Please introduce me to one such imaginary relative of yours. In my case, my grandfather is just beginning to come into focus like a polaroid photo.
I never knew my Aunt Beatrice, who was my mother’s sister, and I know almost nothing about her, other than she very much resembled Gramp, with the same dark hair and grey-blue eyes. Beatrice looks sad in the few pictures I have of her, perhaps she knew that she would die in childbirth at 24 . I imagine Beatrice to have been a fragile soul, melancholy and perhaps a bit artistic. I can see her as a young girl in the family’s apartment on Liberty St., over their grocery store, brushing the picture frames with a feather duster, dreaming that she lived above a bustling charcuterie on the left bank of Paris. I see her sitting in an old, overstuffed chair under dim lamplight, embroidering curlicues on handkerchiefs she would pack to take with her on her travels. I am so sorry that she never got to leave Newburgh.
Dim, fragile, melancholy...all pre-modern images. I see her, too.
Thank you for seeing her, Susie.
Powerful
Not thrilled to have that same DNA from the "sustained by pastry" relatives but at least we know there were some good times between the bad ones. Another terrific piece. Thank you, Susie.
Back on Substack comments
Interesting....🤔keep writing!👍🏻
Beautiful writing, Susie! And so evocative, stirring up memories, questions, feelings. Isn’t that what good writing does? Thanks. I look forward to your Wednesday offerings.
It's heartening to think of you out there waiting for my words from back East. Thank you.
Thanks Susie for another mesmerizing piece of writing. Perhaps you DID help your grandfather in some mysterious way - to lift the load he might still be carrying. “We three” sounds very cryptic to me and there is some treasure hidden there - “there are treasures out of the darkness” - I think that is from Isaiah. Blessings and Happy Thanksgiving🦃
It is cryptic! I'm feeling increasingly that the stories I was told aren't entirely true. My mother always said that she chose to give up her academic diploma in high school to enroll in a secretarial program because her father was sick and she thought she needed to help support the family. But he doesn't look sick in the photo taken a year before he died. So it's inconclusive. Maybe she had to help support the family because he kept having financial difficulties. I agree that there is the possibility of redeeming him and that that is a sacred undertaking.
Hi Susie, wonderful peace, thank you!
I just wrote a long response here about how your story about your grandfather evoked strong memories and deep feelings I have about my own grandfathers.
Unfortunately something messed up with the login and I lost the whole thing I tried to copy it which is very frustrating.
So I am trying voice to text, to recoup some of the feeling of what I wrote. Without having to thumb type the whole damn thing in again. Technology! What a concept!
I didn’t know my father‘s father Bert, but by all accounts he was a kind and loving man who really enjoyed bouncing me on his knee. My mom left my dad and moved us to LA when I was three so I have no memories of him, sad to say.
However I do have a wonderful history of happy memories with my grandfather on my mother’s side. We lived with them for 7 1/2 years after mom left my dad. They were kind and loving and serve in my personal history as the real parents who gave us, my sisters and I, the values that I cherish to this day.
I was afraid of my stepdad. He would knock me and my siblings around like bowling pins when he lost his temper. My mother also had a cruel and vindictive streak that helped us grow up with the feeling that we needed to walk around on eggshells, not that it helped because we would always get in trouble sooner or later. She was a narcissistic personality with lots of good traits but some really horrendously bad ones too.
So I can grok how Louis could’ve installed a lasting fear in his children.
But I also had the contrast of a beautiful, loving, kind and fun relationship with my mothers parents, my grandma and grandpa. They took us in for 7 1/2 years, think of that. Three children in our family, and another four children from my uncles family. We all lived in two tiny houses in south-central LA. It was a heavy mix of bloody noses and running all over the place in the backyard, small as it was, climbing trees and fences, getting in trouble constantly, The full catastrophe.
We were a poor family. You could definitely say that. But we didn’t feel poor of course because we had the richness of love from our grandparents. They never seemed to tire of delighting in our company and our antics, were always there to wipe our noses or bandage our knees, put iodine on a cut, make sure we were well fed. Many nights we sat around the table and played canasta or Monopoly or some other family game, laughing and scratching and thoroughly enjoying each other‘s company.
My grandpa in particular was a kind hearted, in truth soft hearted man who would tear up if he heard of somebody, even someone he didn’t know, having a rough time in life. A very sensitive man but also a self-made man. He started his own heating and air-conditioning business in 1947 and retired with plenty of money in 1965. But the thing I remember most about him how he was always good-natured, had a quick and big smile on his face, liked to horse around and tell stupid jokes, over and over, and I modeled a lot of my personality after him. He loved children, he loved us, and he and grandma both made it very clear that that was forever.
I cherish their memory and I relive the lessons they bestowed on me when I play with my own grandson, and will with our grandchild coming at the end of January with Tomma’s daughter. Their legacy, their gifts to us, live on in how we treat those we love. I’ll always be grateful to them for that and I’m sorry you missed that experience.
Thank you, Jim, for this rich telling of your family relationships. I can almost hear the clamor and see the blood and tears. I'm so glad you had that embrace from your mother's parents.