Ruth and Alice

I was in Nordstrom a few days before Christmas, thinking of Bubby. My grandmother Ruth was a lover of children, gold lame, cheesecake, and most of all, her family.

When we would shop at Nordstrom as kids she would be given a plush chair by one of the sales people to relax in, while my Mom and sisters and I picked out a new sweater or dress. When we would thank her for buying us gifts she would just smile and kiss us and say, "it gives me pleasure." She always looked classy- long grey hair brushed and shined, rolled up in a neat bun, big sunglasses and a nice outfit, a big smile on her beautiful face. Sometimes she would talk to the sales girl and pat her hand as she told her stories or asked her questions.

She was a petite Jewish woman from Poland, who immigrated to Manhattan by herself in her early twenties, and lived for most of her life in an apartment in Canarsie, Brooklyn, where she and my Grandfather Barney raised my dad and uncle. A few years after her arrival in the states she survived the loss of her entire family to the terrible inferno of Nazi hatred and violence. Her village was utterly annihilated, and the letters from her mother and sisters stopped arriving.

She passed away when I was a junior in high school, and it pains me to think that I have now lived without her for as long as I lived with her, though her memory has not faded in the least.

She seemed to live by a simple set of rules, some of which are as follows:

- When you are old you are allowed to walk down the grocery store aisles and fart
- Always keep a clean house, even if that means scrubbing the floor with flea dip
- Granddaughters are God's greatest gift.
- Give generously to those around you
- When your son comes home with a red haired girl who he will marry, take him aside and make sure he knows not to take her across state lines, since she might be in high school still. (My Mom was 22.)
- It is possible to still look smokin' hot in a bathing suit when you are 60.
- It is possible to survive terrible loss with grace, and maintain a kind and loving heart.

I cannot speak of one grandmother without remembering the other. Nanny was my hilarious, fast moving, delightful Greek grandma, who could fry a squid and sew a dress like a boss.

My Nanny, Alice, once sent a Christmas card to all her friends and family, on the front of which was a picture of two bears, a boy and a girl, the girl bear with a surprised look on her face. The inside of the card read "It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas." It wasn't until my Mom called from Seattle, laughing hysterically, that Nanny realized the boy bear was fondling the girl bear's boob.

Nanny was also a survivor of war, who came at the world with spunk, humor, and a personality that was vibrant, irreverent, and unabashedly all her own. Her childhood was spent in Greece, living with her Mother and her 4 siblings in Nazi occupied Athens. She was able to return to the states as a teenager, and a few years later met my Grandfather. They had 4 children and were married for 55 years.

Nanny died 5 years ago, and my Grandpa Dave has survived her passing with such strength and love- he writes and publishes poetry, practices the piano, drives across the country, swims 3 times a week, and cooks for himself. He is 85 years old, and still going strong.

There doesn't seem to be a smooth way to transition from talking about my grandparents to the next subject, so lets just get it over with.

Strange to look back and see that I have not written for almost year, and what a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year it has been.

I was diagnosed with germ cell cancer last spring, after having open heart surgery following the discovery of a tumor in my chest the size of a large grapefruit. I am not ready to write about all this yet, but I need to get it out of the way so I can write about other things- like sewing, and dogs, Texas, my childhood, and, of course, my grandmothers.

Though I am not particularly religious, I imagined Bubby and Nanny holding court at the gates of Heaven, standing watch and barring the door, refusing to let me enter so soon.

Steven's grandfather Ermine is there too- he passed last spring, and last night I heard a story about him when he worked as the manager of a 7-11 in Houston, a story which I love. A customer got angry with him once and called him a honky- Ermine, thinking the man called him a donkey, yelled back "takes one to know one!" So for the record, Ermine is up there too, drinking Pearl beer and playing poker and watching out for me.

I went through chemotherapy this summer, and lost all my my hair, but I got through it like a champ with help from my parents, and sisters, my boyfriend, my friends and family, my dog, Dr, Chadha, and of course Nurse Sharon. My hair is back now, and it's still red! So, if you see a photo of me on social media, that's what's up with the new look.

Just to clarify- I did not get sick because I worry a lot, or because I ate cheetos as a child on road trips. Cancer, and disease, and misfortune, has nothing to do with our goodness- I did nothing to bring this upon myself. I understand more about grief now, about how to adjust to a new reality after experiencing a core level loss.

The key for me is to contain the impact of that loss- to put in on a shelf with the rest of my experiences and let it gather dust while I move right along.

Bubby survived the loss of everyone she knew. Nanny survived the war. I survived this, and I have lots of work to do to reach my goal, of one day being the classy old lady in Nordstrom who can fry her own calamari, sew her own clothes, and buy dresses for her grandchildren.

Masterpiece Failure

I was planning on catching y'all up on life in Texas, including holiday stories and photos, but then I watched Downton Abbey this Sunday, so here we are instead. It's been a day and a half and I am still livid, so hold onto your horses while I get this out, and then back to our regularly scheduled programming.

I imagine the internet is raging with opinions about the second episode of Downton Abbey, Season Four, which featured a shocking and violent rape of one of the show's favorite female characters.

I was watching it at the house of the girls I babysit, once they had gone to bed, of course. I didn't see the very beginning, though my Mom tells me there was a brief note that the episode contained adult content and was for mature audiences.

Hey, let's try that again. How about: Warning, Episode Contains a Disturbing and Violent Sexual Assault.

It has taken me a day to articulate why I am so unbelievably angry. This is what I've come up with.

I understand she is a character, and the actress was not actually hurt. That said, seems like a cheap move on the part of the creator and writers. It's widely known the show lost three lead actors last year, and now in season 4 we see an immediate escalation in violence. Rape is not just simply a plot device- and that is how it was used- to push the story forward, to create drama, to engage ratings for an extremely popular show.

This is not why I watch television on a Sunday night. I watch it to be entertained, to forget my own worries, to spend time with characters I love before starting the work week. Death in childbirth and death by automobile were very upsetting, but you have crossed a line.

Clearly I have a very high sensitivity to this content, but I can tell you I am not the only gal who had trouble sleeping after watching that episode.

Another show I love, Friday Night Lights, had a similar situation arise. One of the high school characters, Tyra, was attacked by a man in a parking lot- she fought him off, and when she and her friend Landry ran into him again at a Mini-Mart, they killed him and threw his body in the river. Now, I could have done without this story line entirely, but at least they killed the bastard and got away with it. Also, Landry goes and tells Tami Taylor, who is the high school counselor and wife to Eric Taylor, the football coach, and she goes straight to Tyra and takes her to the police and make sure she is okay.

What did I learn from Downton Abbey? That even if you are in a loving and stable marriage, you are not safe, even in your own home. That you will feel victimized and choose to tell no one. Mrs. Hughes, do you want me to call Tami Taylor for you? I think you need a compassionate, strong willed high school guidance counselor from Texas to step in right now.

We know this happens all the time, and did back then, too. You had a choice, Mr. Fellowes, to be a better writer then that, or to choose to not have it go so far. It's your television show, so you can choose what happens. Let me re-write that scene for you. Anna fights off attacker- stabs him in the eye socket with Mrs. Patmore's cooking knife. Someone comes downstairs and finds them. Mrs. Hughes goes and tells Carson, who gets Mary, who gets a gun and shoots the asshole out behind the barn.

When it gets down to it, the truth is this. Evil exists in this world, and violence against women is very pervasive, very frightening, and very real. We do not watch shows and movies to see Evil win. We watch to be given a respite from the violence of the true world, and we watch to see our favorite characters succeed, and be happy. We need to see Evil defeated. We do not want or need to see sexual assault.

Clearly I won't be watching this show anymore. Yesterday I was aware that I needed even better self care then normal, so I was especially nice to myself. I played with Mabel the baby, who I nanny, and we spent time eating Veggie Booty, carrying around a red ball, and reading books. And we laughed a lot and practiced finding our nose and mouths and making funny fish faces. Then I bought two donuts and ate them on the back porch while drinking coffee, while the steps where drenched in afternoon sunlight. Then I weeded for an hour, and took a nap with the dog.

All of this sustained me, calmed me, nurtured me. This is what we need right now. This is what's important.