![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
My grandmother, and update
Dec. 27th, 2006 10:10 pmSo my grandmother died on Monday night, and on Tuesday I flew to Chicago, and Wednesday was the funeral. There were three days of shiva at my parents' place, though my aunt Gayla (my mother's sister), who is considerably more observant, spent the full seven days at her own place.
The condominium was full of people during the evening, and we tried to make things as easy as possible for my mother. It was still pretty exhausting, for all of us.
Monday evening we spent at my aunt's house, and had dinner brought in from a kosher Chinese restaurant misnamed Mitzuyon (Hebrew for "excellent"). I think it was some of the worst Chinese food I've ever had.
Tuesday shiva officially ended, and we (my mother, Gayla, and me) went to my grandmother's apartment to deal with stuff. We're giving away most of the stuff to the Ark or Salvation Army, but we each ended up with a couple of boxes of stuff. My grandmother collected teacups -- not any sorts of sets, just pretty cups and saucers -- and since I'm the one that has people over for Tea (as opposed to just tea), we thought it was appropriate that I take them. Which is all very well, but diametrically opposed to my goal to de-tchochkify my life. Also my grandmother's afghan that my great-aunt crocheted for her. I'd had one she crocheted for me, but it fell apart years ago. And so on. To the tune of two boxes that I'm glad to have, if I can figure out a) how to get them to Minneapolis intact and b) where to put them once I'm home.
The one thing that made me sniffle a bit was when my aunt brought me a box labeled (in my grandmother's handwriting) that it was for my birthday. On the other side of the note, it said that it was hand-sewn from Hungary (where her family was originally from). It was two pieces of fabric, though I'm not exactly sure what they are, with stitching that looks like a cross between cross-stitch and hardanger. It has my great-grandmother's initials on it, so it was probably hers.
We've spent Tuesday and today, Wednesday, packing boxes and throwing stuff. It's not all that emotionally hard on me, but the packrat part of me keeps saying "Wouldn't you like this? And this? And this?" I have to keep telling my inner packrat to shut up.
I think we're going to reach the point of diminishing returns tomorrow, and the plan is for me to fly home on Friday. Which means that I'll be back in town in time for the Minn-stf New Year's party, which is good.
Backtracking now, when I arrived at my parents' place last Tuesday, they were meeting with the hospice rabbi who'd been working with my grandmother for the last couple of years. While the temple rabbie conducted the service, the hospice rabbi was the one who gave the eulogy. When she asked me if I had any particular memories I wanted to share, I ran back to the computer and printed out my LJ entry. I did get a number of corrections, which I used when I went back and made some edits to the original entry.
The one thing that I'd left out on Monday night was my grandmother's sewing. She was always sewing something. And when she wasn't sewing, she was knitting. She'd knit baby sweaters, and vests for adults, and just about anything else that caught her interest. It wasn't terribly fancy, but it was always functional. About 15 years ago, she made a fisherman-type sweater for my sister-in-law, and that was a huge hit. After that, she made similar sweaters for all the grandchildren. I hadn't realized that until I asked my mother if she had one, but she didn't, because she wasn't a grandchild. I still have mine, though it's unfortunately a bit moth-eaten.
My grandmother taught me to knit, too. My first project was a scarf made with variegated yarn. She had a unique knitting style that involved wrapping the yarn around her finger and then unwrapping it as she went. I developed my own style, which was similar but involved using the finger to maintain tension without actual wrapping and unwrapping. I thought it was quite efficient, but I've noticed that people who use the "throw-the-thread" style that seems to be more common can knit circles around me. Of course, so could my grandmother.
When she was sewing clothes, we'd ask her who the item was for, and the usual answer was "whoever it fits." Sometimes she'd show up at our family's doorstep with stuff she'd sewn for us (most often for me, because I was the only granddaughter), and the rule was that I had to be appreciate when she was there, but I didn't have to wear it if I didn't like it. Her batting average was probably less than .500 for me; she did a great job of sewing, but her choice of fabric tended to be dictated more by economy than by what would look good on an eight-year-old (or whatever age I was then).
However, sometime after I moved to Minneapolis, she discovered that she could make vests with small amounts of fabric, and those succeeded brilliantly. I still have two or three vests that she made me, and I always get compliments on them.
There's a certain legacy of hers in my cross-stitching, too. While she didn't exactly teach me to embroider (there was an abortive attempt when I was five or so that didn't last long), when she saw me working on cross-stitch as an adult, she mentioned that her mother had always insisted that the back of her work be as neat as the front. (I've seen pieces of hers, and they are.) I've always tried to match that.
The condominium was full of people during the evening, and we tried to make things as easy as possible for my mother. It was still pretty exhausting, for all of us.
Monday evening we spent at my aunt's house, and had dinner brought in from a kosher Chinese restaurant misnamed Mitzuyon (Hebrew for "excellent"). I think it was some of the worst Chinese food I've ever had.
Tuesday shiva officially ended, and we (my mother, Gayla, and me) went to my grandmother's apartment to deal with stuff. We're giving away most of the stuff to the Ark or Salvation Army, but we each ended up with a couple of boxes of stuff. My grandmother collected teacups -- not any sorts of sets, just pretty cups and saucers -- and since I'm the one that has people over for Tea (as opposed to just tea), we thought it was appropriate that I take them. Which is all very well, but diametrically opposed to my goal to de-tchochkify my life. Also my grandmother's afghan that my great-aunt crocheted for her. I'd had one she crocheted for me, but it fell apart years ago. And so on. To the tune of two boxes that I'm glad to have, if I can figure out a) how to get them to Minneapolis intact and b) where to put them once I'm home.
The one thing that made me sniffle a bit was when my aunt brought me a box labeled (in my grandmother's handwriting) that it was for my birthday. On the other side of the note, it said that it was hand-sewn from Hungary (where her family was originally from). It was two pieces of fabric, though I'm not exactly sure what they are, with stitching that looks like a cross between cross-stitch and hardanger. It has my great-grandmother's initials on it, so it was probably hers.
We've spent Tuesday and today, Wednesday, packing boxes and throwing stuff. It's not all that emotionally hard on me, but the packrat part of me keeps saying "Wouldn't you like this? And this? And this?" I have to keep telling my inner packrat to shut up.
I think we're going to reach the point of diminishing returns tomorrow, and the plan is for me to fly home on Friday. Which means that I'll be back in town in time for the Minn-stf New Year's party, which is good.
Backtracking now, when I arrived at my parents' place last Tuesday, they were meeting with the hospice rabbi who'd been working with my grandmother for the last couple of years. While the temple rabbie conducted the service, the hospice rabbi was the one who gave the eulogy. When she asked me if I had any particular memories I wanted to share, I ran back to the computer and printed out my LJ entry. I did get a number of corrections, which I used when I went back and made some edits to the original entry.
The one thing that I'd left out on Monday night was my grandmother's sewing. She was always sewing something. And when she wasn't sewing, she was knitting. She'd knit baby sweaters, and vests for adults, and just about anything else that caught her interest. It wasn't terribly fancy, but it was always functional. About 15 years ago, she made a fisherman-type sweater for my sister-in-law, and that was a huge hit. After that, she made similar sweaters for all the grandchildren. I hadn't realized that until I asked my mother if she had one, but she didn't, because she wasn't a grandchild. I still have mine, though it's unfortunately a bit moth-eaten.
My grandmother taught me to knit, too. My first project was a scarf made with variegated yarn. She had a unique knitting style that involved wrapping the yarn around her finger and then unwrapping it as she went. I developed my own style, which was similar but involved using the finger to maintain tension without actual wrapping and unwrapping. I thought it was quite efficient, but I've noticed that people who use the "throw-the-thread" style that seems to be more common can knit circles around me. Of course, so could my grandmother.
When she was sewing clothes, we'd ask her who the item was for, and the usual answer was "whoever it fits." Sometimes she'd show up at our family's doorstep with stuff she'd sewn for us (most often for me, because I was the only granddaughter), and the rule was that I had to be appreciate when she was there, but I didn't have to wear it if I didn't like it. Her batting average was probably less than .500 for me; she did a great job of sewing, but her choice of fabric tended to be dictated more by economy than by what would look good on an eight-year-old (or whatever age I was then).
However, sometime after I moved to Minneapolis, she discovered that she could make vests with small amounts of fabric, and those succeeded brilliantly. I still have two or three vests that she made me, and I always get compliments on them.
There's a certain legacy of hers in my cross-stitching, too. While she didn't exactly teach me to embroider (there was an abortive attempt when I was five or so that didn't last long), when she saw me working on cross-stitch as an adult, she mentioned that her mother had always insisted that the back of her work be as neat as the front. (I've seen pieces of hers, and they are.) I've always tried to match that.
