Thanksgiving

I spent Thanksgiving at my Mother-in-law's place.  I was never allowed to cook with her, and I thought that this would be a great opportunity to do so.  Cooking in someone else's kitchen means getting to know them on a very personal level.  I only allow very few to actually cook with me.  I can truthfully only think of one person who I allow to cook with me.  I cook with others, but having someone cook with you means that you trust them to cook as you would cook. The food should look like one person cooked the meal.  It should be seamless.  I got to cook in her kitchen and I loved it.  I got to see where she kept things and figure out her system, which is not far from how I would set up the kitchen.  I got to use her things, and handle what she handled with such love and reverence.  Looking at all the lovely things she had to host made me sad that she did not use them all.  She had everything you could imagine to cook with.  She even had a heart shaped melon baller.  She wanted fine china so badly and she never used her set that she finally got.  (My husband would not allow me to use her very fine set, and I did not push it since it is not even 40 days.)  I went out to her garden, since I like to have natural things on the Thanksgiving table, and found many of her roses in bloom.  I cute a few, and placed them on the table. I felt that finally we had made one meal together, and that pleased me and made me miss her all the more. 

More Musings on Death and Grief

When my grandma died, I found the most fantastic leaves and purple hydrangeas on my lunch time walk.  When the towers fell, I thought that civilization was coming to an end.  That day, I made a huge pot of tea in my office, which I made everyday for six months, and bought tea cups from the charity shop on my lunch time walks.  When Dad died, I made art for 9 months, and started this blog.  I do things that are odd at the time to help heal my pain.  Wonder what I will say about this period of time when I look back on it.  I have a feeling that I will be taking more photos very soon.  I find myself looking at things and wondering how I would frame it and if I like the light.  I have never really done much in the winter that I like, but maybe now have the right eye and heart to do it properly.  What I like about winter is the bleakness juxtaposed to striking color and light.

Grief is an Odd Thing

I find that in grief, I am often like a small child who has had her teddy bear taken away.  I was a child who had a very strong relationship with a "slightly padded" bear, and quite frankly she still resides in my home.  My parents will tell you the first time they heard what my mother describes as a Celtic cry came when my bear lost an eye.  They both thought that I had broken my arm.  I say this to set my description of grief.  I hate losing my loved ones.  I hate it.  I also sometimes feel like a child throwing a temper tantrum.  I find myself in a situation that I can not control and if given a chance it would not resemble what it has become.  I whine.  I hate whining. 

The truth is that I lost someone I did not imaging losing so soon in my life.  For that I am angry and deeply sad.  I could tell you who Branka Stancev was, but no one would understand who she was unless they spent time with her.  She was complicated.  She did not start off as my friend, but we became friends and she as a brilliant grandmother.  We will all figure it out and move forward and continue to be family.  She and my father-in-law came to the new world for a reason.  That was to have a better life for all of us.  I have the deepest respect for her and her husband, my father-in-law.  I miss them both. 

I can't edit these, so please have mercy.  What I write; I write from he heart.

Death

Death.  As my sister said last week to me, "My heart is set on permanent heartbreak."  My often difficult, but always generous of heart mother-in-law died a death that was terrible and heartbreaking to watch.  She died because she had nothing to fight with against what assailed her and I hated watching the fast progression towards her leaving this life. 

Her name meant fortress, and she was one.  She had many tragedies in her life, and yet she pressed on looking and hoping for peace and joy.  Maybe she did not know what it was when she had it, but she always knew that was what she wanted.  She loved the fantastic and beautiful and was always proud of her looks and how she dressed.  My Mother-in-law was fierce as as lion and gentle as a lamb.  I must say that is a rare combination in people.  She did not like me in her kitchen.  I don't blame her.  I let precious few aid me while I cook, but I do not know some of the recipes she made that were cultural.  I will learn them from her friend who was from the same area off Serbia. 

All of this a nightmare to me.  I never expected her to leave this world so soon as she was the youngest of the grandparents.  I look out at my life without her and wonder how I will be able to keep the cultural connections I was still hoping to learn from her.  How can I serve the Slava? (Slava is the family feast day marking the day the family converted to Christianity. It is particular to Serbs.)  I feel totally inadequate to take the role as the matriarch  How can I be that?  I don't know how to do that!  I don't feel like I learned enough from her to do any of this. 

May her memory be eternal.