In Honor

One year ago, my grandmother died.

I can easily say, without hesitation, that she was the greatest influence of my life. I have never known of a more supportive, non-judgmental, unconditionally loving person. In life she was one of my greatest friends, confidantes, advisors and champions. When she died, it felt like a great light went out in the world. It is no small thing to lose such a person in your life- the one who rallied and loved you in a way different than anyone else ever could. Not surprisingly, her death and her funeral were some of the most spiritual and meaningful experiences of my life. In the past few weeks I have found myself thinking of her intensely almost every day, brought to tears missing her so. Her death was such a great loss to so many; truly to know her was to love her. Words simply cannot express the void that she has left for so many. And yet I know the heavens rejoiced at her homecoming, and I know that she is more able to help me now than when she was on the earth. I like to imagine that she is taking care of my baby until I can see them both again, that I have two guardian angels on my left and on my right.

We have a couple of oft-quoted stories of my young childhood related to grandma that I want recorded so my children will know them. I was born in Denver, and lived near grandma until the age of 3 when my dad was transferred to the east. When they broke the news that we were moving to grandma she replied, "Well, are you going to take Jess?!" (Incidentally, I was named after her mother, Jessie.) Another fabled  story was around the same time and grandma and I were in her room. She was putting on her makeup and complaining that she felt ugly. She said, "But honey, I'm just so old", to which I famously replied "To me you're not!". Indeed, she always exemplified all things beautiful. In fact, I believe she only increased in beauty until the day she died. How did she do that?

{Grandma and I when Timm and I went to the temple in 2004. I think she is simply ethereal in this picture.}

She also gave me the only 2 nicknames I've ever had. She always called me her 'Pritzy Pritz', from the time I was a baby and I still love it. She is also the one who first called me a badger, hence the blog name. She used to give me Frances books, and inscribed them to her 'favorite little badger', imploring me not to change.
*edited: It is true that my dad always called me 'Weirdicus Jess', my 3rd and final nickname.

In our family, we have a tradition of giving 'gifts of love' that we write out to each present member of the family on Christmas Eve. I have this one, from when I was 18 months old. I treasure it, and I want to get it nicely framed.

My mom happened to be in town today, and in discussing it we had simply planned to make a nice cake, since fabulous cakes are part of her greatest legacy. Denise had a better idea, and she decided to bake bread and take it to grandma's friends and those in need. Grandma exemplified charity, and in her declining years would often bake for people since it was one of the only ways she felt she could still serve. Plus, she was damn good at it. Michelle and Miranda also participated in what I have coined the Bread Brigade. I made my all-time favorite bread recipe, Limpa Rye, and took it to a couple of my neighbors. I was very pleased that it turned out to be a very good dough. 

Never one to miss an opportunity to make a cake, I also made Banana Cake at my mom's request since we celebrated her birthday while she was here as well. Linda had the wonderful suggestion to add pecans and coconut to the top, making it Southern-Style Banana Cake, a variation I will definitely be keeping. It's a good cake, but not my favorite simply because if chocolate or White Mountain were an option (and they always should be), why would you choose banana? But with the southern variation, very good. (Also, true to form, she changed the recipe unbeknownst to me. She added about 1/3 block of cream cheese to the whipped cream frosting to help stabilize it. Bonus.)

And speaking of cake, my mom got us these super cute signs, apropos for remembering Grandma. Here it is in its temporary placement:

{I do.}

All I can say is, I can't wait until I get to see her again.

And I strive every day to be a bit more like her.

Her influence still guides me every day.

p.s. I had planned on making something to commemorate the day and sending them to a few people, but I never got around to it. I toyed with several ideas, but decided on some printables that I am working on and will post on Sunday.

First Day of School- Ever.

Today was the day. Bella's first day of school that set her on an educational road to last for at least the next 13 years. Top on my list of concerns: her ensemble. I was up until 2 am getting everything set for her first day. I know.

(Shoes, t-shirt, skirt, brooch, and bobby pins.)

I made this rosette brooch from broadcloth, felt and vintage buttons. I put it all on a pin to wear as a brooch on her shirts, but it doubles as a hair ornament. I was so psyched that she liked it. I told her I was going to make her a bunch in different colors to wear with her different outfits and she asked if she could wear them on her shirts everyday. Sweet.

I freezer paper-stenciled her shirt with a 'b' in Cezanne font but I was disappointed with it. It wasn't dark enough on the navy shirt, so at 10:30 at night I decided to outline it with embroidery, thinking that if I wasn't happy I could fill it in with satin stitch another time. The cutest fabric for a first day of school skirt, and the most beautiful red leather shoes my mom got her in Paris. They are the softest, most supple calfskin- like shoes in the world. I am already mourning that she will outgrow them soon. They will go with so many of her skirts this year, until then.

(I snapped this right after I reminded Bella to look at the circle.)

Drop off time, today only. She'll be a bus rider from now on.

It went better than I anticipated. I was worried about Bella, who frequently throws a fit about going to Primary after Sacrament meeting. She will wail and cry and cling to me as I struggle to physically extricate her from me while she begs me to teach her class. So possibly you can see why I would be nervous about leaving her in a room full of strangers for an 8 hour day. She did so well. She looked a little bit nervous, but I stayed with her for about 15 or 20 minutes, casually gave her a kiss and a hug, and left her. I watched from the door, reluctant to leave. She seemed good. Engaged, curious.

Pick up time. We went to Baskin Robbins afterwards to celebrate and as we drove back home into the neighborhood we were behind her bus which would have been dropping her off at 3:45!!! Sheesh.

I have two trains of thought going about this whole process.

1. I know I am a mother crow, but I think you would be hard pressed to find a cuter Kindergartner ever. This outfit? Seriously? That little body with those long lean legs thanks to her daddy? Her dimples? A collection of materials including fabric, felt, ribbon and vintage buttons? How could you go wrong?

2. The emotional tumult involved. I was up until 1 am, completing the embroidery on her shirt and making her lunch. As I was saying my prayers I started worrying about her. Would she be lonely? Would she miss me? Would she be scared? What would she do when she felt so alone and lost and without a familiar face? I had to make her something to take with her. Something to remind her of home and love and safety and security. I finished my prayer and jumped up to go back out into the darkened house to begin a new and necessary project at 1 am. I knew just what it would be. I made her a small heart out of pink felt, about 1 1/2- 2" tall. I stitched her name on it, stitched it together and stuffed it. When I left her in her classroom this morning I showed it to her. I told her that it was the perfect size to hold in her hand, or keep in her shirt pocket. Anytime she felt lonely or scared or worried, she could hold it in her hand, give it a little squeeze and remember that mama loved her and missed her. When I picked her up from school she was holding it, looking a little worse for the wear, rubbed soft. I'd like to think that it comforted her to have it, but it comforted me to make it. It's as if by outfitting and adorning her with my creations I could send her armed and prepared to meet the world. Padded by the product of long hours spent in love and preparation and carefully chosen materials she would not be alone. I would go with her.

I think she had a great day. I think she loved it. I think this is going to work out...with a few more sleepless nights until I complete the rest of her wardrobe of skirts, shirts, brooches and hair clips.

I have many more pontifications on this new phase of life for us all, but I'm ready to put this day to rest and save pensive for tomorrow.

Moving Day

Sigh.

Molly moved today.

I watched her kids so she and her mom (Sally) could clean her house before they left town.

She and Timm said goodbye this morning when she dropped the kids off. I said goodbye to Sam on Sunday night and that sent me crying, of course. I can say that I have never cared more about any of my friend's husbands. I really consider Sam a friend, even independent of Molly. We were really so blessed to have a family that each one of us genuinely loved and enjoyed spending time with.

Mia trying to mimic Fiona's crazy smile.

After a few hours I gave up and put a show on. We were all tired.

When Molly came to pick them up that afternoon she brought us a parting token of Rita's. Fiona, always a food monger, spent an inordinate amount of time on hers, making sure to get every last drop.

Parting shots.

I held it together and didn't cry until after Molly walked out the door. Molly has some strange robot-like control over her emotions. Maybe not quite robotic, but even though she tells me about her crying spells over the move, and I know this has been hard for her, I have only actually seen her cry once, maybe twice. And once was at church. Michelle must have been prompted because she called me while Molly was still in the driveway, from which they were hitting the road for Dallas. I was honored that we were the last stop, the last ones to see them off. I wouldn't have it any other way.

After I closed the door and was still waving them off, Bella asked why my face was like that. I explained that I was sad, and she said 'But you'll see them at Christmas! And the Christmas after that, and the Christmas after that...' I replied that I wanted to see them every day like we used to. After thinking for a minute she ran out to the driveway and shouted 'Molly! Sebastian! Can you visit more often?' As I talked to Shell and Bella listened in she suggested these pearls of wisdom:

'Mom! I have an idea! You just need to make more friends that aren't moving! You need to find friends that are normal.' 

I don't want normal friends.

Molly gave me a sweet note which was only one of eleven. The other ten are supposedly hidden throughout the house. After reading this one I had a fleeting impulse to raid the house for the rest of them but quickly decided to leave them be for a while. I will find them altogether too quickly as it is I am sure and I want to have a bit of Molly with me for as long as I can.

As Michelle lamented, there's not much that can be said when your best friend moves away.

Only a grandma

Almost 2 years ago grandma and grandpa downsized from their home of 35 years to a smaller one level house. When they moved they enlisted the help of all of their children and filled 2 1/2 dumpsters of trash! (Grandpa is quite a hoarder) In fact, grandma found a painting still wrapped in paper that she had never unwrapped when they first moved into their house in Denver! It was quite a project to move the belongings that had accumulated after raising their family in that home. True to form, grandma was quite objective in discarding many things that were not worth moving. (I would be too! I downsize our belongings every time we move, which is frequent, just so that I don't have to move them again)With evey item she asked herself whether it was worth moving.

Then I found this little gem in her 'ironing room'. I made this for her in art class when I must have been about 7 years old. (Which is obvious from the fine craftsmanship)I can't believe she kept it! She said it was one of the things that she wanted to move with and keep. I am still baffled. Only a grandma... only my grandma :)