I wonder how many of each happen in any given weekend and which one has the highest occurrence rate in relation to the other.
The funeral I couldn’t make- it was thousands of miles away, happened sort of unexpectedly even though she was to be a whopping 93 and it went very quickly. The great-grandmother is gone for good this time, separated by more than just physical mileage now. I am left wondering why she never did answer all my questions as to the course of her Life, thus my grandmother’s Life thus my own mother’s and my own. So many questions left unanswered. But she was from a different time, a time where everything was taboo, where inappropriate is not discussed but rather ignored, a time when it’s best to pretend that things were not as they really were.
I don’t necessarily buy the different time theory though- it’s more a mindset that defines a person, a family without time constraints in my view. I still see people right now- families that pretend what really isn’t there, that sugarcoat their existence and their children’s behavior for the sake of not looking “bad” to others I suppose. For who else are they kidding I wonder- they know the truth, the facts as they are really happening and yet choose to recreate them. Even if they change the facts, create their own facts, they know about the truth and knowing what they know is partly their reason for concealing or not revealing the truth.
I have created a story in my head about what really happened in the early 30’s. How my grandmother was really conceived, because there’s a lack of facts. No one speaks about it, some because they really do not know, others because they are following the great-grandmother’s lead to keep everything under wraps, out of sight. Why this inability to recognize and embrace the truth? Didn’t she realize that in keeping all these secrets she denied me of facts I desperately need to know? Then again it wasn’t about me; it was about her. But we are inextricably linked she and I. Didn’t she owe me the truth if I asked for it?
From her I’ll never know, the remaining link is my grandmother, but she is also thousands of miles away, physically and emotionally. She’s too entwined with Jesus, the Father and the Holy Ghost to realize what it is I need from her. She is burdened by the weight of her age and the nagging feeling that we, her family, are all going to hell because we are not embracing Christ. She has told me a few stories, stories linked to her past which I consider my own. Perhaps I’ll have the chance with her to hear what I need to hear, to reconstruct what really happened based on facts from her, which, I suspect, will be closer to the truth I now hold.
The other part of the weekend involved a wedding. The wedding was indeed everything you hear it’s supposed to be. Happy, flowers, dresses, champagne, good music, sweet vows, lots of tears, family and a whole cadre of the too-cool-for-school peoples gracing both the ceremony at the Botanical Garden and at the reception as well. Running towards the double doors as directed by the rent-a-cop on duty, we made it just in time to see the second or third bridesmaid walking up. Then the brides emerged and the ceremony started. It was very nice, inexplicably nice. I wonder if marrying couples hate standing by as the entire attendance to the ceremony mauls, paws and kisses them to death. They were very graceful about it, perhaps this is part of the rehearsal dinner and they knew what to expect and learned to just deal with it.
The reception started as all good wedding receptions do: with a long-ass line at the bar. No time for small-talk, no time for bathroom visits- people need their drink damn it! I oughta know I was in the first group of impatient alchies waiting for the next drop of fermented barley and malt. The rest of the night was spent harassing the brides, the photographer and other people I hadn’t seen in a while. The amazing thing was running into so many bartenders who are still bartending these days. Guess it still pays the rent. Perhaps I was never the star bartender I thought I was. I keep hearing how it’s such a lucrative career. I never saw it that way. It was an exhausting, tiresome neverendingdrunkenfest. And I’m not talking just about me either.
As the night progressed and the wedding script played on, it looked to me that perhaps it is possible to really love somebody- whatever that means, ‘cause love takes various forms in Life. Perhaps it was the fermented liquids swimming in my veins, perhaps it was the closeness I felt to some of the friends that were there. Perhaps it was my unusual exhaustion at mentally, sometimes verbally, ridiculing those I consider ridiculous. Who knows? There are still no solid answers in my head and it is perhaps that we’re not meant to always use our heads for Life.
The funeral I couldn’t make- it was thousands of miles away, happened sort of unexpectedly even though she was to be a whopping 93 and it went very quickly. The great-grandmother is gone for good this time, separated by more than just physical mileage now. I am left wondering why she never did answer all my questions as to the course of her Life, thus my grandmother’s Life thus my own mother’s and my own. So many questions left unanswered. But she was from a different time, a time where everything was taboo, where inappropriate is not discussed but rather ignored, a time when it’s best to pretend that things were not as they really were.
I don’t necessarily buy the different time theory though- it’s more a mindset that defines a person, a family without time constraints in my view. I still see people right now- families that pretend what really isn’t there, that sugarcoat their existence and their children’s behavior for the sake of not looking “bad” to others I suppose. For who else are they kidding I wonder- they know the truth, the facts as they are really happening and yet choose to recreate them. Even if they change the facts, create their own facts, they know about the truth and knowing what they know is partly their reason for concealing or not revealing the truth.
I have created a story in my head about what really happened in the early 30’s. How my grandmother was really conceived, because there’s a lack of facts. No one speaks about it, some because they really do not know, others because they are following the great-grandmother’s lead to keep everything under wraps, out of sight. Why this inability to recognize and embrace the truth? Didn’t she realize that in keeping all these secrets she denied me of facts I desperately need to know? Then again it wasn’t about me; it was about her. But we are inextricably linked she and I. Didn’t she owe me the truth if I asked for it?
From her I’ll never know, the remaining link is my grandmother, but she is also thousands of miles away, physically and emotionally. She’s too entwined with Jesus, the Father and the Holy Ghost to realize what it is I need from her. She is burdened by the weight of her age and the nagging feeling that we, her family, are all going to hell because we are not embracing Christ. She has told me a few stories, stories linked to her past which I consider my own. Perhaps I’ll have the chance with her to hear what I need to hear, to reconstruct what really happened based on facts from her, which, I suspect, will be closer to the truth I now hold.
The other part of the weekend involved a wedding. The wedding was indeed everything you hear it’s supposed to be. Happy, flowers, dresses, champagne, good music, sweet vows, lots of tears, family and a whole cadre of the too-cool-for-school peoples gracing both the ceremony at the Botanical Garden and at the reception as well. Running towards the double doors as directed by the rent-a-cop on duty, we made it just in time to see the second or third bridesmaid walking up. Then the brides emerged and the ceremony started. It was very nice, inexplicably nice. I wonder if marrying couples hate standing by as the entire attendance to the ceremony mauls, paws and kisses them to death. They were very graceful about it, perhaps this is part of the rehearsal dinner and they knew what to expect and learned to just deal with it.
The reception started as all good wedding receptions do: with a long-ass line at the bar. No time for small-talk, no time for bathroom visits- people need their drink damn it! I oughta know I was in the first group of impatient alchies waiting for the next drop of fermented barley and malt. The rest of the night was spent harassing the brides, the photographer and other people I hadn’t seen in a while. The amazing thing was running into so many bartenders who are still bartending these days. Guess it still pays the rent. Perhaps I was never the star bartender I thought I was. I keep hearing how it’s such a lucrative career. I never saw it that way. It was an exhausting, tiresome neverendingdrunkenfest. And I’m not talking just about me either.
As the night progressed and the wedding script played on, it looked to me that perhaps it is possible to really love somebody- whatever that means, ‘cause love takes various forms in Life. Perhaps it was the fermented liquids swimming in my veins, perhaps it was the closeness I felt to some of the friends that were there. Perhaps it was my unusual exhaustion at mentally, sometimes verbally, ridiculing those I consider ridiculous. Who knows? There are still no solid answers in my head and it is perhaps that we’re not meant to always use our heads for Life.
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