Nana Cliches, Crumbs, and Shelters.

Well, quitting my 4th job was a good move. I feel like I can breathe again. It's amazing how freeing up a few hours two days a week makes such a difference both mentally and physically. So now I'm down to just three jobs. Ha!!! Gee, is that too too many? Oh, well. I guess things will fall into place when they're supposed to. I'm getting so much better at not worrying. When I was younger I used to worry all the time. The older I get I realize my Nana really knew what she was talking about when she spit out phrases such as, "Today has enough worries of it's own. Don't worry about tomorrow". Nana was a great one for cliches--especially biblical ones. She loved them as much as she loved her God.

Another one of Nana's favorite cliches was, "You have the world in the palm of your hands, Mary Alice." Nana understood the value of a good cliche for she worked hard her whole life. Nana raised three kids by herself during the depression. I'm sure Nana had many private tribulations. I say private because Nana was a very private lady. Most of her sufferings I learned about from my mother. My mother said she never once heard my grandmother complain, and she had much to complain about. That is truly amazing when you think about the inner strength it takes to never complain. And my mother said she saw my grandmother cry only once. She cried when she buried her wayward alcoholic husband. My mother was a full grown woman when her father died. Her father was never in her life. My mother asked Nana why she was crying. Nana's answer was, "I'm crying for what could have been." Hmmmm. Back then, there was no Alcoholics Anonymous.

Now, my good ol' 84 year-old Aunt Mary likes to tell me what my uncle said whenever he found Aunt Mary worrying. Uncle Warren would say, "Mary, is there anything you can do to change the situation? No, then there's no use worrying about it. Will worrying fix it? Will worrying change it? No. So don't worry." He was definitely Nana's son. Nana probably told him when he was sick as a child in the hospital (he had hemophelia), "Worrying won't add a minute to your day, Warren". ;)

Nana was cool. Everyone liked Nana. She was one of those salt of the earth people. I loved her so much and I miss her everyday. I miss her hand on my knee patting it. I miss the way she would hold my hand even when I was too old to hold hands. She used to spend Tuesdays at my house when I was growing up. I used to run home from school to eat her homecooked concoctions and listen to her stories. Nana always had a story for me. I would sit at the kitchen table, or on a stool by the the sink, listening to her life lessons while I peeled the carrots and potatoes that went into her chicken pot pie. Nana always called me, "My Mary Alice." I can still hear the caring inflection in her voice when she pronounced the MY. Looking back I realize how much Nana knew I needed to be truly special in someone's eyes. Nana was everything to me. When she got too old so that her Tuesday visits had to stop I called her everyday at 3pm to tell her about my school day. Sometimes she would help me with my homework. Even if I already knew the answer I would ask her for help anyway. :) Nana loved a mission.


I remember when Nana was old and living in a nursing home. Sometimes I would be there when my Uncle Warren would come to visit her. My uncle was a lay Eucharistic minister in the Catholic church and would bring my grandmother communion. He inherited Nana's love for faith. Nothing made Nana happier or prouder than to receive communion from Uncle Warren. He took such good care of Nana. He would ever so tenderly wipe her mouth with a kleenex. I remember thinking how this was the circle of life unfolding. Growing up I would hear Nana and my mother tell stories about how much time my grandmother spent in the hospital with my uncle when he was a boy. And then years later life reversed itself. My uncle was taking care of the woman who took care of him. My uncle was the definition of a "real" man. He was good man who worked hard to take care of his seven kids. And he was a good son. I miss him too.

On another note, I haven't talked about my homeless buddy Howard in a while. I saw him yesterday. I sense there might be trouble brewing on the street corner. Lately, there's been a new guy hanging outside the church. This has been worrying me. Howard looks a little disconcerted. The other guy seems to be a smooth operator. Howard is sincere. The other guy is much younger than Howard and he's spry. Howard is getting on in age and is floppy. Yesterday when the other guy was out of earshot I asked Howard, "Howard, is that guy moving in on your territory?" Howard just grunted. I said, "Well, is he?" Howard said, "Argh, I'm alright but he ain't nice." I said, "What? Why?" Howard growled, "He goes inside the church and steals money from ladies purses when they ain't wathcin' They had to lock the other doors. Only the middle one is open. I never go inside the church and bother folk!" I said, "I know. You're good. He's sneaky!" All I know is the other guy will not be getting any of my homemade cookies anytime soon. Only Howard will. Howard is respectful and special. Speaking of Howard's cookies--poor Howard lost out on his cookies this week. Yesterday I forgot to bring them and apologized to him. Howard just smiled. Then when I got home I forgot that I placed them in a bag and set them on a chair by the door. Without thinking I sat down on the cookies. Now they're cookie crumbs. :( Might make a good crust for a pie or a cheesecake. Oh, now, there's an idea!

Hmmm, this post really has nothing to do with my disseration, does it? Maybe I should go and read a paper or two from the box I finally opened. I'll leave you with this song: Out of the Rain by Etta James. Thinking about my Nana, my uncle, and my Howard makes me realize how many obstacles they each overcame to reach some shelter.




Be back later ...