This is my maternal grandmother Rose, we called her Mema. I could go on for days about this picture, it is my favorite of her. Mema has been gone for many years now, but somehow continues to be one of the greatest teachers I've ever known. I have yet to meet a person with a greater spirit than her, she could find beauty in anything, and made great effort to help others do the same. Mema was my first yoga teacher, her energy was infectious. She taught me to sit or lie a certain way and connect deeply to my breath. Mema also taught me to stand tall and have good posture by standing regularly up against a door. Please understand, this was not about looking a certain way or being lady like, there were no beauty pageant plans in Mema's sights, she just wanted me to know how good it felt to stand tall, to stand proud.
Mema was a city girl, raised in Brooklyn, New York. When I am 90 I will still recall her voice and thick, hysterical accent with perfect clarity. I'm not sure how it is possible, it's been about 20 years that she's been gone, but I remember every single thing about her. I remember how meticulous her home was. Certainly not because she was fussy, just orderly by nature. She taught me how to pack a suitcase. Did you know that if you lie clothes flat instead of folded you can bring TEN times the amount of clothing and everything is wrinkle free! Speaking of, each day Mema made her bed with such patience and skill, there would not be a chance in hell the bed making police would find a single wrinkle, from the bottom sheet to bedspread, no way! Until the grandchildren would come over and play, cuddle, rearrange pillows and hang out on this very perfect bed. She never said a word, just laughed right along with us.
Mema and Pop-pop (my grandfather, another post) would come to dinner almost every Sunday growing up. They'd arrive in the afternoon and stay until 60 Minutes was over. Sometimes she would bring Pizelles from the Italian bakery near her. We'd go for walks, she'd remind us to breathe fresh air, we would laugh and laugh and laugh. She made everything better.
I suppose this post is a little personal and maybe of little relevance to most who will read it, but every day for 20 years I have thought of her. Whenever anything changes in my life or in the world I always wish she were along for the ride, to hear her take on it all. I suppose in many ways she is. This blog for example is fairly new to me, she would so dig it, and she'd find all of you interesting, funny, and kind.
Below is Mema's button collection as it remains. I have used some in a project that I'll share at another time. They are in the prescription bottles she placed them in years ago, nestled inside this children's shoebox. The shoes went on the feet of one of her three children, the box would hold these buttons for the next 50 years. Nothing wasted, ever.
Of course if Mema were here, she wouldn't have any of the jumbled up nature of this assortment, she would see this as an opportunity to straighten, bring order and harmony. She'd say enthusiastically, with that unforgettable Brooklyn beat, "Awww...Heather, come here, let's arrange these to make it special and nice, it'll be fun!" And certainly, straightening this box of buttons would become the most fun I'd ever had.
