the village buzz

when my grandma passed away over christmas, my mom asked my to write something up for someone to read at her service. i wrote it up, emailed it, and my sister got the task of reading it..

i am putting it up here so that any family that was not able to make it could see it too..

I guess I would like to start by saying that it is killing me not to be able to be there. I will be out to see Grandpa in February, so I am hoping we can all get together then.

Like most of the boys who call Manny and Amelia Grandma and Grandpa, I am colorblind. Rather than think of it as a handicap, I think have come to grips with it. I think it has given me a heightened sense of smell and taste. I think it’s this sense that I think of most when I remember Grandma. When I think about it, all the scents of Grandma’s world are still as fresh now as they ever were. It’s often said that one of the smells that never leaves you is the smell of your grandma’s house. I don’t know if there is a much truer statement.

• Grandma’s house - the scent of polished wood, the coast soap bars that she left hidden in the plants, and the lingering scent of Pall Mall non filters still there from before she made grandpa quit smoking in the house. Top this off with a splash of Old Spice.

• The backyard - the scent of orange blossoms (overhanging grandma’s buddies, Luigi and Don Pablo), plums, and a mixture of oak trees and Santa Paula riverbed that hung over Richmond Road. I went back to see this house in August, looking for exactly that magic, but after riding 3,000 miles to get there, and standing in front of the house, I realized that that magical scent was not a part of the house, it was part of Grandma.

• The cooking - I have spent a good deal of the last 20 years trying to figure out how to make my beans smell like grandma’s beans; trying to make my rice smell like Grandma’s rice. I have failed miserably, but I do take comfort in the fact that no matter how long it takes me to get it dialed in, I will know it when I get there.

• Grandma’s Purse - Grandma’s purse was a magical bag. A rigid bamboo structure that for all you knew, was the source of all goodies in the known universe. Grandma also taught me a lesson that I still revere, NEVER get into a woman’s purse. All I knew was when she opened that bag, the whiff of perfume and Wrigley’s gum that sprung out meant that some sort of magic was about to be handed out.

I could go on and on, but I am sure my colorblind relatives know just what I am talking about.

When I think of Grandma, I don’t think of the things that are gone, I think of the things that will be here forever:

• The way people lit up when she laughed.

• The way Pickles used to go insane when she whistled at the door.

• The she could make a glass of chocolate milk or a quesadilla make the whole day better.

• The way I had to do some fast and tricky driving to keep when I followed her to Hi-Ho burger for lunch.

Yes, I will miss Grandma every time I think of the things that she meant to me, every time I think of home, every time I hear Wayne King (which oddly enough does happen), and every time I think of her laugh.. But most of all, I hope that I have learned something from her: Learned how to make people feel happy, secure, and important, learned how to brighten up a room.

Although it would be nice to think I could learn these things, I doubt it. I think Grandma was just someone that doesn’t happen to this world every day. I am just proud that she happened to our family.