This Sunday night, I attended my Grandma Muriel’s 92nd birthday. For those of you who have never had the honor of meeting my grandma, she’s a baller. Just by virtue of the fact that she was born in 1922, she’s original, original gangster — plus, as a young mother in the 50’s, she started a one room library in the rear of the Union Hotel that grew, under her watch, into this library. She’s an insatiable book-eater, she makes a mean egg pancake, she will annihilate you in Scrabble — and she is equal parts kindness and sass. She’s a real lady, and I’m insanely lucky to be swimming in her matriarchal gene pool.
Longtime readers know I’m blessed with a tight-knit family. My uncle balks at my dietary restrictions (but always orders me a baby pizza sans cheese, nonethess). My godson and his sister each glom onto one of my legs and pummel each other while shrieking with glee, then abandon that game to pummel me and call me a pumpkin butt or a dolphin head. It’s basically the Kennedy Compound, but more than that, it’s emblematic of the balance I’m always seeking — all of these people in one room who ferociously love each other despite their differences; whose differences combined create stasis; consistency in chaos; a flashing, neon reminder of what matters and what doesn’t. Family matters, for example. Relationships matter.
Work matters, too. Lately, I’ve been all work, and I love my work, but when I don’t make time to diversify, my whole perspective becomes skewed. I start to forget how to be a person — how to be a friend, how to take care of myself, how very much my well-being hinges on my ability to express myself in a way that I’m proud of. It’s nice to have this blog as a reference, when I legitimately consign to oblivion the basic truths that I like to write personal essays and also make stuff; I need contact with humans who know my wild-woman roots and humans with whom I can put down new roots; I need a venue in which to be noisy and mischievous but still understood, as well as a venue to retreat to, to ponder and create and sleep sometimes and still be understood. Also, I need to remember to eat meals… which has never been a problem for me in my entire life leading up to this point, but I’ve learned that a hangry Rose is an unproductive, cantankerous, joyless Rose. See? Basic.
I’ve also learned that being a whole person takes practice, even if you’ve done the work and you know what makes you you, you actually have to keep at it. Forever. No matter what.
Sooo… that’s me. Say hi so I have reason to believe that this lil blog ain’t dead yet. Namaste.