Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Sunday, 5 March 2017
Friday, 25 July 2014
Wednesday, 23 July 2014
Tuesday, 15 July 2014
Pain ...
Growth is
painful. Change is painful. But nothing is as painful as staying stuck
somewhere you don't belong.
- Mandy Hale
Wednesday, 9 July 2014
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
Sunday, 6 July 2014
Tuesday, 24 June 2014
Accept ...
“The first
step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance.”
– Nathaniel Branden
Wednesday, 18 June 2014
Saturday, 14 June 2014
Great loves ...
"What it felt like to be so wanted, so adored! No one had ever felt like that about me. It was all so dramatic, too. Always in the wee, small hours when it seemed to Bogie and me that the world was ours - that we were the world. At those times, we were."
Lauren Bacall on Humphrey Bogart
"Our love was deep and true, even though the fact that we couldn't live with each other any more than we couldn't live without each other sometimes made it hard for outsiders to understand. All I know is that if Frank had lost me or I'd lost him during those month, our worlds would have shattered."
Ava Gardner on Frank Sinatra
"Yes I've been known to like ladies ... and I do. But with her, it's different. Everything about her is different than with any other gal."
Clark Gable on Carole Lombard
"Sexiness wears thin after a while and beauty fades, but to be married to a man who makes you laugh every day, ah, now that's a real treat."
Joanne Woodward on Paul Newman
"She's like the tide, she comes, she goes, she runs to me ... In my poor and tormented youth, I had always dreamed of this woman, and now, when this dream occasionally returns, I extend an arm and she is here, by my side. If you have not met or known her, you have lost much in life."
Richard Burton on Elizabeth Taylor
"Realize that the memories I cherish most are not the first night successes, but of simple, everyday things: walking through our garden in the country after rain; sitting outside a cafe in Provence, drinking vin de pays; staying at a little hotel in an English market town with Larry; in the early days after our marriage, when he was serving in the Fleet Air Army, and I was touring Scotland, so that we had to make long treks to spend weekends together."
Vivian Leigh on Laurence Olivier
"We are going to be together forever, my E. It is our destiny, the path that was always meant to be."
K on Elaine
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
Sunday, 1 June 2014
Missing Babcia ...
It's been exactly a year since I last saw Babcia. I miss her terribly.
After having lost all my grandparents when I was in my early 20's, I was lucky enough to have been given the gift of Babcia. K introduced us back in 2011 on one of his visits to Montreal; soon after, I began visiting her on my own. The visits were never a chore - we would sit for hours while she shared stories of her past, stories of K's childhood. We would hold hands while she asked me about my kids and Jack. She always asked about Jack. I would bring her up to speed on my kids and on K's kids. Later, I would call K and share with him everything the nurses had told me about her health, as well as everything Babcia had told me. Well, everything 'cept the things she had asked me to keep secret, that is. Many times, K would be surprised to learn something about his own past (or Babcia's) that he had never known. Finally, I would send him that visit's video. Before leaving Babcia each time, I would record a video for K (or his kids) ... Babcia sending him (or them) a brief message, her blessing, and her love. She became quite the video star.
K and I would often marvel at Babcia's memory. Never was there a time when she would repeat herself when telling us stories. Sometimes, she would refer to something that she had already told me, reminding me that I already knew such and such before continuing the new story. But rehashing anything? Babcia never did. A woman in her 90's and her memory was better than K's and mine combined.
Babcia didn't do a lot of complaining, despite being bedridden, and in pain a lot of the time. Something she didn't appreciate too much was the food at the home, to the point where she wouldn't eat a lot and would subsequently lose weight. Trying to prevent this, I started bringing her meals when I would visit, in hopes of finding something that would get her to eat. Borscht was one of those things. She would tuck in to the bowl and not look up again until swallowing the last spoonful. Other times, she would make special requests - cold cuts and rye bread from Zytynsky's, Ginger Ale, or a pasta dish that she asked me for several times. As I prepped the plate for her, she would ask the inevitable (inevitable for her!) question ... "Did you put in a lot of onions?" Ahhhh, Babcia and her onions!
At this time last year, I had received a call from the Polish Home telling me that she had been brought to the hospital. Not an uncommon event, given her age, her frail health, and the fact that I was her emergency contact here in town. After giving K a quick call, I raced to the hospital. Babcia was worse than I had ever seen her. She was non-reactive, her breathing was laboured, her hands were ice cold, and she needed assistance to breathe. As luck would have it, the pneumologist had just examined her and was able to fill me in on her condition. He didn't make it sound good. I decided then to tell K to hop on a flight and get here as quickly as he could. Then I went back to Babcia's room and begged her to hold on. Unsure of whether or not she could hear me, I told her that K was coming to see her and that she had to stay until he got there. After picking him up at the airport the following day, we headed back to the hospital. I tried as best I could to prepare K for how sick Babcia looked, for how un-Babcia she seemed. We donned gowns and pulled on gloves before heading into Babcia's room. K leaned over and spoke to his grandmother and this woman, who hadn't opened her eyes, who hadn't taken a breath without the aide of a respirator, who hadn't moved a muscle ... slowly and just barely moved her hand. I was shocked. But then again, why wouldn't she have made the effort for her beloved K? He spoke to her for a while and then he and I sat down. We stayed there all afternoon, the hiss of the respirator as our soundtrack, and watched as the staff came and went. Luck was on our side again, because the pneumologist came by again and K got to speak to him about Babcia's prognosis. The doctor brought up the question of not resuscitating Babcia should she deteriorate to that point, a subject that I also tried to discuss with K. Yeah, it was that serious. The doctor left and we sat back down. As evening approached, we decided to leave and get some dinner. K walked over the side of Babcia's bed and leaned over. Taking her hand, he told Babcia that we were going to eat and that we'd be back in the morning. Babcia slowly and just barely nodded, surprising us both.
Babcia passed away before dawn, before we returned to the hospital. I'm convinced that this wonderful woman had held on for her treasured K, but then made sure to spare him having to see her pass away. This woman, who had lived a very hard life without complaints, who had sacrificed much to raise her only grandson, this woman whom I had come to love as much as my own grandmothers, was gone.
I miss hearing Babcia's voice calling me 'Elainey'. I miss how she could never quite grasp what K does for a living, despite him explaining it to her on several occasions. I miss hearing her talk about her dog, Skippy ... the white one or the brown one. I miss the tales about St-Calixte. I will miss spending Christmas with her, as I done for her last two Christmases. I miss the way she would smile at me, which was nothing like the million watt smile she would wear when her K would come to visit. I miss so many things about Babcia and our visits. But I'll always be grateful that K shared his Babcia with me.
After having lost all my grandparents when I was in my early 20's, I was lucky enough to have been given the gift of Babcia. K introduced us back in 2011 on one of his visits to Montreal; soon after, I began visiting her on my own. The visits were never a chore - we would sit for hours while she shared stories of her past, stories of K's childhood. We would hold hands while she asked me about my kids and Jack. She always asked about Jack. I would bring her up to speed on my kids and on K's kids. Later, I would call K and share with him everything the nurses had told me about her health, as well as everything Babcia had told me. Well, everything 'cept the things she had asked me to keep secret, that is. Many times, K would be surprised to learn something about his own past (or Babcia's) that he had never known. Finally, I would send him that visit's video. Before leaving Babcia each time, I would record a video for K (or his kids) ... Babcia sending him (or them) a brief message, her blessing, and her love. She became quite the video star.
K and I would often marvel at Babcia's memory. Never was there a time when she would repeat herself when telling us stories. Sometimes, she would refer to something that she had already told me, reminding me that I already knew such and such before continuing the new story. But rehashing anything? Babcia never did. A woman in her 90's and her memory was better than K's and mine combined.
Babcia didn't do a lot of complaining, despite being bedridden, and in pain a lot of the time. Something she didn't appreciate too much was the food at the home, to the point where she wouldn't eat a lot and would subsequently lose weight. Trying to prevent this, I started bringing her meals when I would visit, in hopes of finding something that would get her to eat. Borscht was one of those things. She would tuck in to the bowl and not look up again until swallowing the last spoonful. Other times, she would make special requests - cold cuts and rye bread from Zytynsky's, Ginger Ale, or a pasta dish that she asked me for several times. As I prepped the plate for her, she would ask the inevitable (inevitable for her!) question ... "Did you put in a lot of onions?" Ahhhh, Babcia and her onions!
At this time last year, I had received a call from the Polish Home telling me that she had been brought to the hospital. Not an uncommon event, given her age, her frail health, and the fact that I was her emergency contact here in town. After giving K a quick call, I raced to the hospital. Babcia was worse than I had ever seen her. She was non-reactive, her breathing was laboured, her hands were ice cold, and she needed assistance to breathe. As luck would have it, the pneumologist had just examined her and was able to fill me in on her condition. He didn't make it sound good. I decided then to tell K to hop on a flight and get here as quickly as he could. Then I went back to Babcia's room and begged her to hold on. Unsure of whether or not she could hear me, I told her that K was coming to see her and that she had to stay until he got there. After picking him up at the airport the following day, we headed back to the hospital. I tried as best I could to prepare K for how sick Babcia looked, for how un-Babcia she seemed. We donned gowns and pulled on gloves before heading into Babcia's room. K leaned over and spoke to his grandmother and this woman, who hadn't opened her eyes, who hadn't taken a breath without the aide of a respirator, who hadn't moved a muscle ... slowly and just barely moved her hand. I was shocked. But then again, why wouldn't she have made the effort for her beloved K? He spoke to her for a while and then he and I sat down. We stayed there all afternoon, the hiss of the respirator as our soundtrack, and watched as the staff came and went. Luck was on our side again, because the pneumologist came by again and K got to speak to him about Babcia's prognosis. The doctor brought up the question of not resuscitating Babcia should she deteriorate to that point, a subject that I also tried to discuss with K. Yeah, it was that serious. The doctor left and we sat back down. As evening approached, we decided to leave and get some dinner. K walked over the side of Babcia's bed and leaned over. Taking her hand, he told Babcia that we were going to eat and that we'd be back in the morning. Babcia slowly and just barely nodded, surprising us both.
Babcia passed away before dawn, before we returned to the hospital. I'm convinced that this wonderful woman had held on for her treasured K, but then made sure to spare him having to see her pass away. This woman, who had lived a very hard life without complaints, who had sacrificed much to raise her only grandson, this woman whom I had come to love as much as my own grandmothers, was gone.
I miss hearing Babcia's voice calling me 'Elainey'. I miss how she could never quite grasp what K does for a living, despite him explaining it to her on several occasions. I miss hearing her talk about her dog, Skippy ... the white one or the brown one. I miss the tales about St-Calixte. I will miss spending Christmas with her, as I done for her last two Christmases. I miss the way she would smile at me, which was nothing like the million watt smile she would wear when her K would come to visit. I miss so many things about Babcia and our visits. But I'll always be grateful that K shared his Babcia with me.
Monday, 19 May 2014
Wednesday, 14 May 2014
More ...
“I can’t think of anything but nights with you.”
| — | Zelda Fitzgerald to Scott Fitzgerald, 1919 |
Monday, 5 May 2014
Monday, 28 April 2014
Thursday, 24 April 2014
Tuesday, 22 April 2014
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