it's a magical world

My grandmother died tonight. Which means I've lost all three of my grandparents in a little less than three years. (The fourth died before I was born; never had a chance to think of him as Granddaddy.) I guess that's what growing up is: outliving those who came before.

( Grief is weird. )

So my parents were in town last night, and they stayed at my place. This morning, after I'd left for work, my mother used my laptop to google my office location so that they could meet me for lunch. I had 20+ different tabs open, mostly fics I'd seen linked someplace and wanted to read but hadn't had time for yet, accumulated over several weeks(/months?). My mother knows about my fanfic habits, I really don't care what she sees open. She did the google search, then wanted to get back to whatever I'd had open to start with so as not to have interrupted anything. To find the tab I'd had open? She systematically went through and closed every. single. tab. Then couldn't figure out which page I'd been looking at anyway, so she closed Firefox entirely. And Safari, which had a set of work-related tabs open. And Word, with my performance report.

Every single fic I'd had open waiting for me? Gone. No idea where I'd found them in the first place. The one I was reading this morning I'd opened recently enough to show up in my recent history, but none of the others. Or the rec lists I was slowly working through and therefore had open tabs for. I only bookmark things I know I'm going to go back to multiple times; for short-term "oh I'll get to this later" fics, I just, y'know. Save a tab.

GODDAMNIT MOTHER.

My grandfather was a scrawny Jewish kid from Brooklyn. His parents owned a shop. I have no idea what they sold. Penny candy was involved somehow, according to my mom's childhood memories, but that was probably just at the register. His dad was born in France, immigrated to America to avoid the Great War and wound up serving in it anyway. His mom was born in Russia. I don't know her story. Her name was Sarah. I was almost named after her, but my mom changed her mind.

My grandfather grew up really close with his older brother and their two cousins, also brothers, all in Brooklyn. One of those two cousins grew up to take on the stage name Stubby Kaye. He originated the role of Nicely Nicely Johnson in "Guys and Dolls" on Broadway. My grandfather loved to go to Broadway shows. He idolized his cousin for making it big.

My grandfather was nineteen when Pearl Harbor was bombed. He joined the Navy. He shouldn't have been allowed in because he was colorblind, but everyone taking the color test was shown the same series of images. His last name was Rakow. By the time the tester got to the Rs, my grandfather had memorized the correct answers by listening to the guys ahead of him. No one ever found out that the only color he could see clearly was red.

My grandfather was assigned to a boat in the South Pacific. I don't know what his job was, or what kind of ship it was exactly. I know it was a small boat that followed the aircraft carriers around. When pilots coming in to the carrier missed and landed in the ocean instead, my grandfather's ship would go pick them up. Because their boat was so small, they lacked a lot of the luxury amenities that the huge aircraft carriers had. When they picked up a pilot, they refused to give him back unless the carrier sent them tubs of ice cream in exchange. I think that sounds like a fair trade.

My grandfather met my grandmother at a party in Brooklyn after the war. She didn't think much of him at first. The first time he proposed to her, she rejected him. The second time it took. One of those proposals was on a carriage ride through Central Park. The other was at the top of the Empire State Building. My grandfather held her at the edge, looking down a hundred-odd stories, and said that if she didn't agree to marry him, he'd throw her off. I honestly can't remember if that was the one she accepted. I don't think it was. It makes for a good story, though.

My grandfather was a salesman. He never told me any stories about his work.

My grandfather was an amateur actor. He spent a good thirty-odd years performing in his local community theaters in Connecticut. He had the time of his life. He also loved film. After retirement, he made decent cash on the side working as a professional extra in movies. He had a list of the big name stars he'd been in the background of scenes for. But I think he loved theater best. He cried at my college graduation, and told me he was so proud and thrilled for me because I was going to make a living in the theater. My parents have always supported my choice of career; my grandfather celebrated it.

My grandfather loved to travel. Every year he chose a new country as his destination. He had a wall of framed photographs of his travels -- at least thirty or forty different countries, from Indonesia to Greece to Argentina to Kenya to the Galapagos Islands and everything in between. The only continent he never hit was Antarctica.

My grandfather died this morning, peacefully, in his sleep. He was eighty-eight years old. I should be so lucky to live half as fulfilling a life as he lead.

I love you, Grandpa. Bon voyage.

I have some Sports Nights icons now. I seem to be going through a textless phase of icon-making. Anyway, I think I shall use this as my directing icon, because it is the control room and Dana is kind of like a director, in a TV news sort of way. I wish I could give orders straight to my actors' ears in the middle of a play soemtimes, that's for damn sure. Anyway, last night was the first rehearsal for one of the two short plays I'm directing as part of a new works festival in June, and oh, bliss. It's been so long since I've directed my own damn show, I almost forgot how happy it makes me. I mean, first rehearsal, so some awkwardness, and getting the cast sorted out, and flying by the seat of my pants as always, but that's part of what makes it fun.

And tomorrow I'm leaving work at noonish to get on a plane and fly home for Passover, which makes me very happy indeed. I've missed NYC. Family shall be, as always, stressful and argumentative and endlessly entertaining, and there will be seder, and possibly catching up with old friends, and a day and a half off of work, and respite from the general suckiness and loneliness that has been my life in Chicago of late.

I think, secretly, the best part of moving to D.C. will be taking me that much closer to home. Not my parents, necessarily -- we get along much better when we only see each other a handful of times per year -- but I really am an East Coaster, and more specifically a New Yorker, at heart. Chicago's a great town, it's entirely possible I'll move back eventually. But it's not home.

In other news, I started reading Kushiel's Dart a couple of days ago, and I'm loving it to bits. Although every now and then it hits me that I'm reading incredibly kinky smut at work. :D

And, of course, with all the Harry Potter madness, I managed to completely forget that today -- er, yesterday -- was my mother's birthday. Oops.

Back in Chicago, after spending the past week back home with the parents. They were on their best behavior due to the presence of the boyfriend, but still, PARENTS. I'm more exhausted now than I was BEFORE this vacation. I've got to meet with my uni department head tomorrow at 12:30 to talk about how I want to completely change my B.A. project (eep), but I think I won't go into work after. I need a day just to myself, to destress a bit.

And I need need NEED to get working on that xmmficathon fic. At least I've been thinking about it, and have some idea of what to do with it. I just need to get rid of this soul-crushing writer's block that has plagued me all summer.

But for now, methinks, bedtime.

An e-mail from my mother:

I left Friday night for Connecticut and just got back last night. We moved Grandma into the Alzheimer's home, and she's doing really well. Didn't want to go, but by the next day had forgotten, of course, and was totally enjoying it. Talking to the other women (who knows what kind of conversations they have) and smiling and looking quite comfortable. It's a huge relief. Robin [her sister] and I spent two days cleaning out the house of all kinds of crap they'd collected. Filled five trash bags and barely made a dent, but things are looking much better. Grandpa's doing okay, though now that we've left I imagine he'll be a bit lonely. But he'll pull himself together.

Well. So that's that, then. This has been a long time in coming. We found out that my grandmother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's almost five years ago, on Passover. I remember my cousin and I locked ourselves in a bathroom for half an hour, crying together. No one ever actually told Grandma her diagnosis; I don't know if she ever figured it out, or if her mind started going before she realized what was happening. My grandfather did a good job caring for her as her condition slowly deteriorated, but he's got health problems of his own, and I guess the strain just got to be too much. Almost sixty years of marriage, and it ends like this. I wonder how long she'll remember his name. I know she doesn't really remember mine, although she fakes it well. The worst part is, physically, she's in fantastic health for a woman her age. I wouldn't be surprised if she outlived her children. It's just her mind that's almost gone. What sort of a life is that? I'm relieved that this last transition for her went smoothly, but it still hurts like hell.

There are so many stories she'll never be able to tell me.

So here's a big "fuck you" to every redneck bastard who opposes stem cell research, research that could help cure or at least ameliorate this disease, because this is my grandmother, and no one should have to go through this.

My mother, having mastered the finer intricacies of the word "meh," just sent me an e-mail demanding an explanation of "woot."

You have to know my mother to fully appreciate how ridiculous she would sound saying "woot."

Current location: suburbs of Chicago, Illinois.

This morning I was introduced to about five trillion relatives I've a) never met before in my life and b) will likely never meet again. Blech. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was about tewnty degrees cooler. Also, one of the great disappointments of life is to be introduced to a fucking gorgeous guy, and then learn that he's your third-cousin. Bah. Fecking relatives.

Six hours of car riding. Not too bad. But I'm worried about what happens when I run out of CDs.

The University of Chicago is NOT in a pretty neighborhood. Nor is it really in Chicago (more on the outskirts). I am very disappointed. Northwestern, however, is in a fucking gorgeous neighborhood. But, alas, also not really IN in Chicago. On the bonus side, it has humongous fish. These fish could swallow ducks whole. I wonder if accidents like that ever happen. "Sorry, Mr. Duck, I thought you were a loaf of bread..." Right, that's my cue to stop thinking.

Somehow managed not to mention LotR even once all day. ...Oops. Well, I can't work on the Fic From Hell (TM), because we're staying at my parents' friend's house, and the computer is in her bedroom, and I don't want to give the poor lady a heart attack. Or be forced to answer any questions about RPS. So it goes. I'm thinking about the fic, though. Thinking about how I'm NEVER gonna get through this supposed smut scene...

Why I like family gatherings:
1. Food. Constantly. And usually GOOD food.
2. Cousins. Who are about as nutso as I am.
3. Food.
4. Boat trips across the bay at 1 AM, led by said wacko cousins.
5. Food.
Why I don't like family gatherings:
1. The only thing I have in common with these people are my genes.
2. Guilt trip every time I visit the computer.
3. My father yelling at me for being antisocial.

Yeah. It's good to be home and alone again.