As the employee of a Jewish agency (ask me about Tzedekah!), I did no real work in October. Last week, instead of erecting a tent in my backyard for meals and slumber, I celebrated the end of Succoth with the traditional gentile trip to Columbus, Ohio.
The big news for my Clan back in Ohio is that drunken and bitter Grandma, famous for such lines as "Your family IS shit!" has stopped drinking and entered therapy, and some kind of miracle has occurred. I am thinking of the show "Touched by an Angel." My Grandma is preparing to die by righting her wrongs and trying to attend to the eight children she raised with her alcoholic husband. She is an angel, although not some silly one--she still yells and she will not tolerate any bullshit. She is a tiny mirror reflecting a shard of what God is like. I maintain that God does not put up with any bullshit. It's like the most hurt part of her become the most loving, and all the other stuff that made her my Grandma stayed the same, as evidenced by the fact that we couldn't reach her until the OSU game halftime, and she made me a really strong cup of coffee with honey in it.
I just wrote Jessica Hopper an email, and am sort of nervous about it. Writing to the people I have attached a sort of specialness to makes me nervous, but I also love a painful personal challenge, so it evens out. I am also writing to men on the internet, and one or two is supposed to call me. This is also a horrible personal challenge, so while Peace Corps left me destroyed for American life and my work is a exercise in emotional pain, I can still get that Xtreme rush from the internet. Writing to people on the internet. Writing on my blog. Blogity blog.
The big news for my Clan back in Ohio is that drunken and bitter Grandma, famous for such lines as "Your family IS shit!" has stopped drinking and entered therapy, and some kind of miracle has occurred. I am thinking of the show "Touched by an Angel." My Grandma is preparing to die by righting her wrongs and trying to attend to the eight children she raised with her alcoholic husband. She is an angel, although not some silly one--she still yells and she will not tolerate any bullshit. She is a tiny mirror reflecting a shard of what God is like. I maintain that God does not put up with any bullshit. It's like the most hurt part of her become the most loving, and all the other stuff that made her my Grandma stayed the same, as evidenced by the fact that we couldn't reach her until the OSU game halftime, and she made me a really strong cup of coffee with honey in it.
I just wrote Jessica Hopper an email, and am sort of nervous about it. Writing to the people I have attached a sort of specialness to makes me nervous, but I also love a painful personal challenge, so it evens out. I am also writing to men on the internet, and one or two is supposed to call me. This is also a horrible personal challenge, so while Peace Corps left me destroyed for American life and my work is a exercise in emotional pain, I can still get that Xtreme rush from the internet. Writing to people on the internet. Writing on my blog. Blogity blog.
posted by St. Renegade at 11:51 PM
1 Comments:
My great Grandma was kind of the opposite. She was sweet as pie all her life until the last couple of months. She would scream at the nurses, "BACK OFF MOTHERFUCKER!!!" We had no idea that she had ever even heard those words. She only watched PBS that we know of. Can you imagine a 90 something year old woman cussing up a blue streak. Oh god that was funny.
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