My grandmother, Minnie

Libra Horoscope for week of May 6, 2010




When a girl is born, her ovaries already contain all the eggs she will ever have. What this means, of course, is that a part of you was in your grandmother's womb as well as in your mother's. Now would be an excellent time to celebrate that primal fact. Your connection with your mother's mother is especially important these days. I suggest you meditate on what gifts and liabilities you received from her (genetic and otherwise), and how you might be able to make better use of the gifts even as you take steps to outwit the liabilities.



The other morning I was all revved up and ready to write about my mother.  Yes.  I was going to open that sealed box and sift through it and purge even more.  A few things interrupted me and this morning I read this insightful bit from  Rob Brezsney's Free Will Astrology site. 
 
Fascinating to turn instead to what came before the pain and abandonment this year and think about my maternal grandmother.  Her real name was Maya, but my grandfather called her Minnie, yes like the Cab Callaway song, Minnie the Moocher.  I can't tell you about all the times I spent with her fondly.  I was my grandfather, David's pride and joy.  Minnie stayed clear of that.  I don't believe it wasn't because she had no interest in me, she did, I felt her love.  I believe it was more because she saw clearly how much my grandfather needed the relationship with me.  To say he doted on me would be putting it mildly.  He was the only man I can think of that really spoiled me, but this isn't about him.
 
I know that Minnie came from Russia.  Her and her brothers and sisters lived on a farm there.  She told my mother stories of hiding in the haystacks from the soldiers.  Minnie and her immediate family all got to America which tells me they had some money and left before things made it impossible for them to go.  I can remember pieces of Minnie.......her sitting in the kitchen alone, plucking feathers from the chicken from the butcher...her love of jigsaw puzzles...her absolute acceptance of my being with them when my mother would drop me off and leave. 
 
I remember sleeping in her bed......her and my grandfather had separate beds in the same room with a table in between.  All the pillows and duvet covers were made by her.  I can still remember the quills of the goose feathers from the pillows and down comforter that kept me warm. 
 
The back of their apartment faced the El(elevated subway) on Gunhill Road in the Bronx.  Minnie used to put out tins of food for the stray cats.  Their apartment was filled with Van Gogh prints in the living room.  I would stare at the prints for hours, absorbing the manic energy that was beneath even the simple sunflower picture.  The apartment was always clean. 
 
I remember the phone ringing in the middle of the night.  That was the beginning of the end of life as I knew it.  My grandmother had died.  I didn't get to say goodbye, although grief became a permanent house guest in my mother's life.  Nothing was explained to me, not even when we went to the cemetary. 
 
I  remember looking at my mother's legs in stockings and thinking how strange it was to see her so devastated.  I absorbed it all, as I usually did in my childhood with no explanation, no comfort, no insight.  I was along for the ride and we arrived after the service ended.  My mother speaking yiddish over her mother's grave....lamenting that she should have listened to her mother....I was witnessing the deluge of regret, guilt, and remorse of a nacissist.  My mother would soon push her regrets away and make everything about her once again. 
 
Very soon after that my grandfather moved to Co-op City.  These were immense buildings built that could be owned, the first condominiums.  He had re=married a woman from the same town as he was in Poland.  Gone was Van Gogh.  Gone was the down comforters and pillows of my childhood.  Gone was the quiet way that I was allowed to have special time with my grandfather.  His new wife, Hannah, was beyond territorial.  She was ALWAYS present on my visits to my grandfather.  Hovering, listening, vying for attention.  She wanted David all to herself and no granddaughter was about to share in that. 
 
My mother often told me that my grandparents had lived beyond frugally, as many people escaping wars and harsh economic times did.  My step grandmother had the best of everything in their new condominium.  She also changed my grandfather's will so that no one would benefit but her. 
 
I was ten years old, visiting my grandfather and his wife while my mother was hospitialized for a suicide attempt.  David suffered a heart attack and died.  His wife packed me up and dropped me off at the hospital where my mother was and left me there. 
 
Gone forever were my grandparents.  I now know that whenever my mother was in crisis she called and they bailed her out of trouble with money to move, relocate, start over.  It didn't matter the reason, my mother had me and my grandparents wouldn't turn their back on her as long as I was there.    I doubt my mother ever thought about when her parents would be gone and that she wouldn't see a penny of her parents' savings.  Our life spiraled downward after that without the strength and foundation of Minnie and David to steady my mother and I. 
 
What I remember most about my grandmother was a steady perserverance, and inner strength in the way she carried her small frame....the way she looked you in the eye and could SEE you.  I am thankful for all the time she gave to me and my grandfather, she must have known that without a father or substitute I would need him so much more than most children.
 
So on this Mother's Day I would like to honor Minnie......russian farmgirl, immigrant to New York, seamstress in the garment district, mother of Harold and Grace, wife of David, and grandmother to me.  Rest in Peace Minnie and thank you for carrying me safely into existence.