Irish and lucky.

My visit to my grandmother’s home was everything I expected. Though we didn’t find time for manicures and pedicures, we did shop every clearance rack we could,  ate delicious meals (artichoke and mushroom chicken, strawberry and banana cream pie, gourmet vegetable pizza, cinnamon rolls, sandwiches), and watched movies. More than anything, we just talked.

Her life has been full of wonder, and I find myself scrambling to remember and write down all the tidbits she has bestowed on me. From how her parents use to cure hangovers with raw oysters swimming in a glass of beer, to visiting Rome with my Grandpa where he picked up a tiny nun so she could see the Pope. I feel like it’s my duty to remember these facts, that I am the person in our family who has the job of documenting, the one who has been blessed with the ability to shut up and listen.

I want to create a tangible piece of history for my self, my family, my children, their children, and so forth. I want them to know where they come from, to be proud to have been born from immigrant Irish farmhands, to appreciate what their ancestors accomplished for them. I want them to know that they worked, they saved, they laughed, they ate, they drank, they were merry. More selfishly, I want to read over their struggles when I can’t find the will power to conquer my own.

Today Grandma called me, just to say she misses me, that the house is so quiet when I’m not around. She talked to her friends, one is still “bitchy,” the other is with her boyfriend, the cat isn’t doing much, she loves me. I was sitting on the couch, the house empty. My forehead was damp from the Fresno heat, too cheap to turn on the air conditioner. An Antonya Nelson collection sat dog eared on my lap as I traced the cover, the phone adding sweat beads to my neck. Almost at a lost for words, I laughed, a laugh tinged with anxiety, always nervous at the expression of love. “Grandma,” I said, “You have no idea how much I miss you, and how much I love you. Thank you, thank you for every little thing.”