September 23, 2009
September 3, 2009
August 31, 2009
August 17, 2009
Remembering the Greats
This is Zoë's great-grandmother, Nanna.
She's one of Zoë's three living great-grandmothers.
The lucky little girl was born with four. My grandmother Beth, for whom I am named, died in February. We called her Mame.
The two Beths, circa 1982.
Zoë was also born with two living great-grandfathers. But now she only has one. My grandfather Pape, who was married to Mame for 63 years, died in April.
Mame and Pape
He had been bedridden since December, and spent most of his hours gazing out the window, dreaming of sailboats and Biscayne Bay. But when he saw Zoë, and she saw him, they recognized each other immediately.
Both wide-eyed, both grinning, both free.
I can still picture that afternoon, the way the sunlight seeped through the blinds, the creases of his papery hands, the glistening blue of his smiling eyes.
So much of who we are is what we remember - our memories shape us, connect us, tether us to people, places, moments. Every now and then, I am struck by the realization that Zoë won't remember this time. At least not in a conscious, cerebral way. I have to believe that this year's moments are ingrained in her somewhere deep down, though, like the innermost rings on a tree's concentric lifeline.
I believe that, in part, because of Nanna.
Nanna, whose memory is so elusive, she can't remember where she lives, or who I am, exactly, or that her mother is no longer alive. Or what she just did or said. Or the right words.
Nanna, who continually packs and unpacks her things as if she's going on another trip, and who is always politely socializing with the other ladies on her wing - even though she has no idea who they are.
And Nanna, whose arthritic fingers remember every note.
She's one of Zoë's three living great-grandmothers.
The lucky little girl was born with four. My grandmother Beth, for whom I am named, died in February. We called her Mame.
The two Beths, circa 1982.Zoë was also born with two living great-grandfathers. But now she only has one. My grandfather Pape, who was married to Mame for 63 years, died in April.
Mame and PapeNeedless to say, this year has been one of beginnings, and of endings. In six months, my dad became a grandfather for the first time and said goodbye to his parents for the last time. The generations shift; time traipses on.
She did get to meet her great-grandfather Pape on a balmy afternoon in March, just after Mame's service.
***
Zoë never got to meet her great-grandmother Mame. For her, Mame will exist in funny stories of hams packed in suitcases, in memories of cookie jars and fresh-squeezed orange juice, in her love of jigsaw and crossword puzzles that lives on in my father, and in me, and maybe, in Zoë.She did get to meet her great-grandfather Pape on a balmy afternoon in March, just after Mame's service.
He had been bedridden since December, and spent most of his hours gazing out the window, dreaming of sailboats and Biscayne Bay. But when he saw Zoë, and she saw him, they recognized each other immediately.
Both wide-eyed, both grinning, both free.
I can still picture that afternoon, the way the sunlight seeped through the blinds, the creases of his papery hands, the glistening blue of his smiling eyes.
***
So much of who we are is what we remember - our memories shape us, connect us, tether us to people, places, moments. Every now and then, I am struck by the realization that Zoë won't remember this time. At least not in a conscious, cerebral way. I have to believe that this year's moments are ingrained in her somewhere deep down, though, like the innermost rings on a tree's concentric lifeline.
I believe that, in part, because of Nanna.
Nanna, whose memory is so elusive, she can't remember where she lives, or who I am, exactly, or that her mother is no longer alive. Or what she just did or said. Or the right words.
Nanna, who continually packs and unpacks her things as if she's going on another trip, and who is always politely socializing with the other ladies on her wing - even though she has no idea who they are.
And Nanna, whose arthritic fingers remember every note.
Nanna at the Piano from Beth Helfrich on Vimeo.
The music is etched in who she is, whether she consciously remembers it or not.
In the same way, I have to hope that somewhere in Zoë are etchings of Nanna, and Big Daddy, and of Mame and Pape, and Nan and Grandaddy, and Grandma and Grandad: The Greats.
July 19, 2009
So I Lied.
Um, yeah. When I said, "tomorrow?" I really meant "two weeks from now."
You think I'd have learned by now. The more days that pass between postings, the more daunting the task of capturing them becomes. I have Zoë moments piled up to my earlobes right now. Here are a few tidbits from the last two weeks, in no particular order.
My favorite thing about our new "hometown" is that Tuesday afternoons are officially dubbed "Babies and Beers" at the local watering hole.
Seriously. Those are babies. In a bar.
Zoë cut her chin last week while trying to tackle this funnel.
In the bar.
We finally broke out the hiking backpack on a beautiful Saturday at Chimney Rock.
It was a happy day.
Zoë is nine months old. I feel that those nine months have lasted approximately a nanosecond and an eternity at the same time. I want to write something eloquent about this, for posterity, but words fall short. I don't know that I'll ever be able to explain the way - or just how much - I love her.
So I guess I'll just keep on collecting Zoë moments in my heart. And maybe I'll get around to sharing a few with you, too.
Maybe.
You think I'd have learned by now. The more days that pass between postings, the more daunting the task of capturing them becomes. I have Zoë moments piled up to my earlobes right now. Here are a few tidbits from the last two weeks, in no particular order.
My favorite thing about our new "hometown" is that Tuesday afternoons are officially dubbed "Babies and Beers" at the local watering hole.
Seriously. Those are babies. In a bar.
Zoë cut her chin last week while trying to tackle this funnel.
In the bar.
We finally broke out the hiking backpack on a beautiful Saturday at Chimney Rock.
It was a happy day.
Zoë is nine months old. I feel that those nine months have lasted approximately a nanosecond and an eternity at the same time. I want to write something eloquent about this, for posterity, but words fall short. I don't know that I'll ever be able to explain the way - or just how much - I love her.
So I guess I'll just keep on collecting Zoë moments in my heart. And maybe I'll get around to sharing a few with you, too.
Maybe.
July 4, 2009
June, in a nutshell: Part I
I hope to get a series of recaps posted over the next two days; here's the first installment to whet your whistle.
It's a game. I know you like games.
The challenge? Find the common theme in the following June pictures. Find it, and you've pegged an essential component in little Zoë's daily existence; the modus operandi behind everyday forays into this new and exciting world; also, probably the reason she has a cold.
Which one of these is not like the others...
Good luck. And yes, I will address the blue Sahara Desert full-body space suit tomorrow.
It's a game. I know you like games.
The challenge? Find the common theme in the following June pictures. Find it, and you've pegged an essential component in little Zoë's daily existence; the modus operandi behind everyday forays into this new and exciting world; also, probably the reason she has a cold.
Which one of these is not like the others...Good luck. And yes, I will address the blue Sahara Desert full-body space suit tomorrow.
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