I have great difficulty accessing memories of my grandmother. I don't mean to say that I can't remember her, that isn't exactly it. Every hour, every minute, every second of every day of my life I can think of her and access a memory to share. I tell a lot of stories to my kids and friends that involve Gram. I haven't forgotten her; I can't. The problem is that when I want to write about her I suddenly freeze up and forget how we were when we bantered, how she made me laugh, how she made everyone around her laugh. How she made me feel safe wrapped in her arms. I can only get so far, and then the memories seem to drop out of sight as if they are hiding.
My standard excuse is that she is so much a part of who I am that I find it impossible to tease her out of my memories so they can stand alone in my writing. I don't now for sure if that is true or not, but it will work for now.
But if in any given moment watching TV, of all things, I catch a glimpse of Carol Burnett, the Saturday evenings of my life come flooding back. The memories are so strong that I can't seem to sit through a 30 second clip on the Emmy Awards without beginning to bawl.
Every Saturday night at 10:00 we would sit our respective seats, me on the couch Gram in her chair under her lamp, her cigarette smoke curling up into the lamp as it made its way toward to ceiling to hover above us. We watched with anticipation as Ms. Burnett walked out onto the stage in her designer dress for her opening monologue. At some point in her monologue, if memory serves, she would tell the audience who designed her dress. I have forgotten every single designer save for Bob Mackie. We got to know his designs so well that we could spot them on the Red Carpet at the Emmy and Oscar Awards. (The most outrageous outfits that Cher wore were almost always a Mackie design.)
We loved the skits that Carol, her regulars and her guest stars would act out for us. We loved the end of the show when she would sing her signature song:
I'm so glad we had this time together
Just to have a laugh or sing a song
Seems we just got started and before you know it
Comes the time we have to say, 'So long.'
Then she would tug at her ear lobe and wave and walk off stage.
At some point she explained the ear tugging. She was raised primarily by her grandmother. At the end of every show, the tug as a "secret" signal to that beloved grandmother. My goodness, I can't read or write about it without stifling the sobs that jettison up my throat. My eyes tear up and I want to sit and cry and cry because I miss Gram. I have to stop writing because–well because I can't see the damn keyboard.
*sniff*
So, do I have a point? Yes I do, in an abstract sort of way. My point is that I want to honor someone who was, and is, so important to me. I want to honor her in my writing, but I am still struggling to find a way to do that, to find a way to access the memories without accessing the tears. She touched a lot of people, so maybe the way to retrieve those memories locked inside of me is to ask some of those other folks to share what they remember about her.
Maybe.
