A while ago i wrote about my superdeeduper sleuthing abilities and how i tracked down a couple of friends from about 15 years ago. I was very excited about the possibility of hearing from them after all this time. i sent out some e-messages, and waited, hoping they wouldn't just hang around in cyberspace, unread.
in my searching, i also came across Leonie, another girl i knew from back in the day. i sent her a message too. i didn't know her nearly as well; she was my friend Cathrine's new flatmate and during a 3 week visit i stayed with them. well she wrote back! she said that i had become a "legend of the flat", and my heart swelled with a twisted sense of pride. sure, i was a legend just because of the non-stop partying that we did, but a legend nonetheless! Cath and I would stay out all night, sometimes stumbling in at 8am, napping briefly, then swigging back a red bull and starting dance parties in the living room. i was 20! i didn't get hangovers, i had energy to burn, i was invincible! oh the stories i could tell... but won't. nope, i'm a (semi-)respectable grown up now, those secrets are what give me the mischevious twinkle in my eye ;)
it was fantastic to catch up with one old pal, but sadly, it seems that Cath no longer uses facebook, as i suspected and Leonie confirmed. sigh.... one friend found, one still lost. I had also sent out a message to my friend Mike's girlfriend, as she was the nearest contact i could find. I never got a response but know she got my message because her facebook profile photo has been changed. BAH! That annoys me. clearly she has logged into facebook since i messaged her. clearly she would have seen my message. why wouldn't she have the courtesy to respond?? is it so hard to say "i'll pass on the message"? or "we broke up and i don't talk to him anymore"? or if i made a mistake and she's not who i thought a simple "sorry, you have the wrong person" would be nice. YEESH! i hate being ignored. even if you're a crazy psycho bi#ch i would be happier to get a "stay away from my boyfriend" themed hate mail rather than nothing. acknowledge my message damnit!!!
ok, calm down. who needs her anyway. stupid jerkball.
so that's that. i'm not giving up forever though. maybe one day Oprah (or whoever the new Oprah is) will have us on a long-lost-friends-surprise-reunion show. yay. :)
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
the last of the grandparents
As of Saturday, June 4th, I have no more grandparents. At the age of 94, my grandmother - Bobbi, as us grandkids called her - passed away. A nice, long life. A life I didn't really know much about, until after her death. She lived in Montreal, so we were never as close to that side of the family. Family trips grew less frequent as we got older, and several years went by with just a few phone calls on birthdays and holidays.
I flew out to Montreal on Sunday to be with my dad and to attend the funeral. So much was as I remembered it. Same dated furniture that had been around since i was a kid. Same crystal bowls and glasses within the locked cabinet. Same old photographs of long dead relatives on the walls. Same grandparenty feel.
I sat with my dad and his childhood friend as they talked, and his friend took notes for the eulogy. In that hour, listening to them reminisce, i learned a whole new side to my grandmother. She wrote to soldiers during the war. She graduated with a degree from McGill in 1939 - not common for a woman back then. She worked as an X-ray technician and didn't marry until she was almost 30 - also not that common. I looked through her albums. That was her, the little girl with a giant bow in her hair, standing amongst chickens. That was her, the young woman in the bathing suit, smiling with her friends. That was her, the lovestruck bride, gazing at her handsome new husband. That was her, the poised mother with her two young children at her side. And of course, that was her, proud grandma holding her first grandchild's hand (me!) and beaming at the camera. Yes, that was the bobbi i knew. All those pre-bobbi photos... that was a person I was just now glimpsing. Flipping through albums... watching her grow old.
Going through some things, i came across some cards and letters. A whole stack of valentine's day cards from my zaida (grandpa) to her, all with hand written love poems in them. My grandfather has been dead for almost 20 years. I found a few letters i had written her, also over two decades old. that made me smile. I'm glad she kept things like that. I do too.
Anyway, i'm not being very eloquent, i realize. Death doesn't bring out the best writer in me. All my thoughts swirl around, fragemented, and i find it difficult to pull together sentences to do them justice.
I'll just end this here.
I flew out to Montreal on Sunday to be with my dad and to attend the funeral. So much was as I remembered it. Same dated furniture that had been around since i was a kid. Same crystal bowls and glasses within the locked cabinet. Same old photographs of long dead relatives on the walls. Same grandparenty feel.
I sat with my dad and his childhood friend as they talked, and his friend took notes for the eulogy. In that hour, listening to them reminisce, i learned a whole new side to my grandmother. She wrote to soldiers during the war. She graduated with a degree from McGill in 1939 - not common for a woman back then. She worked as an X-ray technician and didn't marry until she was almost 30 - also not that common. I looked through her albums. That was her, the little girl with a giant bow in her hair, standing amongst chickens. That was her, the young woman in the bathing suit, smiling with her friends. That was her, the lovestruck bride, gazing at her handsome new husband. That was her, the poised mother with her two young children at her side. And of course, that was her, proud grandma holding her first grandchild's hand (me!) and beaming at the camera. Yes, that was the bobbi i knew. All those pre-bobbi photos... that was a person I was just now glimpsing. Flipping through albums... watching her grow old.
Going through some things, i came across some cards and letters. A whole stack of valentine's day cards from my zaida (grandpa) to her, all with hand written love poems in them. My grandfather has been dead for almost 20 years. I found a few letters i had written her, also over two decades old. that made me smile. I'm glad she kept things like that. I do too.
Anyway, i'm not being very eloquent, i realize. Death doesn't bring out the best writer in me. All my thoughts swirl around, fragemented, and i find it difficult to pull together sentences to do them justice.
I'll just end this here.
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