More on that...

When I arrived at Brownland this afternoon it seemed practically empty.  My mother, two of my uncles and two of my aunts were out tending to practical matters.  My grandaddy was in the library, chin to chest, dozing while watching television.  Another of my uncles was in the kitchen, cleaning up.  

I sat down in the dining room, unnerved by the silence, until suddenly my cousin Philippe filled it up with his little voice, calling, "Ma-ma, ma-ma, ma-ma."  I went upstairs to get him up and dressed.

My family came back in waves.  The usually rambunctious greetings and hellos were subdued; everyone looked gray and tired.  My grandfather started shuffling from room to room, restless and upset.  His face is the picture of sadness and confusion; it's hard to take in.  

I rode to and from the house with music blasting loud.  For some reason I'm really focused on music.  Although I think of my grandparents' house as one filled with music, the only song I know my grandmother truly loved is "Our Love is Here to Stay."   This was my grandparents' song, the enduring thing that would bring a smile to their faces with just the opening line, "It's very clear ..." 

Other than that, I realize, the house was always filled with music of other people's choosing.  My mother (Ray Charles would play and my grandmother would say to my grandfather, "we have a teenager who loves this music" even when my mother was *ahem* nowhere near teenaged), my uncles (my Uncle Howard was big on Louis Jordan, and "Open the Door Richard" is a family fave); my aunt MaryAnn (Miles Davis, in particular); the twins and me (um, Planet Rock.  Don't hate).   My grandparents loved jazz, loved old school vocalists like Sarah Vaughn, Ella Fitzgerald, Dinah Washington; talked about going to see Pearl Bailey; apparently played a lot of Sinatra, as well.  I remember my grandfather's total engrossing fascination with Ken Burns' "Jazz" and how enthusiastically he recalled going out on U Street to hear music.  

My grandmother grew up with a fairly strict if loving set of parents.  My Nana (her mother) would not allow my grandmother to listen to contemporary music much at home; Nana was a big fan of classical music.  I can't say that I ever asked my grandmother what she preferred to listen to, musically speaking.  I know that in my experience of her stateside, once moved to Brownland, was that her preferred station was NPR, for more information to feed her voracious brain.  That said, my Gramma was a great dancer; she could really kill it on the dance floor with my grandad, "Suave Dave".  

I sang "Superwoman" by Alicia Keys while I was in the car headed home.  It kind of reminds me of her-- Still when I'm a mess/I still put on a vest/With an S on my chest/I'm a superwoman.

I mean, what's more super than raising 8 kids?  And raising them to be bold, dynamic individuals who believe they are capable of doing anything, while also instilling compassion, curiosity and making them each into great parents themselves.  AND, being a true partner to her husband, trotting the country and the globe putting down stakes and making friends in each place?  AND teaching children in each of these places, children who, to this day remember the rigor, intelligence and generosity of spirit she brought them?  

The picture on the beach is my gramma and her girls, Aunt Carlyn and Aunt Jean,  playing with my mother.  Don't they look FLY?!  Look at those glamour gals!  Super women, each ...