(This seems to be a pretty regular post title around here. When did things get so busy? Oh, yeah. More on that around June 1st. Sssshhhhh.) Anyway.
In early March, on our way to a mountain retreat, my mom and I stopped for a visit with my grandparents. It is always a treat to see them. They live in Los Angeles which is a 2.5 hour drive (on a good day) from my house. And with my crazy schedule and the general lack of enthusiasm we have for five hours of hell in a car with three kids whose current favorite road trip pastimes are copying each other, kicking the seats in front of them and asking nonstop questions about things like how airplanes fly and why do farts stink, let's just say visits with my grandparents are a rarity.
So I was thrilled at the chance to visit them without my ankle-biters in tow and to have a conversation without running through their house in search of the screaming. I was also very happy to have my camera with me. There have been several times over the years when I've gone on a photo safari through their house, visiting and revisiting the things I've always loved about their home. And while it's not possible to photograph the smells of their home or the ways the hardwood floors sound when you walk through the kitchen or the sounds of the front door when it opens, what I can share are photos of the things I always visit when I'm there. Things that when I was a kid were full of wonder and mystery. And still are.
My grandmother has a really unique and wonderful collection of antique dolls and miniature treasures which she keeps in what is one of my most favorite pieces of furniture - a shaker-style sideboard with hutch.
This last doll, a saucy bathing beauty whose suit has fallen victim to a shameless moth or two over the years, is my favorite.
I've blogged about it before, but my grandfather's roll-top desk in his office is my other most favorite pieces of furniture EVER. Every time I'm at their house, I have to go into his office and caress it's surfaces, pocked and marked with 60 years of hard work and correspondence, the softness of its worn surface belying its heft and breadth. And I've photographed it before, but I've never been brave enough to explore its treasures. So I snooped, just a bit. I pulled open a drawer or two and discovered things that made my heart race and a smile slide across my face. Some little things that would not make any difference to anyone outside my family, but to me they were further evidence of that hard work and of the scope and breadth of my grandfather's career and as a writer and film critic, lover of jazz and near-sighted verbivore.
There was a drawer full of all his press badges over the years. From this LAPD badge from his early days back in LA with Time magazine after several years in their London bureau, and another from 1968 not long after joining the LA Times. There was even one from the Cannes Film Festival from what must have been the early eighties.
This drawer full of glasses was such a surprise. I can vividly remember him wearing each of these different pairs of glasses. From photos of him I've seen from before I was born, to the early seventies, to the eighties and then to just before he was declared legally blind from macular degeneration, I can see his face peering out at me from each of these pairs of glasses. I can see him hiding behind them, too, deep in thought and waiting for the loud family dinners to be over and done with.
And here is my grandfather as he is today at 83 years old, still telling stories about musicians and actors long gone, and still quick with a joke or guffaw-worthy puns.
And then there is my grandmother who for nearly the entirety of their 61-year marriage, has stood in his shadow in the limelight. Always gracious and lovely, mild and mannered, graceful and witty, and extremely intelligent and generous. She got her PhD when she was in her mid-60s and is herself a published author. With the exception of her silver hair and the exquisite lines on her face, she is exactly as I've always known her to be. She has lived in Hollywood, surrounded by gild and glitz and has never succumbed to any of it. She is a treasure and I love her so.
I remember when we were adopting our first child, someone asked my grandmother how she felt about becoming a great-grandmother. Her reply was "I'm okay with being a great-grandmother, I just have trouble with being the mother of a grandmother."
I plan to be back again tomorrow with another post. Stay tuned!
I will miss Simple Scrapbooks. I found it first before Creating Keepsakes and it has always been where I returned to basics after I would try (spending hours in the process) to duplicate something I saw in CK...it just wasn't my style...SS will always be where I go for inspiration...basic photos & stories never go out of style! Thankfully, I have all the copies from my subscriptions...wish I'd been on board from the beginning. It's like saying goodbye to a dear friend.