getting acquainted

Me and Mamma
Summer 1983

the cellar room

         In the cellar of my imaginary house, there is a room that I rarely go into.  I usually only pass by its closed wooden door on my way elsewhere down the corridor.  But on days like today, when my lungs and heart seem to have been replaced by a constant ache in my chest cavity, I know I must open the door.  The door has a simple plaque that reads, "Losses." With a deep sigh, I enter inside, aware of the feeling of familiarity that sweeps over me.  The minute I enter in, I forget that I am in my cellar, for it is so large.  It is the kind of cellar room that is composed of many smaller ones full of nooks and crannies and odd little windows with views I no longer see.  The walls are lined with shelves full of odds and ends; filing cabinets with clippings and airplane tickets; photographs in frames of all shapes and sizes; and boxes piled against the brick walls, full of emotions and colors.  There is a whole corner piled up with bags of things I haven't even gone through yet.  It is a room full of snippets from my life gone by.

         Today I came to place some items on the shelf and to sit in the overstuffed chair in the corner. I am not always great at acknowledging how much something lost meant to me. Sometimes when I ache, I don't even know why.  But today is different. I open a little velvet box in my hands. Inside it is a golden chain with a pearl pendant.  I don't even know how many years ago my grandmother gave it to me.  But I remember thinking when she gave it to me, that it was because she wasn't sure she would see me again.  Thankfully, I did see her on various occasions after that.  The second item is a glass jar of peach jam, the kind you can get from Lidl. When Sonja and I were in Spain this fall, my grandma was so upset she couldn't send anything home with us. So we finally agreed to take the opened jar of peach jam that she so insistently wanted us to have.  Grandma loved to give, so this jar reminds me of her. 

         I slide into the overstuffed chair after placing the jar and the box on the shelf.  I let my mind drift through memories of her.  I can hear the tone of her voice, her laugh.  I see her and my grandfather's wedding picture in my mind's eye.  She was so brave to travel halfway across the world to marry him.  She was a woman whose life was given to the service of God and others, first in Finland, then in Uruguay, and finally, Spain.  I think of the lovely moments we had this fall to just sit with her and Grandpa and hear stories from their youth.  I am so thankful for that time.  And I am thankful that she is no longer in pain and no longer suffering from physical limitations.  I am thankful for the hope of seeing her again one day.  Regardless of that hope, I cry, because I have never been good at goodbyes.  But that is why I am sitting in the hug of this overstuffed chair in the room of losses, for my grandmother passed away last night and I ache. 

in december

it is already december and there are some small droplets of precipitation outside that are trying to pass off as snow. it's not working. and they tell me that california has snow...the Weatherman must have decided to shuffle the pack differently this year, just so we can have more to wonder about.

my parents are not here this Christmas. i feel a little homesick for them and the Andes and warm holidays. but i am thankful for the extended family and friends around me during this season. they are a gift.

since returning to Finland from our trip, i have only been working part-time while looking for a job more in line with my skills. i have enjoyed having more time to just "be," which was what i had hoped for after the Camino. my free time ends next month, as i begin a three-month internship at the ministry of foreign affairs. i'm looking forward to it.

and now, i will get back to painting. i just wanted to surface from my world to send a big hello and holiday hug to whoever may happen to read this. happy december!