Family History

Family's History
I’m home in good old democratic voting (this year anyway) Michigan. It snowed the first night I was here, big beautiful snowflakes, the kind that look like feathers. A story came back to me from when I was a kid about the angels having a pillow fight. I like that one. Well, they were still going at it this morning when I got up. The ground looked just like the down comforter I was wrapped up in. What a wonderfully descriptive name, who thought of that one? Comforter. It keeps you warm, it protects you when you’re scared, it always wants to hang around you. If only they would make one in human form. You could choose his thread count (style) and his filling (smarts) and his size (well, you know). You could just go to the store and pick him out right there, and he would be conveniently zipped up in a plastic bag (with air holes of course) and labeled with one of those convenient little round stickers. Like Funny, Smart or Romantic…rather than just Twin, Full or Queen. Oh well. Anyhow, I didn’t want to get up, but I had snow angels on my mind. I wrapped the comforter around me a little bit tighter and slid out of bed. I planned on running outside, dropping the blanket at the door and making a snow angel in my pajamas...just to freak my mom out. All I needed were my boots, so I put them on and opened the door. Sam, my mom’s dog stood at my feet with his ball in his mouth. I took it and threw it into the yard and said, “Go get it!” Whoever said dogs can’t talk doesn’t know anything. He said, “Are you crazy? It’s fucking cold out there!” I swear. And he was right. I turned around and went back inside. Watching the snow from inside was perfect. Perfectly warm. I decided I’d go play in the snow later, at least after breakfast. My mom asked me how I wanted my eggs. I only eat them scrambled. I might need to come home more often.

Later on in the day, my mom and I went for dinner, just her and me. I was thinking about my grandmother and the state that she is currently in. And by state I don’t mean one of the 48 contiguous, I mean her state of mind. She is losing it. That Alzheimer's is one sly thief. I guess as far as geographical states go, it might be fair to say that technically she’s no longer a citizen of this one, or any other for that matter anymore. Hell…she’s not even on this planet anymore. Just a few months back she actually saw aliens. She described the space ship to me, and the people…or should I say “people” she saw come out of it. They were skinny and were wearing the same clothes, like a uniform. She didn’t mention anything about oversized heads and hairless bodies, I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. She saw them right outside the window of the bedroom I’m sleeping in while I’m here. Might be an interesting couple of days. I’ll be checking for implants in my neck or buttocks, or wherever they put them, I’m not really sure.

Anyway, during dinner I began to ask questions about my family. Having had a conversation about families just a few nights before in LA, I guess it prompted me to wonder again about mine. And since I’ve already lost one parent, I’m really starting to realize how much of your history you lose when your parents go. I mean, unless you record your history, which aside from pictures or a few home videos, most people don’t do, your parents are really the link to those days past. I’ve always known that my grandmother lost her parents at a young age. Her mom when she was six and her dad when she was about ten. So, how much could she have been told by age ten? But I learned something new tonight, my grandmother’s mother was orphaned at fourteen, so she’d also lost out on some of her own family history. Throw in the fact that while my grandparents were growing up, a war was brewing and now they had to leave even more of their own history behind and get the hell outta dodge. It’s such a sad story through and through, that there’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to know. But there’s another part that, of course, longs to know everything. What they were like and the fact that I might be like or look just like one of them. I need to find out more of my family’s history, before my family is history.

It's funny how different the world is now. So much of the present, which in the course of 24 hours becomes history, is recorded these days. And you can sit down and watch just about all of it at any given time. (I wonder when President Bush's War - Season 1 and 2 will be out on dvd.)

If ever I have children, I will encourage them to write. I would give anything to be able to sit down and read any notes my grandmother may have scribbled. Having kept a journal myself since 6th grade, I've come to appreciate the documented history of my life that I own. Although much of it in those early years was 'he said...and then I said....and then she's like...i hate her...but he's so cute...I love him'. Ah, it'll be worth at the very least a hearty chuckle someday.

Well, it’s getting late…about the time that strange things start to happen. Maybe I’ll go look for some aliens outside my window. Maybe they know something. They’ve got to, they have a round thing that they can get to fly (she said it was round and it made a noise, almost like a plane and that’s what prompted her to look out the window). Maybe they know about the history…maybe they know where my grandmother’s mind has gone…maybe they know if I’ll ever find a comforter and what his name will be. Oh Christ, the wind just blew so hard I freaked myself out. I’m going to hide under the only comforter I've got right now...good enough.