Fedora Spirit lives on

My grandmother (babcia) Danusia died on September 5 last year, one day after her 88th birthday. This is tribute to her, part 2. Part 1 can be found here.

Babcia was an avid reader. She read mostly non-fiction, and enjoyed biographies or autobiographies of interesting people (writers, scientists, artists and such). She often passed on to me the books she read so we can converes about them. This here is the last book she ever gave me, "The Love Letter Gardens: From Ovid to Kieslowski". Most of what I'm wearing will make sense if you read the post form yesterday. The chair is a modern tribute to her Red Chair mentioned below. Wine is a variation on a theme; Babcia drank vodka instead. She shot it straight, frozen, and with gusto. It is worth mentioning that I've never seen her drunk. She used to chain-smoke, quit cold turkey one day, and never looked back.
You are still here, Babciu. The Fedora Spirit lives on.

Writing below came from a blog I used to keep before I switched to blipfofto.

We interrupt our usual programming...

My Grandmother died peacefully yesterday morning. She has been sick for a long time and quite miserable for the past few months. She loved to cook, and we have spent many hours discussing various food preparation techniques. She loved playing cards, solitaire, bridge, poker, you name it, and she would have kicked your ass at it just the same. She had this chair, huge burgundy red thing, in which she'd always sit after dinner - unless her long-gone boxer Tropek was sitting there first. She had it reupholstered beige (!!!), and I lost all my love for it then. She threw lavish parties, the kind that require knowing all the various crazy forks' purposes, as all of the crazy forks were actually used throughout the evening. She had a regal aura about her, which sometimes worked to her advantage (i.e. dealing with red tape), while infuriating those close to her on many other occasions. She was a devout Catholic, yet feared death immensely. She is now knocking on the Pearly Gates, demanding to be let into the kitchen, so she can throw together a feast for all of her friends who departed before her. She turned 88 on September 4, and died the following day. Don't rest in peace, Babciu, you hated resting. Cook on!!!

Babcia part 2

So I am running at the gym this morning, listening to my mp3 player. I am thinking about my Grandma. Fred Astaire's "You make me feel so young" comes on.

All of a sudden, she is there, patting me on the head, like she did when I was little. She is smiling. She has a reverse bob haircut, just like she did when she was young. Tears are running down my face, Fred Astaire sings on, other runners pass me or I pass them, and I am having a conversation with my dead Babcia. It went something like this:

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Dad? I bet he is more upset than I am"
Babcia says nothing. She smiles.
"Why do I know so little about you? You never told me anything about yourself as an adult. Was it because of Dziadek?" (My Grandpa doesn't exactly have a stellar record as a faithful husband.)
Babcia keeps smiling, and says:
" Let's dance".
I am utterly confused. Babcia pays me an after-death visit while I run, so we can dance???
Why not. This is a new territory for me; maybe that's what always happens when you talk to the dead.
Maybe you dance.
I realize then, that she is wearing a Ginger Rogers foxtrot dress, in pink. Interesting effect, given her red hair.
We she takes my hand, and holds the bottom of her dress in her other hand. Sinatra is in my ears, my legs are running, and I am doing the foxtrot with Babcia in my head. She is really good, but so am I; years of ballroom dancing come rushing back in.
She is smiling wide.
She says:
"This is what you get to bring with you. The happy moments with the people you love. The rest stays behind".
She then lets go of my hand, twirls away, and blows me a kiss.
"Where are you going?"
"To see your Dad."
And she is gone.

To quote the great philosopher Albus Dumbledore:
"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"