Like sands through the hourglass
Apr. 12th, 2004 05:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
judecorpLadies and gentlemen, we have hit and passed another milestone.
Yesterday was Easter Sunday, and being the good post-Catholic that I am, I made the ritualistic phone calls to the family members: grandparents, father, mother. Now, my father has always been pretty cool about whoever I chose to date, and he is an equal opportunity psycho, treating male and female suitors in equally infuriating ways. (Yes, he still tells off-color jokes and makes racist remarks.) My mother has really come a long way since the long stretch of time where it seemed like even saying the word "Jennifer" made her twitch. I think the time she came to visit us in Columbus sort of sealed the experience for her, and I am eternally grateful for that.
Yesterday morning I called my grandparents after they returned home from Mass and breakfast. My grandfather answered the phone, and after three or so minutes of painful smalltalk, he passed the phone to my grandmother. (Grandpa isn't much of a phone talker, either that or he assumes I didn't call to talk to him. Heck, he even passes the phone to my grandmother when I call him on his birthday or Father's Day.) My grandmother gave me the traditional run-down of everyone who has died or has otherwise become incapacitated since our last conversation (this time, my father's godfather that she insists I know even though I clearly do not), and a proud announcement that she has lost 20 pounds (unfortunately from the South Beach Diet, though she insists, "You would love it! You eat a lot of salad and fruit!"). Later in the conversation, though, she said, and this is a direct quote, "How is your friend Jennifer doing?" Stunned, I stammered some nonsense about how she hates her job but is otherwise doing very well. And then, And Then, AND THEN, as if that wasn't enough, before she hung up the phone she told me to, "Tell Jennifer that we said hello." It's not "sending their love," but it's close. Close enough for me. They are die-hard Catholics in their 80s who met the Pope, after all.
Another Easter conversation, this time with my father:
So Grandma acknowledged the girl of my dreams, and my father acknowledged the inevitability of our marriage. Not bad for a heathen Easter Sunday.
Yesterday was Easter Sunday, and being the good post-Catholic that I am, I made the ritualistic phone calls to the family members: grandparents, father, mother. Now, my father has always been pretty cool about whoever I chose to date, and he is an equal opportunity psycho, treating male and female suitors in equally infuriating ways. (Yes, he still tells off-color jokes and makes racist remarks.) My mother has really come a long way since the long stretch of time where it seemed like even saying the word "Jennifer" made her twitch. I think the time she came to visit us in Columbus sort of sealed the experience for her, and I am eternally grateful for that.
Yesterday morning I called my grandparents after they returned home from Mass and breakfast. My grandfather answered the phone, and after three or so minutes of painful smalltalk, he passed the phone to my grandmother. (Grandpa isn't much of a phone talker, either that or he assumes I didn't call to talk to him. Heck, he even passes the phone to my grandmother when I call him on his birthday or Father's Day.) My grandmother gave me the traditional run-down of everyone who has died or has otherwise become incapacitated since our last conversation (this time, my father's godfather that she insists I know even though I clearly do not), and a proud announcement that she has lost 20 pounds (unfortunately from the South Beach Diet, though she insists, "You would love it! You eat a lot of salad and fruit!"). Later in the conversation, though, she said, and this is a direct quote, "How is your friend Jennifer doing?" Stunned, I stammered some nonsense about how she hates her job but is otherwise doing very well. And then, And Then, AND THEN, as if that wasn't enough, before she hung up the phone she told me to, "Tell Jennifer that we said hello." It's not "sending their love," but it's close. Close enough for me. They are die-hard Catholics in their 80s who met the Pope, after all.
Another Easter conversation, this time with my father:
Dad: So, are you going to have a big wedding ceremony?
Me: Doubtful. It worked out so well the first time.
(At which point my father could not stop laughing.)
So Grandma acknowledged the girl of my dreams, and my father acknowledged the inevitability of our marriage. Not bad for a heathen Easter Sunday.
