Saturday, December 18, 2010
Yesterday was the 33rd anniversary of my grandmother's death. She had just turned 56 barely a month before. Lung cancer is what got her.
She wasn't the cookie baking, gray haired grandma. As a matter of fact when I was born her mother said her baby was too young to be a grandmother and I would call her by her name, Denia.
Denia was incredible. One thing she taught me was how to bet on the horses. One of her favorite tricks was to "station" my aunt and me in different areas of the track. She'd have us look at the racing forms like we were confused. Soon men would come over to the damsels in distress and help us choose a horse.
The three of us would then meet back up and go over the "tips" we received. We used the covert info, made a decision and placed our bets. It was a pretty good system. Never mind that I was 13 and you had to be 18 to get into the track. My aunt would put make up on me, my grandmother would make me toss the bubble gum and off we'd go.
Denia liked flash, she liked bling and she was beautiful. Striking was a word I heard a lot from the people that would stop us just to tell her how stunning she was. I was always proud to be seen with her. She had a sophisticated style about her. She carried herself like royalty, to me she was.
Denia had this plant in her home, a diffenbachia. When she died in 1977 my mother took it. After my mom was killed my dad tried to let the plant die, but my sister would see it droop and water it. When Dad died, Tina took it.
Last year my sister sent me this tiny cutting of the plant and it's taken off and grown like wild fire. I look at it with amazement. My plant is part of my grandmother that still lives. I see it every day. I think of her every day. My kids have already claimed the plant after my death. They seem to be claiming a lot of things lately.....I wonder if they have plans?
Oh, I'm going to try to finish Mary tomorrow!