Memoirs of a Geezer!
Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth
to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!
This Episode: "You're Perfect, Honey..."
If I understood the architecture of pedestals... for example, "plinths" and "dado's" (if those are correct terms!), I'd erect one and put her up there, along with other immortals previously cast in stone, plaster or bronze. Maybe a slightly wobbly one, as none of us is perfect, with the possible exception of her children. At least that's the modifier she ascribed to them continuously, constantly throughout her lifetime.
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| Gigi (given name, Virginia) in her favorite pose. |
As a young suitor to her only daughter among four children, I was nervous; I was shy. On one of the very first encounters with the family, I came to call, knocked on a screen door, the primary door having stood wide open. "Hello," I called. "Anybody home... hello!"
"Honey, say, 'Say Beep' "! It was her voice, a bit raspy, the voice of an older woman, a fun-loving sprite.
"What?" I quizzed, bewildered, a bit more nervous that I had been a moment ago.
"Say, 'Say BEEP,' honey!"
"Um... Beep," I echoed, tentatively. At which point I heard people "beeping" all over the house. I sort of "got the idea," eventually. I met brother John in a closet. Brother Jimmy was under a bed. I met brother Bob in the bathtub, just standing in the tub, not bathing! "Good lord," I said inside my spinning brain, "What the hell kind of goofy family is this?"
We all stood around chatting, laughing. At some point I heard, "This isn't fair. No one's found
me yet! I can't stay in here when all of you are having fun!" It was the soon-to-be mother-in-law. She was hiding but hadn't as yet been found. I then went into the basement, as directed, to find the father in his workshop. "Say Beep," I said stupidly.
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| Gigi (at left) with her sister, Lilian, always referred to as "Sister"... as "Original Auntie" by the rest of us. |
"I don't play ' Beep'," he said loudly, angrily, glaring at me as if I were a feckless home invader with a skull full of defective or dead brain cells. I went back upstairs and announced, "He doesn't play 'Beep'," amid consuming laughter. Having planned it, the family enjoyed my discomfort.
Friends and family members called her "Gigi" (the "i"- sound short, pronounced as in the word, "rig"). My mother-in-law was a funny woman, and she was great fun, full of adages and platitudes, many voiced at entirely inappropriate moments. For example, my wife and I were seated at her kitchen table discussing family matters or children, something mundane. At some point Gigi announced, "To thine own self be true, Honey!" My wife and I stared at one another, and then at her. I said, "And now, back to the conversation." Her comment was completely out of context. She seemed not to care.
At another point on that same occasion, Gigi asked her daughter, "Honey (her favorite term of endearment!), how long have you been with me?"
"What..." I said. "Is she a valued employee, soon due for a gold watch?!" Gigi laughed heartily. She could laugh at herself, a rare gift, and indicative of a rich sense of humor, perhaps a richer "sense of silly."
She knew her own mind. (We were glad somebody did!) My wife's brother, Bob, was over at the family home one evening when my wife and I were visiting as well. He was a Milwaukee policeman and about to go on duty. Bob's assignment on that occasion was to guard a prisoner. Gigi said to him, "Honey, Mumma's going to pack you a nice lunch -- a picnic! -- for you and the prisoner. I'll make some nice sandwiches; I'll wrap them up pretty with chips and cookies and napkins, maybe something to drink. Won't that be nummers, Honey? You and the prisoner will have such a nice lunch together."
Bob was becoming agitated. "Mother! I'm not taking a picnic lunch to a prisoner, a hardened criminal... He could be a bank robber or a murderer. I won't share a picnic lunch with some felonious jail bird!"
She ignored him. "And I'll put in some nice fruit. Do you think your prisoner likes apples or oranges, Honey? Should I pack in some nice cloth napkins, gingham?" Bob's ears grew purple with frustration. His eyes grew wide and his scalp moved back an inch or two, something his rubbery face and head did when he became truly annoyed. He objected vigorously. She pressed on. He eventually walked out carrying a full basket of food that included gingham napkins, and lots of "nice" cookies for the prisoner.
Gigi enjoyed Manhattan cocktails daily, after 4PM. She taught her grandchildren how to make them using the family's preferred brands of whiskey and sweet vermouth. "Now put your finger in and stir twice. Then carry the glasses in to us... just look straight ahead when you carry, Honey, and you won't spill."
She objected to marriage vows that "pledged" an unequal balance of power to the man. She was a feminist, an exemplary mother and grandmother, loving, generous, honest, always a powerful advocate for her "perfect" children, and grandkids, too, of course. She had 10 of the latter, and shared her time and her love with them equally, and with remarkable generosity.
Wonderfully idiosyncratic, she was a terrific cook and baker, but seemed always to guard her best dishes and baked goods. She'd hold back certain ingredients and measures when divulging her recipes, a bit maddening to those who requested them. When my wife would ask a simple, single question, for example... "how much flour?" Gigi would answer, "Now Honey, go to the market and look for the baking aisle, then try to find Hodgson's Unbleached Pre-Sifted..."
"Mother, please, for pity sake, I only asked how much flour, not a guided tour of the grocer's baking section..." Her mother would then continue to provide a full set of instructions, from starting the car, buckling up, which market to patronize... The amount of flour would forever remain a mystery. Gigi took the secrets of her best recipes to the grave!
It's been more than 20 years since she left us, but we continue to tell her stories and cherish her memory and her extraordinary gift for making us laugh and giving us joy. In my geezerhood, I hope I can be a fraction as good a father-in-law (father and grandfather too!) as she was a glorious and memorable mother-in-law... mother and grandmother too. And, oh yeah, try to remember, Honey's, "A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss!" (She'd insert that nice little platitude into her conversation constantly, though it never actually fit the context!)
Friends and family members called her "Gigi" (the "i"- sound short, pronounced as in the word, "rig"). My mother-in-law was a funny woman, and she was great fun, full of adages and platitudes, many voiced at entirely inappropriate moments. For example, my wife and I were seated at her kitchen table discussing family matters or children, something mundane. At some point Gigi announced, "To thine own self be true, Honey!" My wife and I stared at one another, and then at her. I said, "And now, back to the conversation." Her comment was completely out of context. She seemed not to care.
At another point on that same occasion, Gigi asked her daughter, "Honey (her favorite term of endearment!), how long have you been with me?"
 |
| We'd better explain! This is a cartoon image of an exemplary Mother-in-Law on a pedestal... used here for symbolic purposes. |
"What..." I said. "Is she a valued employee, soon due for a gold watch?!" Gigi laughed heartily. She could laugh at herself, a rare gift, and indicative of a rich sense of humor, perhaps a richer "sense of silly."
She knew her own mind. (We were glad somebody did!) My wife's brother, Bob, was over at the family home one evening when my wife and I were visiting as well. He was a Milwaukee policeman and about to go on duty. Bob's assignment on that occasion was to guard a prisoner. Gigi said to him, "Honey, Mumma's going to pack you a nice lunch -- a picnic! -- for you and the prisoner. I'll make some nice sandwiches; I'll wrap them up pretty with chips and cookies and napkins, maybe something to drink. Won't that be nummers, Honey? You and the prisoner will have such a nice lunch together."
Bob was becoming agitated. "Mother! I'm not taking a picnic lunch to a prisoner, a hardened criminal... He could be a bank robber or a murderer. I won't share a picnic lunch with some felonious jail bird!"
She ignored him. "And I'll put in some nice fruit. Do you think your prisoner likes apples or oranges, Honey? Should I pack in some nice cloth napkins, gingham?" Bob's ears grew purple with frustration. His eyes grew wide and his scalp moved back an inch or two, something his rubbery face and head did when he became truly annoyed. He objected vigorously. She pressed on. He eventually walked out carrying a full basket of food that included gingham napkins, and lots of "nice" cookies for the prisoner.
Gigi enjoyed Manhattan cocktails daily, after 4PM. She taught her grandchildren how to make them using the family's preferred brands of whiskey and sweet vermouth. "Now put your finger in and stir twice. Then carry the glasses in to us... just look straight ahead when you carry, Honey, and you won't spill."
 |
| Gigi always made her Perfect children smile! That's her Perfect daughter (pictured above...) |
She objected to marriage vows that "pledged" an unequal balance of power to the man. She was a feminist, an exemplary mother and grandmother, loving, generous, honest, always a powerful advocate for her "perfect" children, and grandkids, too, of course. She had 10 of the latter, and shared her time and her love with them equally, and with remarkable generosity.
Wonderfully idiosyncratic, she was a terrific cook and baker, but seemed always to guard her best dishes and baked goods. She'd hold back certain ingredients and measures when divulging her recipes, a bit maddening to those who requested them. When my wife would ask a simple, single question, for example... "how much flour?" Gigi would answer, "Now Honey, go to the market and look for the baking aisle, then try to find Hodgson's Unbleached Pre-Sifted..."
"Mother, please, for pity sake, I only asked how much flour, not a guided tour of the grocer's baking section..." Her mother would then continue to provide a full set of instructions, from starting the car, buckling up, which market to patronize... The amount of flour would forever remain a mystery. Gigi took the secrets of her best recipes to the grave!
It's been more than 20 years since she left us, but we continue to tell her stories and cherish her memory and her extraordinary gift for making us laugh and giving us joy. In my geezerhood, I hope I can be a fraction as good a father-in-law (father and grandfather too!) as she was a glorious and memorable mother-in-law... mother and grandmother too. And, oh yeah, try to remember, Honey's, "A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss!" (She'd insert that nice little platitude into her conversation constantly, though it never actually fit the context!)
Humbly Submitted 04-15-15 -- Joel K.
