Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Women.

I've been thinking a lot about women. The legacy that is women. We are approximately 50% of this population in this amazing and sometimes disappointing world. How we handle it. How we manage it. How we view it. It makes us. It makes the people around us. It's important. It's damn important. It's our legacy. Soooooo...

I've been thinking of my grandmothers. Women forged of steel. Mighty women, to whom if I'm to be compared too at any point soon.. I will fall miserably short. Because.. they were made of stern stuff.  Stuff that could be washed in hot, and dried on high. Stuff that didn't get bothered when they saw someone that they didn't like. They were tough. They had to be.

I knew Ruth Wyatt a short time. She was tiny. Little. Five foot of wispy. She scared the heck out of anyone who dared cross her. How? Well, that's the secret isn't it? I have no idea. She had a great laugh. She had a great sense of humor. And when she left this Earth.. not long after I had met her.. she impacted me. She told me I had "a rod of iron" up my back.. which I think might have been a polite way of telling me I was stubborn. She was right.

I knew Vallie Mae Morris longer.. so her impact was more. She was a STUBBORN woman. She had large hands. She had a large heart. She had one thousand pics of my kids and thought they hung the moon. She lived through the depression.. right up until a few years ago. She was formidable. She was hilarious. She didn't understand racism.. so she explained how wrong it was about every time I saw her. No amount of telling her that that was a long time ago seemed to matter. Her son had polio. Her husband went to war. She lived through 70's fashion. She did it with a sense of duty and honor. And she did it well. When she left this Earth, it was time.. but it was one less person that thought my kids were as perfect as I thought they were. And I miss her. I used to sit with her on Saturdays and she would spin stories.. and gracious I HOPE not every one of them was true.

There is Myra Bovino Thomas. She's my adopted grandmother. Not just adults can adopt, sometimes kids can do it too. (True Story) She is.. Sparkly. Her laugh is the what I grew up listening too. She is a soundtrack of sparkly and happy and love.  She would tell me what was "lady like" and what wasn't. She despaired that I would ever wear matching socks.. and the last time I saw her.. she called me "vivacious" and  "sparkly". It was ironic, because that is what I think of her. It ranks as the nicest compliment I have ever received and I'm keeping it right next to my kids first hugs and the memory of listening to them breathe as they sleep.

Then there is Maria Thomas. My grandmother. She likes to be pretty. She hates it when her make-up isn't on. She speaks spanish when she gets mad. (Which is so damn cool) She's a fierce little woman with an attitude I can appreciate. I heard her tell stories to me this week. For the first time in a long time, I heard her voice and her lilting tone and she explained little things here and there. My cousin and I went and redecorated her room. Because she needed something special. Something that was uniquely hers. A woman that has always been surrounded by pretty things, adjusting to life that isn't as pretty as she would like it....

And I think about our legacy. As women. Not just to those of us who have kiddos, but to all of us.  I wonder. Im pretty sure I did nothing impressive today. I yelled when my son didn't listen. I cussed the damn dog. I got frustrated when I found a mess I didn't know about. In the history books, this day of mine was a big fat failure... but... OHHHHH... on these days... I think of these four women. I hope they had days where they felt they failed. I hope they had days when they conquered the world. I hope they had days, where surviving was just good enough. I hope I'm lucky enough to have someone consider my legacy one day. Consider how I impacted them. Even if it was something as simple as being really ridiculous stubborn, being very serious about hating racism, a laugh that is just happy perfection, or just looking for beauty in everyday things.  I hope I get it. I hope in the overall scheme of things, I don't get too lost. And what is ridiculously clear to me at One AM will be as clear to be at Seven AM.. Being a woman is a definite gift that I treasure. I suppose the rest is up to me.
The "me" legacy.
The part of me that is remembered.
I suppose it's okay if it's remembered that there was a fair amount of cussing in there somewhere.
Because there TOTALLY WAS.
Just Sayin.