Travels with Hanuman: A Magpie Tale

As I was sorting through my mother's belongings after her death, I came across a little medallion in a blue pouch.  It was a tiny brass image of Hanuman, the monkey king.  My mother had apparently picked it up when she was in India.  Wrapped up with it was a necklace made of misshapen pearls. 

My parents traveled a lot over the years after I left home.  They loved meeting people and welcomed many others into their home.  A string of foreign exchange students stayed with them and they visited each of their homes in return.  As they traveled around the world, my parents were showered with gifts from the people they met.  So many, that they were unable to keep them all.  Often they became gifts for their hosts on the next stop on their journey.

So what was special about the little Hanuman medallion that it was kept while other things were re-gifted?  And where did the necklace come from?  We were even more surprised when my Dad said he'd never seen the necklace before.  He remembered getting the medallion when they visited an old friend in India, but not the necklace.

Curiosity got hold of me and I looked up the story of Hanuman in the Ramayana.  He emerged as a selfless champion who served Rama, rescuing his wife Sita.  Later, Hanuman also saved the life of Lakshmana by bringing him a life-saving herb.  Hanuman never asked for anything in return, but Sita gifted him with a string of precious stones. 

When my mother died, my father received condolences from around the world from people whose lives my mother had touched.  The outpouring was incredible.  And then there was the necklace.  None of us know where it came from, but I like to imagine it was a gift from Sita, thanking my mother for the impact she had on others' lives.

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Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

How to Host a Funeral... CatLady Style

First, let's just say that there will be no actual funerals involved in this post.  Cat ladies don't do funerals... they just wither away.  Although, a Viking funeral would be a fitting way to remove all the useless crap from my house.  You could load it all up into an ancient rowboat and then torch it as you send it out to sea.

The number one trick to hosting a funeral is to have the deceased not want a funeral.  Thanks, Mom!  Then it's also handy to have a father who is uber-organized so that there's not much to do when you arrive on scene.  Thanks, Dad!  Then there are the two uber-organized sisters who already had the picnic basket packed by the time I got there.  Thanks, Number One Daughter and Eowyn.  (And yes, in case you were wondering, the mad organizational skills of my family have always left me wondering if I was adopted or something.) 

So, ix-nay on the funeral... let's have a party at the beach instead!  My mom missed her 60th wedding anniversary by eight days, so we decided to have an anniversary celebration instead of a funeral.   

Complete with Mom's Haviland china and silver.

Sadly, Mom's ashes weren't ready yet, so we weren't able to bring her in the silver chafing dish that Eowyn set aside for the occasion.  Oh, well... nothing ever goes according to plan.  But Dad did bring their wedding photos, so we still got to see her.

Vlad and Waldo couldn't make it, but Eowyn, Ilsa (my niece) and I came decked out in Mom's finest jewelry, which we had raided the day before.

 

                                                  

 

One must always look one's best!  Number One Daughter forgot to wear her jewels, so we were going to make her sit at her own table but then relented. (When one is in mourning, one must be forgiven these serious lapses in fashion judgment.)

Looking the most dapper, was Dad...  all decked out in his beach gear.  Now, there's a guy who knows how to have a good time!

My brother in law, Sven, provided the music... songs of the forties and fifties.  We toasted Mom with gin and tonics and Dr Pepper while enjoying the breezes off the Gulf of Mexico.  All in all, it was a happy way to provide closure on a life well-lived.

After all, Mom would have wanted it that way!

Photo Meme

This past week a couple of blogger friends, Linda from The Good, The Bad and The Worse, and Lyn over at Once Upon A..., tagged me in a fun foto meme.  The idea is to pull up the first photo file you come to, scroll down to the tenth picture, then post it with a description of what it is and where it was taken.  Sounded like a fun game for a Friday night, so I decided to play along.  Here's what popped up:

These two fine lads happen to be my son, Vlad, and my brother-in-law, Sven.  It was taken at my parents' home in Florida last March.  It was a rather auspicious event as it was the first time my entire family had been together for a meal in 23 years.  Yes, you heard me correctly... 23 years.  During the intervening decades we've been spread out between Iowa, Minnesota, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, Missouri, Florida and New York.  Consequently, as a group, we never quite made it to the same place at the same time.  My parents were delighted to finally have us all together. 

What was amazing was that we picked up right where we left off.   We were all on our best behavior, (for us,) and we managed to make it through the event without anyone being grounded or sent to their room.  Of course, Vlad and I didn't have a room to go to, so that might explain things.  Nonetheless, we all had a lovely time.

So what are we waiting for?  Let's do it again in another 23 years!  DP, anybody?

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As for who to tag next... I hereby award this meme to the first five people to comment who have not already been tagged! 

His-story

This week's Theme Thursday topic is History. (Be sure to go check out everybody who's participating. You'll be glad you did!)

Just this past Monday I received a packet in the mail from my dad. It's a copy of his memoirs... his recollections of the past 84 years. It's not something that would mean anything to the average person, but for me it's history. I don't know if there's anything in there that I haven't already heard. (At least there was no forewarning of deep, dark, hidden family secrets.*) But, we could always get lucky!

My parents were born in 1925... the Roaring Twenties, when these chicks were hanging out being cool:



My parents lived through the depression and World War II... their formative years... and that certainly impacted the way we were later brought up. "Waste not, want not" was a way of life. (And perhaps planted the seeds of my hoarding, cat lady tendencies.) We learned not to buy anything on credit and to never spend more than we earned.

I'm sure that in reading my dad's memoirs, there will be insights into how he became the man he is today. A quiet man, until you get to know him. Somebody who enjoys a good joke. Somebody you can count on.

I have a feeling his story will be one of the best Christmas presents I've gotten in a long time... and one that Vlad and I will appreciate in the years to come.

Thanks for the history lesson, Dad!



*And not to worry... I'll let you know if there's any good "dirt" once I've read it!