Just A Little Red

I’m a big holiday person, and not just the regular big deals like Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Year’s and Valentine’s Day, but also May Day, Cinco de Mayo etc. Sometimes I mark the day by doing something nice (May Day baskets!) for others or just baking something for Roy’s (my husband’s) work or the neighbors. (One of Roy’s favorite cupcakes I make was one of the first recipes I ever created on my own, and they’re for Cinco de Mayo. Chocolate Chili Cupcakes with Chili Cream Cheese Frosting. I use a couple of different peppers and spices for them, but I only make them once a year.) Memorial Day is usually about me remembering those I’ve loved and lost and reflecting on them. It’s not a sad time, but it is one that I spend alone. I don’t go out, I don’t party, and I certainly don’t entertain. But this year I did something a little different.

Cinco De Mayo Cupcakes

This year, I didn’t want to do what I usually do. I felt that way last week; it just didn’t feel right this year. I thought of all of the people who typically occupy my thoughts on Memorial Day and I realized that just sitting around, deep in thought, was not their style. Nearly each of them loved being around friends and family.

My paternal grandparents were more like parents to me than my actual parents were, and they both shaped me in ways I still can’t completely fathom. My grandmother, Mary, was the most compassionate and loving person I have ever known. She was soft and quiet, and I realize, possibly for the first time, how much my husband is like her. They both have such power without being loud. I’ve never been effective as subtle; in fact I don’t know if I even know how to be subtle. Roy (my husband) and my grandmother were/are subtle, unassuming, not-at-all demanding, and yet in their own way they can make things happen. I’m the sledgehammer, but sometimes the gentle whisper accomplishes the same thing a hammer would. My grandmother helped foster my love of reading, which later led to my love of writing. She was the only person who ever told me they were proud of me growing up. Everything I know of love and loyalty and family, I learned from her. I told her this on her deathbed; I was there for three agonizing weeks. She taught me death is slow and cruel and completely surprising. I think she was the first person who taught me how to grieve fiercely. And I did.

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