The first order of business was digging up Saint Joseph, the patron saint of sold condominiums, whom my grandmother buried head down in a garden area by the parking lot. It’s unclear if Joseph helped sell any other condos in the building or if the $500 “marketing fee” my grandmother paid had more to do with her finally getting a decent offer. I talked it up to my kids before we left – how their great-grandmother buried the statue of a saint because she thought it would bring good luck and how we had to find the exact spot and dig him up, like lost treasure – but I guess they were expecting a full-sized statue and seemed disappointed when they saw he was plastic and fit in the palm of her hand.
My grandmother bought this condominium with my grandfather many years ago so they would have a place to stay at the beach. They rented it out a couple months out of the year, which paid the mortgage with enough left over for gas and tolls . She tried to get my brother and I to buy it from her but it’s too far and we have another place to stay when we do make it down. Also, I don’t have that kind of money, though it troubled me that she was only a few years older when they bought this place. She tells me they never went out to eat or took vacations when they were young.
It felt like we were on vacation, I guess because I’d taken a couple of days off work to drive her down for the settlement and so she could say goodbye to her place. I spent many nights there myself, so the closure was just as much for me. That was the bed where I slept one night while grape gum dropped from my slackened jaw and snaked relentlessly around my long hair, I thought to myself. There’s the pool I snuck into another night to fool around with a boy I barely knew. This is the carpet where my great-grandmother actually spat after they caught me and made me come back inside. Actually, it was shag carpeting back then. I still remember the gold and yellow pile from the time my brother and I both spilled overly full bowls of Fruit Loops with milk, accidentally and almost simultaneously, while my grandmother hurried to get her condo ready for a rental.
This was a bittersweet goodbye visit, for sure. I asked my grandmother a couple of times if she was sad, and she said she was mostly relieved. She posed around the condo while I snapped picture after picture. She didn’t ask what I planned to do with all of the pictures and I wouldn’t have had an answer anyway. Maybe I’ll make up another photo book like the one I did after her 90th birthday party. She carries it around in her purse to show her realtor or the woman behind the deli counter. If I do a photo book for My Grandmother’s Last Trip to the Beach, I have enough pictures to tell a story, though it will only be mine. Too bad I didn’t get a photograph of the men power washing the halls of her building and how they popped their heads out and yelled down to me in the parking lot at the exact moment my grandmother and daughter yelled other things at me from another floor. It was so funny looking – four anxious heads peering down from different spots with their mouths all moving and not one noticing the other – but that can’t go in the book because I neglected to capture it on film or whatever you call it these days.
I also don’t have a photo of the new buyers, who dropped by for their walk-in inspection just as we were getting ready to leave for the settlement. Oh what a gift that was. You know how when you meet someone and something about their tone or expression zaps all the tension from the air and everything feels lighter? It was like that with this couple, and not just for my grandmother but for all of us. Even their realtor looked visibly relieved at the unplanned meeting. The new buyers chatted with my grandmother for a good 15 minutes instead of pulling out all the utensil drawers to make sure they worked properly (and thank goodness for that). Before we left, they told my grandmother she was welcome back any time and she told them God Bless You and I know she meant it because she wouldn’t have said it otherwise.
The settlement occurred around a large oval table in a room decorated with ink and watercolor drawings of festive legal scenes set in the ’80s, judging by the outfits and hair. There were massive, serious looking legal books that I think were just for sure. At first the presiding attorney seemed all-business, curt even. But he softened with my grandmother and repeated instructions when necessary and did not rush her along. Her hands were very shaky and each time she had to sign her name she did so with painstaking effort.
I caught a few glimpses of the capable, determined grandmother I grew up with. I will forever remember her big cars and hair and how she was always ready to challenge an unsuspecting store clerk or family member who forgot who they were dealing with. She seems so much smaller now and walks slowly with a cane, her hair soft and snow white. But still she is sharp as a tack in unexpected ways. She got what she wanted and, I believe, deserved with the help of Saint Joseph, family who loves her and a charming couple eager to turn her old place into decades of new memories.
one of your best… xo
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Thank you, my sweet.
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Kristen, what a beautiful story. I could picture the entire scenario and how poignant this trip must have been. I love the ocean and wish I lived closer to it. The Atlantic is my favorite. Xo
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Thanks, Joanne. Looks like from your posts/photos that you make time for some great seashore trips.
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I do. I try to get to the beach at least once a year.
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Well, how about that photo there. The one at the end and the first one, too. Someone else used the word poignant and yes, that it is. Bittersweet…glad you saved it. On film, or whatever they call this.
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Thanks, Bill! Who knows what to call this but nice how you worked that phrase back in. You’re an attentive reader.
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😳thanks Kristen! That’s the tweaker, attentive look for you, tossed over the net. Bill
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I’m a big fan of emojis (not sure why). My youngest used that one the other day to express “wow”. I had to have her explain it to me.
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Ah…
a breath of sweet ocean air.
beautiful, truly.
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Thank you, Michele!
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Such a fine tribute. So mad she could spit! And I thought that was just an expression…
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If I could go back in time, I would probably pick a smarter rendezvous spot. I hope I never make anyone that mad again.
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Wow.
I love how you turn the ordinary into magic. Seriously.
This piece reminded me of the Bob Dylan song, “It’s Alright Ma.” The bit about nothing being sacred.
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That’s cool, Mark…thanks so much.
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Thank you for this beautiful story.
It reminds me of my 92 year old mother, last year when she sold her house.
xo
Wendy
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It’s no doubt a tough process to go through but like to think it helps to have family to share it with.
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I love especially, the stories about your grandmother. This one is poignant and perfect. It made me think of the old family photos you recently found and have posted. They paint a bigger picture of a life. This story was like that. Beautiful.
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Thanks, Mary. I have another post to write about the old pictures, different side of the family. Thank you for reading and following along on instagram. I do enjoy your beautiful photos.
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Your St. Joseph and the one my wife had me plant in our front yard last Spring when we sold our Memphis house are identical. When I dug it up after the closing, it had the same dirt in the folds as your picture. However, the dirt on ours had a distinct manure odor. I had not thought that I buried it in manure. I am not certain if this was some sort of transformation on the part of Joe who was making a statement or what. We lost a whole bunch on the sale, though had we held onto it for another year, appears we could have done a lot better. So, I am left to wonder what the manure odor might be saying about all of that.
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Ha! It was fertile soil, nothing more, beckoning you in its misguided way not to leave. Or a busted sewer pipe. Either way never look back.
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I’ve got to go find me a St. Joseph to bury. I wonder if a bottle of baby aspirin would have the same effect in a pinch. 😉 Do they still make St. Joseph’s baby aspirin. I feel so nostalgic about my youth these days, it was much the same as yours, same shag carpet for sure. Thank you for the trip and thank you for reminding me that moving on and letting go is a constant part of this life of ours. A beautiful part.
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Oh I remember those. Tasted more like candy than medicine. Nostalgia comes and goes but feels more powerful by the year. And thank you for your kind comment.
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This is beautiful and so well told.
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You could fill a big beautiful book with all of these stories. Beautiful – another one of my favorites. xo
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