Beef Stew in Red Wine (I)

Beef Stew in Red Wine (I)

I kept an archive of the holiday dinner photos I took throughout the years.  When I went through them I found pictures of Grandma in the kitchen, wrapped in her bright orange apron, stirring or chopping something.  I also had pictures of Sunday dinners and summer picnics, birthday parties and anniversaries.  

They released Grandma from the hospital a week before her birthday.  She told the family she didn’t want a big celebration.  In fact she didn’t want any.  She just wanted peace and quiet.  She moved in to my parents house.  I came by after work to spend time with her.  

It’s just old age she would say.  It’s inevitable she would shrug.  She was a force to reckon with, but the medication made her weak.  She would have me read to her.  Said she liked to hear my voice.  She would look off into the distance and forget the present.  

Grandma kept her rosary under her pillow.  Neither of her grandchildren grew up Catholic.  I never saw her pray using her rosary.  

We each find our own way.  Some of us question more than others.  Some are content to believe what they’ve been told.  I don’t know what Grandma believed.  She never taught us.  We never asked her.  She was always so strong and confident and hearty.  She was our pillar of strength.  But life doesn’t last forever.  What were we to do when she left?

Don’t you mourn, she told me.  Don’t you dare mourn.  You’ve had your time with me and I with you.  You remember our times together, the good and the bad.  If you want to honor me then remember me.  Don’t mourn and don’t waste your money on flowers at my grave.  Plant me a red maple.  Water it so it can grow, and I’ll be happy.

Grandma, what do you believe?

She sighed.  Not everybody’s world is a big one.  Life is unexpected.  And the family that you have may not love you more than the family you find.

She reached for my hand.  Don’t be afraid of mistakes.  Everybody makes them.  Learn from them, but don’t let them keep you from trying something.  If you’re not happy with yourself, it doesn’t matter who around you is happy.  It’s not worth it.  You live your life.  Don’t let people make you live their life for them.  We’ve all been given one life apiece.  They have theirs and you have yours.  Family will be nosy but be understanding.  

Do you wish you could do some things over?

She chuckled.  That’s a no-brainer.  

Are you happy with your life, Grandma?

It came out all right, I suppose.  

The day after the funeral Rainier arrived home.  He rushed back from a business meeting in Tokyo.  My eyes were puffy when I met him at the airport.  That day I told him I didn’t want to get married.  I didn’t want to follow tradition.  He was ok with it.  He didn’t try to persuade me.  We drove home and he held me under the covers.

It might have appeared to be a big mistake in my family’s opinion.  But when Rainier moved out I couldn’t have been more relieved that we weren’t married.  Maybe we shouldn’t even have been together in the first place.  But how were we supposed to know?  Maybe we did know.  

The pictures are scattered on my computer screen.  I remember you, Grandma.  Every day.  There hasn’t been a day that goes by that I haven’t thought of you.  

When a co-worker, Chandra, went through her divorce it was a kind of a death.  She would arrive at work without make-up and dark circles under her eyes.  She had three children all in grade school.  I didn’t know what to say to her.  Others consoled her and had a ready word of encouragement or ammunition to blast her ex.  She had people to go have coffee with or meet for lunch.  Chandra was a pretty girl.  Average height with sandy blonde hair.  Her children gave her hips.  

One day after work, after reviewing thousands of images, I found her in the lounge staring blankly at the wall.  

He doesn’t want the kids, she said.  How am I going to take care of them all by myself?  I don’t make as much as he does.  I can’t afford the house.  

It was too much to absorb and sort out on a Thursday evening.  

I went home and got out the big blue Dutch oven.  I love the sight of it, but have used it only occasionally.  That night it would help me do something good.  On the way home I stopped by the grocery store and picked up two pounds of flatiron steak and a bottle of red wine.  I turned on Puccini and cubed the steaks to be heated in the Dutch oven with olive oil and butter. 

I turned on Puccini and cubed the steaks to be heated in the Dutch oven with olive oil and butter.