SHIRLEY JEAN MEETS HEY NATALIE JEAN

"To my Shirley Jean from your Natalie Jean--

I am dedicating this book to you, Granny Goose,

but only if you hold your mouth right."

--Tillie

My mother sent me this photo over the weekend. It was kind of a moment for me. 

My grandpa still shoulders most of the responsibility of caring for my grandmother through her advanced stage of Alzheimer's. It's a lot of work, and it takes a lot out of him, so from time to time his kids will step in and host my grandma for a few days. Helping her with her medication, taking her shopping, and soothing her occasional moments of panic, that's the job. This weekend was my mom's weekend. I know it can be especially tiring sometimes, but my grandmother has always been a hilarious piece of work, so I imagine these weekends, while hard, are probably still a total kick in the pants. That Shirley is all class. She knows how to work a room. She also knows how to terrorize a poor shoe salesman. The woman shops. By now, her Alzheimer's is to the point where she is no longer able to read a newspaper ad, let alone a book, so even though I'm not sure she understood what exactly she was seeing when my mother gave her a copy of my book, still. The fact that she was able to see it, to hold it in her hands, means more to me than I could ever say. It's almost like a bit of beautiful closure on this really lovely journey the two of us have taken together.

When Abrams contacted me to make this book with them, my first thought was, Why???? Are you crazy??? My second thought was, You want it to be about what!? Because while I am highly comfortable writing about all sorts of deep + embarrassing feelings or all of the sillier things I like, I am far, far less comfortable positioning myself as some kind of advice-giver on aaaaanything. Abrams requested a traditional coffee table blog-to-book kind of deal; a lot of photos, all lifestyle advice--such is the market (for a while they wanted recipes? disaster!)--and that really scared me. But hell if I was going to turn this down out of fear! (I did almost turn it down out of fear, like, five times.)

"Shirley's Drapes" is what did it for me. It opened the floodgates. I have a really strong visual memory of the moment it started to come together. I was sitting in my baby sister's bedroom looking out the window over my parent's driveway, trying to describe how to apply false lashes and feeling a little sick to my stomach, when I overheard my mother on the phone. My grandpa had called her because suddenly my grandmother could no longer remember who he was, and he wasn't sure what to do. My mom told me the story of how, just that afternoon, he'd walked with my grandmother to their wall in the laundry full of old photographs and mementos, hoping she'd be able to remember something. And it was there hearing the story, while sitting at the top of the stairs with my mom, the phone lifeless in her hand and her face full of emotion, that I realized what I had the opportunity to do. Shirley's legacy. I had the chance to preserve it--to preserve her--and to honor some of the things that she taught me to love + take pride in. I am eternally grateful to Abrams for the chance I've had to write this for her. There may have been a bit of song + dance to make sure as many essays as possible could make it in the final manuscript--Abrams wanted a ham sandwich, light on the infertility; I was prepared to write a Reuben--but you know what? Ham sandwiches are really, really good. Are you kidding me? I love ham sandwiches, especially when toasted with some melted cheese and mustard . . . and anyway, as far as ham sandwiches go, I happen to think my ham sandwich is probably the best one you can get. Definitely Zagat rated at least, let's be honest. ;)

My grandma is such an example of inner strength, love, sacrifice, determination, and substance. She is the fiercest and most nuanced woman I know. A lot of that came through in what could be considered terribly superficial ways. My grandmother led the life of a homemaker. She thought about drapes. We spent a lot of time together antiquing. She had very strong opinions on the way to make a bed (hospital corners), where to buy your clothing (only the finest department stores or she'd make it herself), and what makes up a proper pancake (Krusteaz, with cottage cheese). She was also a force for good, for love and support, and for immeasurable courage. I am so grateful for her legacy.

I am so proud to be her granddaughter.

EDIT FROM THE FUTURE!

so this came up in the comments below (you should read it!) and it made me confused, and then i think i realized my error. so i will make that comment right here too. ready? only more wordy this time.

so, there may be trouble in my lunch meat analogy, in that we are all coming to this lunch meat analogy from differing views on lunch meat.

for instance! keep in mind, not everybody likes a reuben. they're really pretty heavy and greasy, and not to mention hard on the heart burn. also, sauerkraut. tell me, do you really love sauerkraut? i mean i do, but i also like beets. truthfully, i don't even think i could in good conscience say that i prefer a reuben to a ham sandwich, honestly. while we're here, i might say i like a tuna melt best? if i had to choose one sandwich for the rest of my life. 

so what i should have said, clearly, and what i will say in the future any time i again have the opportunity to compare something i have written to some kind of food, is this: that one is like the best, freshest, most expensive toro sashimi from japan, hiro-dreams-of-sushi style, and the other is like a really amazing steak, perfectly cooked, like just nice and pink inside but not cold, cold pink in a steak freaks me out, also involving some kind of specialty truffle oil. 

OR, i could just default to the classic apples / oranges metaphor, because that was all i was really going for, was that it's two different things that should be enjoyed differently and analyzed appropriately, and that i was, and am, pleased as punch, honored out of my gourd, really, to have gotten the chance to write a ham sandwich / freaking expensive raw tuna / orange, and that i would be equally as excited someday in the future to write a really well-steamed plate of broccoli.

also that i am damn proud of my ham sandwich! damn mother effing proud mother effers! 

and i hope i didn't give anybody the impression that i wasn't. 

thank you, as you were. :)

OH! EDIT FROM EVEN FARTHER IN THE FUTURE:

brandon wishes to point out that it's been a house rule for almost a decade now that i'm not allowed to make overly complicated metaphors, and i should really listen to him from now on. point brandon.