Friday, September 21, 2012

Number 12: Write your acceptance speech for your "Woman of the Year" award

Fall is my favorite time of year. The leaves change and fill the sky with warm colors to counteract the sudden chill in the air. Fall means the start of a new school year, apple picking, Halloween, my parents' anniversary, sweatshirts and scarves and tights. It means shopping for that new pair of boots and pumpkin flavored everything.

The the last two weeks of September leading into the first two weeks of October is my favorite time to be in Berkshire County, Massachusetts. I love taking a drive along Route 7, seeing the colors from up high as I travel North, or winding through the oversized homes surrounded by the lush foliage in South County. But somewhere in the middle, lies Pittsfield. My home town. And there, amidst the memories of pillaging the leaf piles in my front yard, lies some beautiful memories of two beautiful women.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Jewish calendar, the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, occurs in the fall. It is a time to celebrate the sweet things in life, like family. As I suddenly find myself farther from home than ever before (minus my brief stint in England), I've thought of two women that couldn't deserve a Woman of the Year Award more than my two grandmothers. We have many traditions in my family, but no tradition is as great as that of love and acceptance. When my parents were married in October 1983, it would have been easy for Sylvia Geller and Cecelia Rainka to become family in title only. Their children came from two long standing sets of traditions -- my father from a faithful Jewish family and my mother from a devoted line of Polish Catholics. I can't imagine how scary it must have been for them to compromise some of their traditions so that their children could wed. From what I know, the two families didn't immediately run to each other with open arms. But it took some extreme bravery and a whole lot of love to put aside their basic differences and discover that when it came down to it their traditions were not all that different -- they both loved their families more than anything, and that made all of the difference. Despite what prejudices they might have had 29 years ago, as a child, I never knew that my grandmothers were not always friends.

With my paternal grandparents in Florida, Winter 1988(?)
Holidays in my house are a well-rounded family affair. My maternal grandmother sends out cards for Rosh Hashanah and attended our Passover seders and my paternal grandmother never missed a Christmas Eve dinner. And without knowing it, I learned things from them both. From Sylvia, my dad's mother, my "Grandma," I learned the importance of picking up the newspaper in the morning. That staying informed about the world will always serve you well, whether it is in passing conversation or making an important life decision. She taught me that you are never too old to make new friends, or learn new skills. Grandma was a Netflix member long before I was, and waking up for an 8 am Friday class in college was always made a little easier when I had an early morning email waiting from her in my inbox.

With my Baba
My mother's mother, or my "Baba," was the one who cared for me before and after school as a child. She taught me how to poach an egg and darn a pair a jeans. She gave me an appreciation for how hard both my parents worked. To this day when I go home, I try to do small things around the house for my parents, whether it is loading the dishwasher or switching over a load of laundry because the words, "Your mother works hard, help her out when you can" always echo in the back of my mind. Baba also taught me that remembering the small things, even someone's name can go a long way in making someone's day. And from them both I learned the importance of independence. They were both widows for the majority of my lifetime, and I watched these two fiercely independent women host holidays, mow lawns, pay bills, and take care of their families. Sometimes when I will myself to do something brave, I think of Grandma and Baba, and I try to imagine what they would tell me to do.

My grandmothers, with my brother.
When Grandma passed away in August 2008, Baba mourned not just as an in-law but as a sister and a friend. And that's when I learned the most important lesson of all. Love. Love always comes first. No matter how different you might think you are, a sense of love and compassion for those around you, especially your family, will always carry you through. And for that, I thank you both. You both lived through so much, and I've never met two stronger or more beautiful women in my life. (Unless you count their daughters, among them my mother, who also inherited my Baba's strength and ability to love fiercely.) I miss you both in different ways every day, but I'm comforted when I can feel you next to me. Grandma, I was missing you last week so I made my first ever batch of matzo ball soup -- and it turned out okay! Baba, every time I give a stranger a smile and they smile back, I think of you, for you are the kindest woman I've ever met.

Fall reminds me of both of you in different ways, but mostly because it makes me think of home, and that makes me think of you. I'm grateful for all that you've give me over the years, but without you, I most certainly would not be where I am today, or WHO I am today. Happy New Year, Everyone. May you be surrounded by loved ones as the seasons change. And to my grandmothers, thank you. Shana Tova. Sto lat. I love you.

Matzo ball soup now, pierogies to come next!