I just put on my MBTs so I could stand and bake the rest of the day. Running through my mental holiday check list, I could not peg what was bringing me down as opposed to my usual excitement. “Fresh cranberries. Check. Emotional swell. Cornmeal for stuffing. Check. Emotional swell. Roasting pan from garage. Check. Emotional swell. WTF is going on?”
I say, Elizabeth, you go girl, flog that sucker.
“It would be a good idea to find your mother’s grave,” spouse gently suggested. “Sure, someday we’ll do that,” was my oft-repeated and irritated response. The inevitable visit took place on Sunday. All I knew was that Jean Haley, my mother, was in section H of Los Angeles’s historical Angelus-Rosedale Cemetery. Also in this cemetery are my matrilineal great-grandparents, grandparents, and an aunt and uncle. All people I barely knew in life. We never sat around a dinner table together. Section H […]