Sunday, September 24, 2006
RIP Cele
Grandma,
Had you been born in the mid- to late-20th century, you undoubtedly would have blown away your classmates at Bryn Mawr or Smith, challenged your professors at Yale or Stanford law or business (or both) and achieved success and notoriety along the way. You were among the most intelligent people I have ever met (in a particularly precocious, high-achieving family) and I especially value the days I got to spend with you, talking about politics and watching CNN.
There was the night you called to ask if I was watching Nightline.
"You're watching Letterman? Turn that (expletive deleted) off. Turn on Koppel. He's talking about GATT."
Or the morning you banged on the door, a bit too early after a long drive and a very late night arrival, because you wanted me to watch "Sam and Cokie" in your bedroom.
I got up in time for the roundtable with George Will; you were not thrilled. You were tough to please.
You, at 96, argued with me about the authorship of a poem...we were like fighting fish, me the snotty English major, you being you... so I walked over to Barnes and Noble, browsed the anthologies and found the exact verse. I called on the cell to say you were right on...you asked me to read the first few lines, you then recited the entire work from memory...from about 1916, when you said the Roth sisters would memorize poetry and stage impromptu recitals.
Clearly, it's a different world.
Finally, I recall the day at Shadyside -- during your first hospital stay -- when the blushing, very young neurology NP ran through a set of flashcards, ostensibly to test your memory. The cards were age-based and presumed a modest upbringing...so when she flashed a horse and buggy and said "Mrs. Roth, do you know what this is? You probably remember it from when you were a child," you snapped "We always had a car." When she showed you an outhouse and said, in a patronizing tone, "I bet you know what this is," you snarled, scowled, looked at me and asked "Do I have to do this? This is insulting." I said "Just humor her. She has no idea what she's got into here. Otherwise you'll never get out of here. Think about the prize."
To your credit, you put up with it, went through about 40 cards, sporting a shit-eating grin after each one.
I'll miss the matriarchal stuff...the human WIKIpedia of family events and history.
I hope you find some peace now, back in the old neighborhood.
Love, Dan
Had you been born in the mid- to late-20th century, you undoubtedly would have blown away your classmates at Bryn Mawr or Smith, challenged your professors at Yale or Stanford law or business (or both) and achieved success and notoriety along the way. You were among the most intelligent people I have ever met (in a particularly precocious, high-achieving family) and I especially value the days I got to spend with you, talking about politics and watching CNN.
There was the night you called to ask if I was watching Nightline.
"You're watching Letterman? Turn that (expletive deleted) off. Turn on Koppel. He's talking about GATT."
Or the morning you banged on the door, a bit too early after a long drive and a very late night arrival, because you wanted me to watch "Sam and Cokie" in your bedroom.
I got up in time for the roundtable with George Will; you were not thrilled. You were tough to please.
You, at 96, argued with me about the authorship of a poem...we were like fighting fish, me the snotty English major, you being you... so I walked over to Barnes and Noble, browsed the anthologies and found the exact verse. I called on the cell to say you were right on...you asked me to read the first few lines, you then recited the entire work from memory...from about 1916, when you said the Roth sisters would memorize poetry and stage impromptu recitals.
Clearly, it's a different world.
Finally, I recall the day at Shadyside -- during your first hospital stay -- when the blushing, very young neurology NP ran through a set of flashcards, ostensibly to test your memory. The cards were age-based and presumed a modest upbringing...so when she flashed a horse and buggy and said "Mrs. Roth, do you know what this is? You probably remember it from when you were a child," you snapped "We always had a car." When she showed you an outhouse and said, in a patronizing tone, "I bet you know what this is," you snarled, scowled, looked at me and asked "Do I have to do this? This is insulting." I said "Just humor her. She has no idea what she's got into here. Otherwise you'll never get out of here. Think about the prize."
To your credit, you put up with it, went through about 40 cards, sporting a shit-eating grin after each one.
I'll miss the matriarchal stuff...the human WIKIpedia of family events and history.
I hope you find some peace now, back in the old neighborhood.
Love, Dan
