No shirts, no shoes, no church service

My grandmother, Aileen, was as formal a woman as they came. Born in 1906, she wore a dress and nice shoes every day of her life -- I'm not sure she even owned tennis shoes. Why should she? She didn't play tennis. The first time I saw her wearing pants was during a visit my wife and I made to her in the nursing home late in life. I hardly recognized her.
Aileen was raised in a time when women wore dresses, men wore suits and kids did what they were told for fear of feeling the wrath, in whatever form that might take. Today's parents give our children time outs.
In Aileen's house, I doubt there was a time out chair. She was of the "fear God, fear your parents, fear sin, and everything would be OK" school of thought. A true woman of God, she and her sister, Bess, were the only two of 10 siblings NOT to join the clergy. Aileen did her part to keep the faith, however, by attending the daily 5 p.m. Mass at Sacred Heart Church in Hollister.
The Catholic Church was everything in her life, though being the opinionated woman she was, that didn't mean it's messengers were above reproach. On Jan. 3, 1981, Aileen wrote in her journal that it was "Fr. Sanz again -- oh my" who administered Mass on that day. She respected him, as was her role, but she told her journal that she would've liked a little more depth out of the father on this day. "If he could just serve the meat instead of desserts for homily," she lamented. Hey, she made her daily offering, so she could offer some criticism -- even if the only one reading it would be her grandson 28 years later.
My dad, Tom, was a target in Aileen's diary as well, as he attended Mass with his mother on this day. "Tom took up collection -- very casual dress." Moms notice such things.
At the end of the day's entry, Aileen noted how her friend, Mabel, called to note that her husband, Abe, had been at Southside," the nursing home that would become Aileen's home late in life, "for 7 years -- a long time." Jack, my grandfather, "was only 3 years" in Southside before he passed away. In light of Mabel's lament, Aileen seemed thankful. "I dream a lot about Jack -- the young Jack," she wrote, no doubt before shutting off her light and putting down her journal to fall asleep. She, of course, said her prayers first, as she was nothing if not dutiful. Then she shut her eyes in hopes of seeing young Jack once more. (photo courtesy of Mark Levin's photostream)

Grandmother's words of wisdom

I came across my grandmother's 1981 version of a blog a few months back when I discovered her 1981 diary -- or more specifically, her "Daily Reminder" book created by The Standard Diary Division of Wilson Jones Company -- in a box my mom gave to me. My grandmother, Aileen, passed away March 29, 1999 at age 92, a frail version of the still-spry 74-year-old whose flowing penmanship filled all 365 days of the Daily Reminder with her thoughts on life, her children, her grandchildren, her priest. She commented on how much her dog infuriated her with his child-like ways; and how much he meant to her as a companion since her husband had passed away years before. Aileen's diary entries have been my bedside reading on many recent nights. It's been my way to reconnect with her and reflect on a year when I was 12 and my sister was 10. Many of her entries are mundane and follow a distinct pattern: "Up at (fill in time); (comment on how she's feeling) "headache, my constant companion"; mention whether "the papers" (San Jose Mercury, San Francisco Chronicle) had arrived at her doorstep yet and whether Jake the dog had torn them up; recap her day, including what she at for lunch and dinner (shrimp salad was a favorite), how the priest "performed" (my word, not hers) at daily Mass at Sacred Heart Church; and who did -- or often didn't -- write or call her. On a day when she didn't give in to the temptation of having a cigarette, she proudly wrote "NO SMOKES" in all capital letters at the bottom of her daily entry. If she wanted to emphasize a thought, such as "The Holy Father was shot. Imagine!" (on May 13), she underlined her entry. Looking on the facing page, the day before, I learned that May 12 was the "first appearance of our Lady of Fatima" and that Aileen believed "Reagan's plan will probably take away (her late husband) Jack's pension -- what a shame." Shame, a word burned into the lexicon -- or at least the psyche -- of many a Catholic, is a word that makes a few visits to the pages of Aileen's ruminations. "Dinner: eggs, broccoli and carrots -- then ate 4 cookies -- Shame." Some days, like when her only daughter, Anne, was baptised as an adult, earned the joyous, "Anne's Baptism Day! Oh, Blessed Day!!" Others, like a Thursday in March in which she received "no mail, no phone calls" and finished her short, half-page entry with "no friends???" showed her loneliness. I felt a little better after reading this day's entry when she added "I do --" at the end of the "no friends" line, seemingly to remind herself that she was, indeed, loved; even if those in her life didn't always tell her. Enough for now about Aileen, who on this day in 1981 kept herself busy buying spray paint, visiting with her sister, and commenting on Jake, the dog: "a handful, but entertaining." She is missed, but her words live on, now for the first time in cyberspace.