Grandparents

Forgive me if this post is a bit too sentimental.  This topic has been rolling around in my head on a fairly regular basis and tonight (maybe it was the second glass of porto?) it just seems like a good idea to blog about it.  From the beginning I know I can't possibly do justice to each person about whom I would like to write.  But I will try...

Growing up I was blessed to know the generation before my parents'.  I knew all four of my grandparents for at least twelve years, plus a great-grandmother, several wonderful great-uncles, and a great-aunt who was called the "Fairy Godmother" of the family by all.  (And of course, there are a couple of amazing great-uncles still keeping the family in line in Syracuse, NY).

Even though I now realize that I wasn't nearly as mature at the age of 12 as I thought I was, and I might not have known any of my grandparents particularly well at this young age, I did know them.  I know that they were spirited, fully alive.  They were funny and fun to be with -- storytellers, singers, golfers, travelers.  People who lived through the Great Depression and World War II and provided for their families (rather large Catholic families on both sides), working their way to the "good life" of owning their own homes and giving their children the roots and wings necessary to go out into the world and make their own lives.

I have very fond memories of lunches and shopping trips with Grandma Murphy and Aunt Kate, of breakfasts at Grandma & Grandpa Magnarelli's house every Sunday, of Grandpa Murphy always calling me "Smiley," which made me smile more (until my cheeks hurt!), and Grandma Camilli playing cards and coloring with us.  It's heart-warming to experience that extra layer of parents.  Another set of people who care about you and are interested in you and your life and your success.  Another layer of people who take you on outings and tell you their stories and listen to yours. People who offer you advice and try to guide you as best they can, but with just enough experience and distance to be a bit more patient than your parents might be with you.

And then, as happens to all, between the age of 12 and 22 I gradually learned what life is like without grandparents.  As a 20-something, there were many times when I thought of them.  I wished I could see them or ask them something, I wished they could see me because I knew they would be proud of me.  I still wish this on a regular basis.  "If Grandma were here visiting me, she would love to go to this museum or experience this cathedral."

So... what does this have to do with ET living in Paris?  Allow me to explain:

When I married my husband last summer, I was also blessed to marry into his family -- a slightly younger family than mine (he is the oldest grandson, whereas I am one of the younger grandchildren in my family).  His is a wonderful family filled with boisterous and playful aunts, uncles, and cousins who are also very caring and welcoming.  It is also a family that includes... you might have seen this one coming... wonderful grandparents.

Three of Paul's grandparents are still alive and living near Paris, and I am so happy to have the opportunity to get to know them.  To begin, each of them welcomed me into their lives from the moment Paul brought me to France to meet his family when we were just dating.  They were happy to chat with me (or try... because at that point I really knew no French), host me in their homes, cook me their favorite traditional meals, and share their grandson with me.

Since coming to Paris I've realized that moving can be tough.  Moving far away can be tougher.  Moving far away to a new country with different customs just adds to that.  Then we add the language thing and... sheesh.  It's totally worth the risk and the changes, but when you're new and without your friends or family or support system, it's easy to feel a little lonely or lost.

But sometimes when you feel a bit lonely or lost, your grandparents will call and invite you to a museum and then a nice lunch.  Or they might drop by for a few minutes to say hello and welcome you to the building.  They might invite you to their house for the weekend where you can relax or go mushroom hunting or hang out by the pool.  They might share recipes for bœuf bourguignon or explain to you the proper method for making ratatouille. They might even invite you upstairs for a drink when your husband is away for work and they know you might be lonely.

I guess I simply want to say that I am thankful for the opportunity to have grandparents again.  I am so pleased to have the privilege of getting to know such wonderful people.  (Not just grandparents, but great-aunts included).  My French grandparents enrich our life here so much and help Paris really feel like a home to me.  They help me to remember my grandparents as well.  I really wish my grandparents were alive to meet Paul's.  I think they would get along so well...

So that's that.  Maybe this post is more about merging families than it is about living in Paris, but these things happen.  Maybe I will blame this on that second glass of porto my French grandfather poured me this evening... does that make the story French?