Happy 124th Grandma DeMillo

The day has been overcast. It looks like some place in the mid-west or the east coast with the bare trees, the gun-flint grey skies and the threat of rain. Not very cheery weather for someone who is down in the dumps.

I was going to the gym today and then join Planet Fitness. I only managed to put on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. That’s a far as I got. I texted Scott who agreed to meet me for dinner and a meeting. I erased my Facebook app from my phone. I suddenly have time on my hands.

I’ve plowed through the intermediate crosswords. I’m catching on the fact that they are now using key words in place of a single letter in a square. I even completed one puzzle without looking in the back. Hurrah for me.

In my morning prayer, I realized that I don’t give god enough credit. Sure, I’m amazed at the miracle of my having the compulsion to drink lifted; but my ego is parked in front of god’s grace — still — smugly assuming that my success at recovery is my doing. The “bondage of self” is hard to surrender. Dear me, if I could just let myself go and fall into the pool, jump out of the plane, leap off the cliff into the mercy of god. My ego keeps holding me back. I think I’m so trusting. Hah! The proof is in the pudding.

Today is Mary Janetta’s 124th birthday. She ran off to Chicago with the older helper in her father’s employ to get married and to give him two children, one of who is my mother. Mary Janetta kept a lot of secrets from her daughter and grandchildren. When Grandpa George died at the height of the depression, by which time they were back in Duluth with the Janetta family, Mary entered an “arranged” marriage with an older widower in Hibbing. She took care of his house; he took care of her. In the package, 5 step children (all older than her own) were acquired. Mary had spunk. She must have had to swallow some pride to enter an arranged marriage with Dominic. But, what could she do? There was no social security, no medicare. Just family networks.  In the end, we became closer to the Demillos than we were to the Janettas. That’s how it works.

Would she have voted for Clinton?

As I was getting ready for bed last night, Blanche jumped up on the bed and rolled over on her back, exposing her white belly with the expectation of a tummy rub. Of course I obliged and I told her, “Well, I guess I should stick around to rub your tummy. Who else will do it?”

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