A Call for a Memorial, My Grandmother & Falling

A Call for a Memorial

One of the things I saw in Berlin was The Jewish Museum, or at least the memorial that was built to remind us of the murdered souls who perished under tyranny. It is a daunting and intense experience: The facts, unfortunately, escape me now but all I can say is imagine being in a quicksand of graves. That's the experience. One of the moments I will always remember is standing there, amidst these giant blocks of what seemed to be coffins or graves, whatever it was, it certainly conveys death and hearing blaring out of a nearby restaurant, Belinda Carlyle's "Heaven is a Place on Earth". Surreal is not the word. It kinda' irked me that people were jumping up and down on them, some people even making out (I'm serious!) but the odd thing was, that seemed part of the installation as well: The perfect fusing of something as static as a monument, interacting with the live, breathing and VERY dynamic aspect of real life. It was cool.
Then I saw this program on CNN about this Mexican artist who was making these sculptors to represent all the labor and life that migrates to the U.S. every day. He said he wanted to bring dignity back to the working people. I think that was what he said. But the point is, he was there in Mexico building these physical manifestations of the emptiness many Mexican cities, and people, are left with in the wake of capitalism really getting its wheels oiled.
But anyway, it's like through it all, before these experiences, during these experiences and now after these experiences, I feel: We need to do the same to commemorate the millions of our ancestors who have died and whose backs we all now enjoy some privilege. The cool thing about this Mexican Artist is that he's planning on having his installation moved to different countries. I really do hope that Artists in the U.S. figure out a way to get him there. I'm sure they will. We need to expose his work and his message. I guess this is when Art truly speaks. That's what's so cool about it.
This monument, the one to commemorate our ancestors will be on every coast the trade involved and they should inspire us to be more humane toward each other. Sculpture could do that. We need art around us which demands more from us, not the kind of art which encourages us to continue on the path we seem to be on or on the verge of getting on or whatever. We need to be challenged by each other and ourselves. We need to be forced to think things through. Anyway, maybe I'm using society as one, big metaphor for myself? That would be totally like me: so self-indulgent! Haaaaa!
My spider plant has grown roots!!!! I've been checking it out ever since I got it, and I turn my head like one minute, and now, look at those roots. Aren't they cute? So yes, I was talking about a memorial. We really need to build this memorial, and I really mean WE.

My Grandmother

And I've been missing my grandmother. Don't tell me to call, cause it's not the same. She's my life force like basking under the sun. Her birthday is coming up, so I'm thinking of making her a card and it goes something like this:

My grandmother was born in the Trinidadian countryside. Her parents wanted to name her Hildegard, but since it was during the war, they decided to name her Hildred.
My grandmother spent her youth hiking, going to church and working at a store. Woolworth's I think.
Suddenly, or at least the way she tells it, she gets married.
I have often looked at her wedding picture. It never inspired feelings of wanting to have a similar wedding, but something else.

It would be years later that my grandmother had told me she had cried throughout her entire wedding. She was a country girl, from Cedros, only 18 and that large bouquet? It was my mother, softly nestled in her womb.

So, my grandmother is human, after all.

My grandmother always loved me. I don't know why. But whenever others tried to hurt me or harm me with words, she would put her arms around me, with her own, kind, encouraging words. These words enraptured me like the soft caress of an angel's wings. Whenever my grandfather chided me for not being a young lady, she'd yell behind him, "Leave the girl alone nah! Like you don't have anything better to do than to criticize a little child?"

Once she said to me, "Lesley, if you hold a smoking gun in your hand and tell me you did not shoot the gun, I would believe you."

Powerful words for a adolescent girl who was used to people calling her liar, loud and had already been shifted around a few times.

My grandmother made me wash my own school uniforms because she wanted to teach me to be independent. I asked her how come she didn't make the boys do the same and she says, "You know, you right." But back then unbeknown to me, she'd unpin my handwashed clothes and rewash them herself.

My grandmother is really beautiful. She really tries to make the world a more positive place. She would wake up early in the morning to make me lunch. I was the envy of my class with homemade pizza, okra and rice, aloo pies (potato) and sometimes bake and zabaca. That was one of the perks of living with my doting grandmother: Really good food.

When I was a child, my grandmother's love and attention made me suspicious and angry even. I didn't understand that someone could feel that way about me. Sorry Mummy Hildred! And thank you!

Whatever I needed, she provided although there were at least four of us surviving on a government pension. As a result, she taught me these things, which are not only good for your economy but for the environment as well:
recycle plastic and paper bags,
recycle foil paper,
bottles,
don't eat meat every day,
save money &
current (electricity).

When I lived with my grandmother I was young and didn't understand a lot. I didn't understand why I did not live with my mother, while all my other cousins lived with theirs. I didn't understand why my grandfather seemed to dislike me so much or my Aunty would sometimes hit me with words.
But there was certainly one thing I understood and that was my grandmother's snoring every night. It was as though, as I lay by her side, her snores passed on something ancient. One of my best memories will always be laying down next to my sleeping, snoring grandmother. Watching this whirlwind of a woman whose energy level was atomic finally lay down to rest was almost like seeing the sun set up close. I loved to see how her round stomach gently rose and fell with each breath and I would try to count her liverspots and wonder at her brown spots...

I would ask: Why do you look the way you do?

And she laughs.

Her favorite Lesley-Ann story, "Don't worry Mummy Hildred when you get old I'll take good care of you. I'll put you in a old ladies home." She loves that one.

My grandmother, Mummy Hildred, has not only kept my family together, but on many occasions, my very beginning. My grandmother is certainly my hero.

Happy Birthday Mummy Hildred!


Falling

The last few days have been a trip, walking around with this scar on my forehead. You start to feel a bit stupid telling people, "I fell." But man, I've fallen so many times (metaphorically) I guess it was time to be humbled by yes, gravity itself.

Thanks for reading,
the lab