Visions of Johanna Friday, December 31, 2004

Gran is gone. She lost half her ring finger as a child, never passed a phone booth without checking for change, and buried the daughter who was named after her. For decades she went to mass every morning but could swear hard enough to make you blush. (One day she announced, apropos nothing, "That Mike Tyson has a tiny deeck!") On her bedroom wall she hung indulgences, and a George Clooney Poster.

She was Old World, and Depression, in her habits and her manners. She gobbled fruit in the supermarket and hunted for day-old rolls behind the bakery. As a kid she was a gymnast, and strolled the streets every day until her late eighties, in a kerchief and old canvas sneakers. Everyone she met got a piece of her mind. But she saved most of it for her daughters and sons-in-law, who shared her house.

She loved her grandchildren. She cooked our meals when my mother went back to work, did our laundry and slipped us a few bucks every Christmas; on New Year's Day, she would take us around the neighborhood, scavenging for cash people had dropped the night before. She lived long enough to love her great-grandchildren, too, although a certain Wrong Turn Jr. arrived just under the wire.

She also loved Andrea Boccelli, Rico Brogna and the New Jersey Devils. She was one of a kind, in the world and in our hearts. I can't speak for the Devils, but the rest of us will keep her memory close forever.

@ 10:38:00 AM, ,

Dance Me to the End of Love Monday, December 27, 2004

Merry Christmas, belatedly. Since I spent the past year largely being a son of a bitch, let me end on some high notes.

--A wonderful service on Christmas Eve, particularly the homily. The priest, who doesn't speak English well, was in great voice and did a solid job with the old message: A light came into this world, and darkness didn't stand a chance against it.

--A great birthday. Mrs. WTJ and child were groggy with colds but unbeatable company, as ever. We celebrated in the old style, eating pizza and watching movies. Elf is charming but the Santa-centrism set off alarms in the Catholic NORAD station in my head. The original Italian Job is a little heavy on the Swinging London stuff but the car chase at the end is unbeatable and the closing scene is just fabbo. My Darling Clementine, one of Grandpa WTJ's favorites, is just flawless. Even the action scenes, which can date a picture from that era, are as quick and ruthless as anything from Walter Hill's stunning Wild Bill. Napoleon Dynamite, which I had been meaning to see for some time, is a charmer. Maybe not as funny as I expected, but well acted (indie-style, anyway) and very sweet. Dietrich Bader, who had a great cameo in Office Space, has another hilarious bit here.

--A great Christmas. Many sweetie-pie nieces and nephews, many friendly in-laws--and a gingerbread house! The kids abandoned it after a couple minutes to go skating, so it was all mine. It looked like an Italian church hit by Allied bombing...

--A great grandma. The 95-year-old Grandma WTJ--on Mother WTJ's side--collapsed and is now in intensive care. She has survived scares before, but things don't look good. I don't want to write a premature obituary, or turn her illness into an occasion for maudlin noodling. I can't think of anything less appropriate for her. She has lived a vigorous, remarkable life; she has been extraordinarily generous to me and my new little family. We love her dearly, and we know she loves us. Everything else is up to God.

Thanks to all of you for reading, and writing, and being good friends. Love to all, and happy new year.

@ 8:54:00 AM, ,