Over thirty years ago, my grandmother left my grandfather. The reasons why are a bit of a mystery, given that the truth always lies somewhere in between the two sides of the story. What can be relayed as factual is this: My grandmother, in an age when leaving your husband wasn’t done, particularly when you were not American and didn’t live in the big amoral city, left my grandfather with approximately $10 to her name. As I imagine it from my mother’s retelling, she stood there with her hand in her pocket, fingering that $10 bill, and she figured it out. She didn’t die. She didn’t starve. Starting over brand new from her mid-forties, she rebuilt a life that included serving as a cook on Arctic oil drills, among other things. My grandmother is a battle ax, in the best sense of the term.
My mother shares this to remind me that I come from a long line of women with, ahem, stones. And that, if my grandmother made it without the benefit of a high school diploma, I am most certainly capable of taking a flying leap of faith and landing on my own two feet. To quote the grandmother, “Love many, trust few. Always paddle your own canoe.”
The trouble is that I can’t tell which is the bigger leap of faith. I read “The Secret” not too long ago, so I guess the answer is to conjure up the right outcome by sheer will power and/or imagination and/or feeling the positive vibes.
Or something like that. Let’s go with this: today’s mantra is “I have lady-stones. They are sufficient to carry me through anything.”