Over the River and through the Woods

Rarely have I made New Year’s resolutions, and even more rarely have I remembered them. But in 2005 I’ve been dreaming for a long time about making a trip to Jip’s home village and her 95-year-old grandmother. Last weekend we managed it.

I hadn’t been confident that we would really pull off the five-hour drive, so I didn’t say anything about it to most people. Even as our rented van pulled onto the highway, I still was half expecting Jip to insist that we turn around. She didn’t do that, but she did kind of whimper much of the way. Not surprising--she was nervous about what we would find, about the interruption in her routine.

What we found was a full moon, a sky full of stars, and no trace of the two-foot-high floods that had made a mess of the house just a month before. Jip grew up just a mile or so from the Gulf of Thailand, in the skinniest part of the country, where many of the 400 plus villagers depend on the sea for their livelihood. There’s nice air there. A strong breeze was blowing through the coconut trees as we rattled the front gate to wake up Jip’s mom.

Grandma got up too. To see the sparkle in her eyes as she came into the kitchen, you’d have never known she was sleeping a few minutes before. Jip’s eyes couldn’t see her, and Grandma’s ears couldn’t hear Jip, but despite the senses they’ve lost, they both knew the other was in the room, and their grins lit up the place. Lovely to watch.

In the morning it was as if we’d been there for years. No special changes in the routine on our account. Jip’s oldest brother, who hadn’t been roused by our late night arrival, waved on his way to the market, but otherwise was very low key about greeting the sister he hadn’t seen for about four years.

Meanwhile, I was thinking of all the ways the village reminds me of the place on Lake Michigan where I used to spend time with my grandmother. The sound of that breeze, the smell of the closets, the way it gathers the family. In fact Jip and I had weddings in both spots.

Now and then grandma would make her way over to where Jip was sitting. Jip told me later that grandma had said, “It’s good you came. I might never get to see you again.” Very casual. Buddha grandma. No fear of what comes after this life.

A week later, Jip says she doesn’t remember much of the trip, but if you’d have seen her face on the way back you’d have known it was worth making. She was as serene as I’ve seen her in months. Buddha Jip.