My name is Marguerite.
I am 19 and in college.
This is my attempt to electronically document a small sliver of my life. My thoughts, questions, opinions, and interests. Dilemmas and delights, blunders and best decisions.
hagrid: hey I just met you
hagrid: and this is crazy
hagrid: but happy birthday
hagrid: you’re a wizard harry
Combination of Harry Potter and call me maybe equals perfection
(Source: pterodactuality)
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harry potter call me maybe awesome perfect
My great-grandfather passed away early Wednesday morning. My great-aunt and uncle took wonderful, dedicated, selfless care of him. During the week leading up to Thursday I kept thinking, I should call, I should visit, but I didn’t. I figured, hey they live 5 minutes away I can see them whenever. I’ll go after I do this, I’ll call after I do that, but I didn’t. I am named after my grandpa-great’s wife, my great grandma. Her name was Marguerite Mae and I am Marguerite Kelly. My grandpa-great and I always had a special connection because I was named after her. She suffered from a serious degenerative illness and passed away when I was still in elementary school. He took care of her, but it was hard. Although he was a gruff, hard-headed old man he was always very sweet to me. He, in his later years as his memory lessened still remembered me and my name. He was a marine in WWII and fought to keep our country safe in the Pacific. He lived through one battle in particular because he was so short. The enemy shot at him, but the bullet went straight over his head and hit a taller man behind him. My grandpa-great knew how to find land mines in the ground. He and my grandma eloped on his motorcycle. He, with his own two hands, built his house. He built and flew many 1 or 2 passenger planes in his garage until in his 80’s. He had so many stories he would tell. I would sit and listen to him literally for hours. He decided that I should have my grandma Marguerite’s engagement and wedding rings. I started wearing them in high school, because I was finally deemed responsible enough by my parents. For three years the only time the rings left my finger was for volleyball games. In soccer and tennis I could get away with keeping them on. Its funny because last week I decided to wear the rings on a chain around my neck, and for a stupid reason too. My mom decided that me wearing rings like that on the ring finger of my right hand would give boys the wrong impression when I first met them and that they’d assume the rings were from my boyfriend, a boyfriend I don’t actually have. These hypothetical boys would never know that I wasn’t already going out with someone else and would then, not ask me out because I appear to be taken. Its funny how things work out. I know that my grandpa-great was in his 90’s was very old, and lived a full life. I know that me taking rings off of my finger for an extended period of time did not have anything to do with his passing. Its just that the timing’s weird. I feel weird. There’s nothing I could have done to keep him alive longer. He was old and tired and it was time for him to go. I just see a sort of symbolism in me taking off my grandma’s rings released him from this world and now he’s with her in heaven. Maybe that’s naive of me or just wishful thinking, but somehow it comforts me a little bit. I have a little bit of her and him with me always. They’re watching over me. She soothes me after I fall, he scolds me for falling in the first place and I learn every day. I’m not sure if there’s going to be a memorial service for him, my grandpa-great. Its up to his children: my Grandpa Nick, Aunt Judy, Aunt Helen, Uncle Mike, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Dan. I hope they have one, but if not this is my attempt to spit everything out that I remember of my great-grandpa nick. We watched jeopardy together and we would both guess, neither of us got anything right. He asked me where my feet were after I took of my boots and he discovered I had no socks on. He believed everyone should wear socks, always. We sat on a too-soft sofa in Orlando, Florida and he held my hand like he did my grandma Marguerite’s and we talked for hours. I remember when we figured out I was taller than him. I played in their house and ran to the coo-coo-clock to see the bird pop out. He showed me a half-built airplane in the garage, had me touch various screws and bolts naming everything and waiting for me to repeat it. One of the people he remembered until the very end was his english setter Daisy. He would look at her and say, “Yep, that’s mah doug,” in his soft/harsh, ancient yet full of life voice. He liked to make stew, and have stuffed cabbages. He liked watermelon. My aunt helen says he could go to sleep thinking about a problem that needed solving and he would wake up knowing the solution. His glasses always seemed much too big for his face. My Aunt Helen and Uncle Tom brought grandpa-great to a little bbq at my grandma and grandpa’s house. A lot of family was there, but he came straight up to me and took my arm. I got him a chair next to mine and he looked around wide-eyed at everyone. So many faces that were familiar, but he couldn’t put a name to them. He thought we were in a park at first and wondered which one it was. I explained that we were at his son’s house. He quietly pointed out his oldest son, my grandpa who’s named after him and said who’s that. I said, your oldest son, Nick Jr./Nicholas Walter. His house? This is a big house with a big yard! Yes grandpa-great it really is all his. Any other questions? Then he pointed to my dad, who’s that, your grandson Nick III/Nicholas Walter Jr. Then my brother, who’s that, your great-grandson Nick IV/Nicholas Walter III. Each of my answers were followed with him by a soft ahhhh as though he remembered, but I could tell he didn’t. Then I said grandpa-great you don’t have to remember who any of these people are, just know that they’re you’re family and they all know who you are. Then he finally sat back fully in his chair and just watched everyone. His hands relaxed on the arm rests and when something funny happened he smiled, even chuckled. I watched too. Everyone, I think without even realizing what they were doing, looked to him for approval after that. It wasn’t noticeable at first, just a hint of something there. A quick glance to him first after a story was told. Waiting for his smile after the punch line of a joke. Everyone there respected him, came over to greet him but didn’t crowd or overwhelm. Nobody tested him with questions of who they were. I was honored that he wanted his seat next to mine, recognized me, and didn’t mind relying on me, even though I was a woman and according to him men don’t need help from women, ever. I’ll miss him and the simple times we spent together. Rest in peace my grandpa-great.
I don’t dream very often when asleep. I don’t really day dream either. I’m fairly rooted in reality and wish I wasn’t sometimes. The closest I get to day dreaming would be imagining the feeling I’ll have when I’m finally in love, when I’m finally getting married, when I’m finally making a home, when I’m finally nurturing a family of my own. I feel calm, serenity, happiness, joy.
There are flashes of images, they almost become a blur, but not quite. Its like the images are moving so fast that instead of my brain seeing it, my heart feels it. I find comfort there, in my whir of positive feelings, in feeling my future.
My mom says that instead of doing this I should be grateful for this time that’s happening and learn to enjoy it.
I want to make my present feel as good as I hope the future will…but I don’t know how.
The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.”
-Albert Einstein
Just the other day my mom and I were on our way home from Ikea (it was a successful trip) and I saw a semi-truck with the flatbed part attached to the actual motorized part. The flatbed had nothing on it and it was curved like and upside-down U except the arch of the curve wasn’t nearly that big. The last 30 mins of the drive home consisted of me grilling my mom for every tid bit of information she has on semi-trucks and their inner workings…sometimes I wonder if I ask too many questions. Then I remember my reasoning behind all of them: I want to know.
(Source: lucifelle)
