The one big nagging problem of memoirs is that many would-be memoirists assume that a memoir is a story where the writer already knows what happens. […] You stifle your memoir in the grave when you consider it a passive account of things past rather than an active, completely new and surprising encounter.
This should be easy, I told myself when I began revising a chapter about Nana. I love her deeply, and I could talk about her all day. But several drafts later, the pages were still lifeless…a bare-bones outline in the graveyard of my imagination.
I finally realized I needed to step away from the keyboard, to allow myself space and time in which to re-envision the chapter’s essence. And so I did. I sifted through my memories, starting with Nana’s prized button collection—stashed like a pirate’s treasure in a battered biscuit tin, and still sweetly fragranced with her rose-scented lotion. I lingered over my tiny collection of photographs, including this one, where she’s posing with my youngest sister. I searched for new meanings in her favorite expressions. “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,” she once told me in a no-nonsense voice, blowing wishes from a dandelion puff with her very next breath. And I remembered her wrinkled hands, plunged deep into an enamel sink full of dishwater. “His Eye is On the Sparrow,” she sang, as her eyes traveled a million miles beyond the kitchen window. And I knew in that moment, as I’ve always known, that my grandmother was watching over me.
Wonderful memories, all of them, but I still couldn’t find my way in—until, that is, I awaked early one morning, on the cusp of a beautiful dream. And in that gauzy space between sleep and wakefulness, I heard the echo of a long-forgotten song.
When I was just a little girl,
I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be pretty, will I be rich?
Here’s what she said to me.
Que sera, sera…
It was one of Nana’s favorites. Phrase by phrase, verse by verse, I recalled the lyrics Nana helped me memorize ages ago. What was she telling me, I wondered. Dawn gave way to daylight, and as the clock ticked forward, I sat with my teacher—the teacher—and learned the lessons anew. And then I opened my document and started writing.
This story has another happy—no, magical—ending. Would you like to hear that version, too?
I’m on my way to a Yoga Inversions workshop in Newport Beach, and I stop at my neighborhood cofee shop to get my fix something for the road. I place my order, and as I step away from the counter, a tiny old woman beckons me to her table by the window. “Come here,” she says in a lilting voice, and I obey without thinking, so mesmerized am I by her bright smile and twinkling brown eyes.
She adjusts her knitted red cap—an odd accessory for this blazing hot day—and clears her throat. And when she starts singing, a shiver runs up my spine.
Que sera, sera,
Whatever will be, will be.
The future’s not ours to see,
Que sera sera.
“Sing it with me,” she says, and she slips her wrinkled hand into mine. Eyes brimming, chin quivering, I squat at her feet and we sing every line and every verse. Perhaps sensing the sacredness of that moment, the barista places my drink on a nearby table and tiptoes away.
“What’s your name?” the woman asks, and when I say it, she rolls it around her tongue before telling me hers. “It’s a Persian name,” she says, and she gives me her American name, too.
“Do you want to hear a joke?” she asks, and before I have a chance to respond, she launches into a ribald limerick, and on the tail of that, a children’s rhyme. “One two, buckle my shoe…” The world falls away, and I’m living my past. And yes, oh yes, I’m reciting it with her. Her smile is mischievous, her laughter contagious. And when I look into this stranger’s eyes, I see glimpses of my Nana.
But then…I remember there’s somewhere I need to be. “I have to go now,” I say, in a voice choked by regret. I want to capture this moment, keep it forever. So ask if I can take her picture, and she says yes, smiling serenely while I figure out the camera settings on my cell phone. And when I reach for my keys, she grabs my arm and says she wants to teach me something else. “Khuda Hafiz,” she says, “May God be your guardian.” Khuda Hafiz. I repeat it back to her, and my heart is three sizes larger when we hug good-bye.
Serendipity, synchronicity, mystery or miracle? Or angels unawares, perhaps? I don’t know why these “surprising encounters” happen so often to me, nor can I adequately express the depth of my gratitude.
My day feels richer for having heard this story.
I am content for now. But honestly, I can’t wait to read your book.
Thanks for the reminder of how to look and listen. xo
I think you’re onto something, Jeannine. These “chance” encounters happen when I shut out the noise and open myself up to the Universe.
(((Thank you)))
My day feels richer for having heard this story.
I am content for now. But honestly, I can’t wait to read your book.
Thanks for the reminder of how to look and listen. xo
My day feels richer for having heard this story.
I am content for now. But honestly, I can’t wait to read your book.
Thanks for the reminder of how to look and listen. xo
Amazing Melodye. Truly amazing.
I know, right? I had to sit with it for quite a while before trying to write it into words. But I have to confess, I called my sister and my husband right away, so incredulous was I about what happened…
I know, right? I had to sit with it for quite a while before trying to write it into words. But I have to confess, I called my sister and my husband right away, so incredulous was I about what happened…
Amazing Melodye. Truly amazing.
*shivers*
Just your typical everyday miracle.
*shivers alongside you*
I wish I could say that I accepted the gift for what it was, but I was afraid that the memory would be fleeting, that the moment would be lost if I didn’t capture it–her–with my camera. The picture, of course, does no justice at all to the real subject of this story. Ah well, I have once again proved myself human. š
*shivers alongside you*
I wish I could say that I accepted the gift for what it was, but I was afraid that the memory would be fleeting, that the moment would be lost if I didn’t capture it–her–with my camera. The picture, of course, does no justice at all to the real subject of this story. Ah well, I have once again proved myself human. š
Oh, beautiful! The universe is aligning and bowing to you. š
Wow, Jama. That’s a deep, and deeply moving way to think of this experience. I think I’ll contemplate that as I’m drinking my coffee. š
Thank you for sharing this story.
My pleasure, really. Thank you for stopping by to listen, and for sharing with me that beautiful flower.
That is incredible…not only the experience itself, but YOU for being able to shut everything out (coffee, yoga, day-to-day routine) and let it play out. Most people would have given this woman a smile, a nod and dashed out the door. You were smarter than that!
I dunno about smarter, but tuned in…yes. My husband suggests that I’m more likely to meet “friends along the way” because I am receptive and people sense that. I’d like to believe that it’s true, because I’d love to have these blessings continue.
*teary-eyed* Lovely, Melodye, just lovely.
I feel so lucky, Robin, to have had this experience, and to have friends with whom I can share it. xo
I feel so lucky, Robin, to have had this experience, and to have friends with whom I can share it. xo
I just love this post. Thank you.
My heart is bigger for having shared it with you. xo
Random commenter swooping in to say…
…I love this story, and I love the miracle of how, somehow, the world contains exactly what we need.
Hello random commenter! (Although, heh, is anything really random?)
I am so glad that you swooped in, and that you added me to your friends list. I believe that friendships are miracles in and of themselves. xoxo
Thanks! I’m Erin, and I’ve been running into your posts for years…figured it was about time I introduced myself. It’s so wonderful to see fellow writers out there!
Yes, I agree! LJ friends are all kinds of awesome.
And btw, my name is Melodye š
Yes, I agree! LJ friends are all kinds of awesome.
And btw, my name is Melodye š
What a beautiful experience! I’m glad you shared it with me.
So good to see you! I feel privileged that you allowed me to share this experience with you.
OMG!! What a lovely, lovely story. What Jeannine said.
š
Aww, those bunnies are so adorable!
Thanks for coming by to share my story. It somehow feels more real when I can share it. Know what I mean?
Yes indeed!
š
I know exactly what you mean! I was saying the same thing to an LJ friend today. Which makes it all the more wonderful–we all feel happier
Yep! That’s it, exactly.
I know exactly what you mean! I was saying the same thing to an LJ friend today. Which makes it all the more wonderful–we all feel happier
Surprising Encounters/Visitataions
I can see the the glint in your angel’s eyes, and of course you couldn’t resist that smile. I’m so glad I got to experience the story first by hearing it from you. As amazing and touching as it is in print, the story is deeper and richer when you tell it.
I would love to have had a Nana like yours. My grandmothers didn’t have an impish side, and I didn’t have a close relationship with either of them. The next time I visit, let’s look in Nana’s button box and imagine the stories that go with the buttons.
Re: Surprising Encounters/Visitataions
Hello Anonymous, aka Karen!
Re: Surprising Encounters/Visitataions
Hello Anonymous, aka Karen!
Here via Sartorias. That was a wonderful story to share. Wonderful. Road-to-Emmaus wonderful. Mystery and miracle.
The ripples of it, too, from your sharing it. Truly a miracle.
Sartorias sent you my way? Oh…that’s so very kind of her, and I’m very happy to “meet” you.
Road to Emmaus. Wow, indeed. Truly, it was a sign and a wonder, and I feel part of the blessing is in the retelling. Thank you for stopping by to listen.
I shared it with my younger daughter just now, and we both got all choked up talking about it. I wish you could have joined in the conversation too–but thank you for bringing it about. LJ is wonderful this way.
I wish we could have talked together about it, too. That would have been so much fun, and I would have loved to hear your insights.
I shared it with my younger daughter just now, and we both got all choked up talking about it. I wish you could have joined in the conversation too–but thank you for bringing it about. LJ is wonderful this way.
I shared it with my younger daughter just now, and we both got all choked up talking about it. I wish you could have joined in the conversation too–but thank you for bringing it about. LJ is wonderful this way.
Sartorias sent you my way? Oh…that’s so very kind of her, and I’m very happy to “meet” you.
Road to Emmaus. Wow, indeed. Truly, it was a sign and a wonder, and I feel part of the blessing is in the retelling. Thank you for stopping by to listen.
Re: angel eyes
She has beautiful eyes, doesn’t she? Alive and attentive and loving.
Yay for being connected across time and space through our grandmothers. Thanks for stopping by and for sharing part of your story with me…
Re: angel eyes
She has beautiful eyes, doesn’t she? Alive and attentive and loving.
Yay for being connected across time and space through our grandmothers. Thanks for stopping by and for sharing part of your story with me…
So beautiful. MUST you make me cry when I’m sneaking in blogging/blog reading from work? I certainly hope you’re satisfied. š
PS At first I wrote “sneakling” instead of sneaking, which reminded me of “Lordly.” š
Lordly, girl! You made me spit hot tea all over my keyboard!!
Sorry to make you cry. You shoulda seen the mascara streaks on MY face…
This is a sign I’m getting out. Up till recently I wouldn’t be caught dead in public (esp at work) without my mascara. Now I say hell with it.
This is a sign I’m getting out. Up till recently I wouldn’t be caught dead in public (esp at work) without my mascara. Now I say hell with it.
This has stayed with me all day. Thank you for sharing, Melodye.
Shivery magic, isn’t it? I thought of you and your mom when it happened.
xo
This has stayed with me all day. Thank you for sharing, Melodye.
Thank you for posting this little bit of magic, Melodye.
I donāt know why these āsurprising encountersā happen so often to me
It’s because you are tuned into the Universe. You are open and stop to look and listen. When these “chance” encounters happen to you, you count them as a blessing instead of turning away like so many would do. You have learned to “accept.”
*nods*
Yes, I think that’s it! I’m humbled by the possibilities that unfold before (and within) me.
Thank you for posting this little bit of magic, Melodye.
I donāt know why these āsurprising encountersā happen so often to me
It’s because you are tuned into the Universe. You are open and stop to look and listen. When these “chance” encounters happen to you, you count them as a blessing instead of turning away like so many would do. You have learned to “accept.”
Thank you for posting this little bit of magic, Melodye.
I donāt know why these āsurprising encountersā happen so often to me
It’s because you are tuned into the Universe. You are open and stop to look and listen. When these “chance” encounters happen to you, you count them as a blessing instead of turning away like so many would do. You have learned to “accept.”
I can’t believe I almost missed this, Melodye. Something made me go over your posts, and now I know why!
What a special gift this story is for all of us. There is a poem that I love by the Persian poet Hafiz that somehow reminds me of this story and of you, my dear friend.
Old Sweet Beggar
This
Path to God
Made me such an old sweet beggar.
I was starving until one night
My love tricked God Himself
To fall into my bowl.
Now Hafiz is infinitely rich,
But all I ever want to do
Is keep emptying out
My emerald-filled
Pockets
Upon
This tear-stained
World.
So pretty! There was an article in today’s paper about hydrangeas and about how hard it is to produce the intense blue colour that most people, including me, prefer. I’ll enjoy looking at yours, because (I think) hydrangeas are poisonous to animals.
I just posted my final tulip photos of the season on my blog.