We visited with her brother and his wife who are both in a nursing home. When they found out where we were going, they wanted us to pick up some Parnos sausage for them which could only be bought there. My great uncle repeatedly asked his wife how much sausage; she would say 3 and he would decide upon 4. After listening to this same routine several times, Grandma decided to get 4, for her brother's sake but when we arrived at the small town, there was a note on the Parnos Meat Market saying that they were closed because of the owners' health reasons. I felt disappointed as well, craving a taste I only imagined.
Then we went to the Indian reserve where my parents are buried. Grandma and I tended the grave. It really helped to be able to do something for them. The wild rosebushes on their plot were still thriving. These just appeared, we did not plant them. (I wondered if they were from the seeds of the flowers we tore off after my Mother’s burial to give to the people as they filed past us. I like the idea that this is the fruit of an impromptu display of gratitude to those that attended.) There was this huge plant right in the middle of the roses. I didn't know if it was a weed or a flower so I was going to leave it. It was ugly though, wilted from the heat. Finally Grandma and I both decided that it must go. My husband put on his work gloves and ripped it out from its roots. Now the view of the burial plot was beautiful again.
We stopped to visit my native relatives. I don't like just dropping in but it seems to be the laid back way of doing things there. I especially wanted to see my sculptor cousin. I have yet to catch him at home lately but his wife and children pulled up as we were talking to another cousin and she gave us a tour of his studio. I was so pleased to see his latest works. He is keeping busy as an artist. He is devoted to his craft and heritage. I admire that he is not hindered by the struggles.
As we were returning from our trip, there were a few showers and a beautiful rainbow afterwards.
Oh and we talked with my great uncle’s son the next day, telling him of the sausage and how disappointed his parents were. He told us that he had already told them that long ago.
“Easy to say, hard to live.”