Engagement!

Growing up, there was one person who stands out first in my life—she showed me what it meant to be loved, to be admired, to be acknowledged . . . that was my grandmother Reine Ajas Kirsch. She told me I was good looking, which wasn’t something I heard elsewhere. She used her gas stove in her little summer trailer to heat a curling iron to give me the ringlets she thought were becoming. I ate breakfast with her every day in the summer after seventh grade once I finished my cross-country workout, and she heaped more Nestles Quik into my glass of milk than I deserved. I cleaned out her ashtrays, full of LARK cigarette butts, and my sister Laurel and I used her empty vodka bottles (one bottle each week, mixed with root beer) to make our own bar in the back yard, on a saw horse. She watched us from her trailer window. Granny Kirsch died when I was 14, but she is with me to this day. Here she is in an advertisement “Changing a tire’s so easy, even a woman can do it” or something like that. She was my person.

I was married for 21 years and raised three beautiful children. They amaze me, and they are all way smarter than I am. But the time came when I needed to take care of myself and leave the relationship with my husband / get back to the city of my heart, New York, get back to who I always was. I can’t say it was easy, and the next four years of a nesting house were challenging, for me, for my kids, for him too I’m sure. That’s over now.

For several years, when in New York half the time, I lived simply and peacefully . . . cooking gourmet meals just for myself and traveling to NJ every other week to take my turn at the nesting house . . .

And then I met my split apart, and my world exploded (the split apart phrase comes from Jandy Nelson’s I’LL GIVE YOU THE SUN). After a couple years, my split apart told me that he wasn’t comfortable calling me his person, his partner, or his girlfriend. He told me that he’d prefer to call me his wife. I said, “Are you asking me to marry you?” He said, “Yes.” And I agreed to do so with all of my heart. He brings joy to me, every single day, and he doesn’t ever get anxious. (I do.)

My father had the chance to meet him before he passed away last year. My father, the toughest of critics, loved Marty immediately. My mother loves him too.

I told my mom last fall that we were engaged. And I told her that I didn’t want to wear a diamond again. I told her I wanted an aquamarine. An aquamarine represents happiness, hope, and everlasting youth. In ancient times, aquamarine was thought to protect those at sea. It was believed to make sailors fearless and safe from adversaries on the open waters.

When I mentioned the aquamarine, my mother left her chair from the facebook video chat and went into her bedroom. She emerged with this aquamarine, which my Grandma Reine had purchased for herself when she had a little extra cash. It fit my finger like a glove. How did this suffragette, born in 1896, bearing my mother in 1935 by Caesarian Section, much shorter than I am and not the same body type, have the exact same size finger as I do? That is other. And I believe in other.

How I wish she could be here for my wedding next year. How I love her, and how she influenced me is enormous.

The world goes round . . .

Love to all on this amazing day.

Holly