Family stories

My paternal grandmother was an interior decorator. She came to the career late in life, but by the time that I came along, she had become relatively successful and well known. She lived in Washington D.C. and often decorated the homes of politicians and ambassadors.

Her home was always beautifully appointed and served as a showroom and a way to bring in clients. Her office was in the third floor of her house and I remember being awed by the yards and yards of hanging fabric along the back walls. It seemed extremely glamorous and sophisticated. If I was visiting and she had to work, I would sit myself among the fabric samples and sort through them all by color, style, and texture. I loved the heavy textiles and furs the most. I remember one afternoon in particular when my grandmother let me make myself a little nest of corduroy and chenille under her desk. Swaddling myself in the yards of heavy fabric like a baby in a receiving blanket, I couldn't imagine a better place I'd like to be.

My grandmother oozed glamour. She was a former low-level royalty from Budapest, Hungary who had been much spoiled as a girl and young woman. She told stories of 20 foot Christmas trees, multiple servants, boyfriends, and glamorous garden parties. When World War II hit and then subsequent invasion of Hungary by both the Germans and the Russians, she lost everything--her home, relatives, and friends. She eventually made her way to the United States, married a very American newspaper editor, and settled into D.C. life.

I fell in love with the glamorous tragedy of her life, and it became a large part of my own life story. I didn't identify with my mother's seemingly more pedestrian working class Irish Catholic background. That was a boring and familiar story, especially in a suburb of Boston where half of my classmates were named Donnelly and O'Malley. Instead, I chose to focus on the glamour of my grandmother's past. It made me feel special and different.

I took these cues from my grandmother herself. She had a strong tendency toward ignoring the bad and distasteful, and focusing only on the glamorous and positive. She was an expert at creating images--some of which were based on reality and some of which were not. This served her well in both her career and many parts of her life, but it didn't always serve her well in others.

Over the past few years I've come to realize that a lot of the images and stories about my grandmother's side of the family aren't quite what I thought they once were. It doesn't mean that they aren't all true, but I've learned that the stories I grew up with actually have their own stories as well. It's just now up to me to figure out how to tell the new versions of them.