thank you notes (helene)
I'm thankful that I share my surname (Pertl) with my grandmother, thanks to my mother keeping it and passing it to us along with sole parent status on our birth certificates. I'm thankful that my eldest sister did the same last year and gave her daughter, my first niece, our surname. I'm thankful, so thankful, that for the first and probably last time us four generations of Pertl women will meet in Vienna this weekend. My grandmother, mother, sisters, and niece. I'm thankful to have vivid memories of my grandmother (Omi) before we moved to Ireland and on visits back in the early days. I'm thankful that Omi once told me that when she feels worried at night she holds onto one of the corners of the duvet sheets. Her sheets were always pristine white. She starched them herself. This small ritual soothed me often as a child, when at night I was gripped by fear of death. I'm not sure what the comfort was for her, but for me it brought her close. Falling asleep beside her and waking up to the clanking of breakfast things and the smell of rosehip tea. I loved being at Omi's when I was small. I'm thankful for the clock in her living room that had a very loud tick. I'm thankful that I was her favourite grandchild until my parents did the unspeakable and moved us all to an island far away forever.
I'm thankful that her one and only visit to Ireland was for my 'communion' which I didn't really do because none of us were baptised, but I did wear a white dress and there are photos of us all in the botanic gardens. I'm thankful that my mother spent weeks trying to shape the chaos of our house into an acceptable form before her arrival but to this day Omi still talks about how messy it was. I'm thankful that despite how hard she is on my mother, she's the only one who can really make Omi laugh. I'm thankful that when Omi talks about Ireland she talks mostly about how much it rains and about how the potatoes they eat here (the floury variety) would be pig food in Austria. I'm thankful that she would never admit to liking anything about Ireland because it's the country that stole her four grandchildren for no good reason other than the whims of their parents. I'm thankful that through the years I've had enough sense to agree with all of her complaints because they come from a proud place in her heart that loves us all and doesn't want us to leave.
I'm thankful that she brought me shoe shopping when I was twelve and afterwards we got ice cream viennese style. I'm thankful that I walked at her pace which seemed so painfully slow even then that I can't believe she's still going eighteen years later at 93.
I'm thankful that she agreed to show me how to make apfel strudel once and then took over because I was doing it wrong.
I'm thankful that I saw her every Sunday for the year I spent in Vienna when I was fifteen, partly out of necessity because I came over to shower (there was no hot water in our apartment), partly for a full dinner with meat (my sister and I cooked mostly gnocchi with tomato paste or ate tubs of stracciatella ice cream while sitting on the large radiator by the window) but mostly because she demanded my presence, assumed I'd be there and reproached me if I didn't come. I'm thankful that the Sundays were so similar that they could have been one very vivid day. I'm thankful for her steadfast routines that pulled everyone into their orbit in her presence. I'm thankful for the force of her demands. How she would insist with a boom that everyone keep eating, look at all the food, she had made so much and it would all go to waste. 'Iss! Iss!' she would roar. It was frightening and funny. She was a very good cook.
I'm thankful that when Omi says you're looking well she means plump, and how much we all dreaded those words growing up. I'm thankful that she really meant it and it was probably a war thing. I'm thankful for the life that she had that she doesn't talk about, the one where she fled with her sister and they made clothes from a red parachute left in a field near her village. I'm thankful for the few stories I know that the two of them patched together chatting on a warm summer's day in the garden while I ate cherries right off the tree checking each one carefully for worms.
I'm thankful that she is the one woman who scares the crap out of my dad. I'm thankful that to this day they still use the formal 'sie', which is such an Austrian way of expressing both respect and, if it continues for too long, wariness. I'm thankful that I can see Omi in my mother, in my sisters and I, and in my niece too, the solemn and wilful stare of the matriarchs.
I'm thankful for the small red dot, a birth mark, on the tip of her nose that sometimes disappears and once or twice has appeared on my mother's nose. When I was small I thought that this red dot was something that passed from mother to daughter and would appear on my nose someday, probably my mother told me that this was the case. I'm also thankful for the saying in Austria that when your nose is itchy it means that someone is thinking about you, and how often I've thought about my loved ones when my nose was itchy thereby presumably also making their noses itchy.
- helene (4/22/16). instagram/tumblr/website: @helenepertl
I'm thankful that her one and only visit to Ireland was for my 'communion' which I didn't really do because none of us were baptised, but I did wear a white dress and there are photos of us all in the botanic gardens. I'm thankful that my mother spent weeks trying to shape the chaos of our house into an acceptable form before her arrival but to this day Omi still talks about how messy it was. I'm thankful that despite how hard she is on my mother, she's the only one who can really make Omi laugh. I'm thankful that when Omi talks about Ireland she talks mostly about how much it rains and about how the potatoes they eat here (the floury variety) would be pig food in Austria. I'm thankful that she would never admit to liking anything about Ireland because it's the country that stole her four grandchildren for no good reason other than the whims of their parents. I'm thankful that through the years I've had enough sense to agree with all of her complaints because they come from a proud place in her heart that loves us all and doesn't want us to leave.
I'm thankful that she brought me shoe shopping when I was twelve and afterwards we got ice cream viennese style. I'm thankful that I walked at her pace which seemed so painfully slow even then that I can't believe she's still going eighteen years later at 93.
I'm thankful that she agreed to show me how to make apfel strudel once and then took over because I was doing it wrong.
I'm thankful that I saw her every Sunday for the year I spent in Vienna when I was fifteen, partly out of necessity because I came over to shower (there was no hot water in our apartment), partly for a full dinner with meat (my sister and I cooked mostly gnocchi with tomato paste or ate tubs of stracciatella ice cream while sitting on the large radiator by the window) but mostly because she demanded my presence, assumed I'd be there and reproached me if I didn't come. I'm thankful that the Sundays were so similar that they could have been one very vivid day. I'm thankful for her steadfast routines that pulled everyone into their orbit in her presence. I'm thankful for the force of her demands. How she would insist with a boom that everyone keep eating, look at all the food, she had made so much and it would all go to waste. 'Iss! Iss!' she would roar. It was frightening and funny. She was a very good cook.
I'm thankful that when Omi says you're looking well she means plump, and how much we all dreaded those words growing up. I'm thankful that she really meant it and it was probably a war thing. I'm thankful for the life that she had that she doesn't talk about, the one where she fled with her sister and they made clothes from a red parachute left in a field near her village. I'm thankful for the few stories I know that the two of them patched together chatting on a warm summer's day in the garden while I ate cherries right off the tree checking each one carefully for worms.
I'm thankful that she is the one woman who scares the crap out of my dad. I'm thankful that to this day they still use the formal 'sie', which is such an Austrian way of expressing both respect and, if it continues for too long, wariness. I'm thankful that I can see Omi in my mother, in my sisters and I, and in my niece too, the solemn and wilful stare of the matriarchs.
I'm thankful for the small red dot, a birth mark, on the tip of her nose that sometimes disappears and once or twice has appeared on my mother's nose. When I was small I thought that this red dot was something that passed from mother to daughter and would appear on my nose someday, probably my mother told me that this was the case. I'm also thankful for the saying in Austria that when your nose is itchy it means that someone is thinking about you, and how often I've thought about my loved ones when my nose was itchy thereby presumably also making their noses itchy.
- helene (4/22/16). instagram/tumblr/website: @helenepertl
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