Sorority Security

Every morning I wake up, grease my paws, and put on my wedding rings. I was quite French in my choice of a smaller, less flashy declaration on my marriage, as there is no such thing as a marriage rock over here. It was not my interest in assimilation, however, that made me choose the small, blue enamel band with gold fleur-de-lis. It was my grandma, Jane Sheble Haigh, that began my intense love of the symbol. For those of you who were not privy to the “Animal House” experience in college, the fleur-de-lis is one of Kappa Kappa Gamma’s symbols, a sorority present at Bucknell that my grandma was one of the founding members of. Growing up, the iris (the fleur version) was on sweatshirts that my grandma wore, glasses that we drank out of, and umbrellas that she carried. As I followed in her (and my great grandma’s, and my mother’s, and three of my aunt’s, and two of my great aunt’s) footsteps, it became a part of me as well. I would feel that I was withholding pertinent information, however, if I didn’t mention that the owl and key are of equal importance to me, as they were also “Kapparific” symbols. One of the first purchases we made here were coasters with an owl imprinted on them--a Bon Marche find complements of Matt. Matt has now inherited my internal radar for any items sporting these symbols, a sixth-sense that my grandma would be very proud of.

As I was walking along the Seine the other day, fidgeting with my ring, and lost in my thoughts, I was remembering the dream I had had the prior night, where I had been talking to my grandma. I believe I could still recall it the following day because it felt so real, and so very good to be near her once more. I know that she and my papa would be so proud of me for making this move, and would have found a way, Parkinson’s and ailments aside, to get here to see me, and to delight in my new life with me. As two staples in my life, they have also helped to shape me. As I was frequently compared to my grandma for a myriad of reasons, one of them that is keeping me afloat over here, is looking for the beauty in the little things. She was frequently snapping and sharing pictures of what seemed so trivial—but to her was beautiful and worthy of documentation. Center pieces, place cards, trees in the backyard, flowers beginning to bloom, anything that she felt that others would delight in seeing. And I did, and find myself wanting to pass that love of the little things onwards.

As it has been quite cold here this winter, a staple of my winter wardrobe has been a pair of my grandma’s gloves that my cousin had dug up and given to me prior to my departure. As I pull them off to snap photos, dig in my wallet to pay for veggies at the marche (and most recently, purchase a light blue owl pin), or simply have them on as I walk around, taking in the sites of Paris, I know that my grandma is with me, watching me acclimate and start to feel at home here. My papa is probably tuning in more for the times when I am smearing pate on a baguette (scrapple was a favorite of his), or watching the ducks paddle around in the Luxembourg Gardens.

Although I am frequently feeling overwhelmed by my life here and my discomfort in not knowing the language (another way I am like grandma is my ability (in English) to be slightly demanding and authoritative, a skill I have lost here) I wander past boxes of brightly colored lemons and oranges covered with fleur-de-lis, or meander past a fragrant flower market showcasing the iris, or hand over my euros for an item of clothing sporting an owl, and I immediately feel a sense of comfort. And although grandma can’t be here to snap photos and bask in its sentimental beauty with me, I know that she is very much a part of it, just the same. And because my grandma is enjoying it from heaven, my papa is as well, because that is just how they worked.