A whole week. Wow, I've been here an entire week.

I went to visit my great aunt today. My father's parents died when he was very young, and he was raised by his grandmother. His grandmother died before I ever got to know her, so the person I'd have to say that was most like a grandparent on this side of the family was this great aunt of mine. Every time I see her I get lectures, but every time I see her I learn something new about my family, or my father.

Today I only got three lectures. They were all family related in one way or another. The first one was my great aunt wondering why in the world I had ever wanted to go to Australia. She believes that it is no good to leave your family. If I had to go anywhere, here, Montreal, was the only logical place to go, because that's the only place that I have other family. She believes that it's okay to leave your family behind if you're running for your life, or if you get married and your husband is moving to a new place. But to go on your own, with no one, is wrong.

The second lecture came when I told her about going to Europe. This she supported. A trip to see the world is a good thing. She asked who I was going with, and I told her that I will be going with my friend and my friend's 11-year-old daughter. Well, that got a reaction. Just how old was my friend? And how old was she when she had a child? And was she *married*??? No?!? Oh dear. Well, I'd better not wind up that way. Grr... Hackles up.

The third lecture wasn't directed exactly at me. She spent an hour detailing just how good care she and her mother and the rest of their family took of my father after his parents died. She told me all of the things that they did for him, how they sent him to the best religious schools, and always made sure that he had spending money. And that they always, always, emphasized that he was part of a family. Well, I know personally that my father hated the religious school, and that he felt smothered and pressured by his family until he moved out west when he was 23, but, of course, I couldn't tell her that.

She also told me how disapppointed they were that he hadn't married a Jewish girl. She told me that it's true that my mother is a nice woman, but when it comes down to it, she's just not Jewish. I emphasized back that it was always my mother, not my father, who taught us of the Jewish religion, cooked us Jewish meals, helped us light candles at Hannukah and play games at Passover. Well, yes, your mother is a nice woman, my aunt admitted, and we know that she tried, and that's why we still like her, even though she's not Jewish.

I don't mean to make my visit sound entirely bad, however. My aunt, although age 94, is still razor sharp and has a wicked sense of humour. She was genuinely thrilled to see me and showed me off and introduced me to everyone that we passed in the halls of her retirement complex. I caught her sneaking peaks at me whenever I wasn't looking, with a big grin on her face.

She also told me some stories about my father as a child. Apparently he was spoiled rotten. He was an only child. After his father died when he was four, his mother just let him have his way with everything. She was sick already too, and working two jobs to try to support them down in New York away from the rest of their family. She basically gave in to everything he wanted because it was easier than fighting. Then, after she died, he was taken in by his grandmother, who was an older woman and didn't have the energy to keep up with a small boy. She was used to discipline, he was used to freedom, and, apparently in the end, youthfull energy won out and he still had his way at everything.

My aunt told me funny things too, like that her mother used to iron everything of my father's, including his underwear. When asked why, the grandmother said that it made the undies softer on his little tush. Apparently he used to come home every night and just throw his clothing on the floor, or stuff it under his bed. His grandmother would get down on her arthritic knees and pull it out for him and wash it all. The funny thing is, and I told my great aunt this, is that whenever my mother isn't home, he still just tosses his clothing on the floor of his bedroom. He only picks it up when he knows she'll be around to yell at him. His aunt shook her head and rolled her eyes at this.

My great aunt also told me how my grandmother, my father's mother, died. I never knew this. I knew that she had heart problems, and was diabetic, but I didn't know how she finally died. Apparently, although she was quite sick, she continued to work, refusing to come home to her family because she wanted to be independent. Finally she got sick enough that she agreed to come home to Montreal, but before she could, she started getting blood clots. The first ones were in her feet and legs, and then they spread to the rest of her body, her arms, and finally her brain. And she died.

So it was an interesting visit overall. And, oh yeah. I ate lunch with my aunt. She watched carefully, and the more I ate, the happier she looked. She kept encouraging me; eat, eat! I now know where I get my big stomache from, because this 94-year-old woman ate almost as much as I did!

I was quite proud of myself too. I had to take first the metro, and then a bus, and then walk a few streets back to get to her place. I had good directions, and made it there and back with no problems. In fact, on the way back I hopped off the one metro line (orange) and onto the next one (green) and rode up to the grocery store. I figured that trick out all on my own! So, I guess I am settling in!