She was a gypsy and her name was Goldie. That’s all I ever knew about her. That’s all anyone knew about her, really. Nobody even knows what nationality she was. She was my great-grandmother on my mother’s side. The way I hear it, she married my great-grandfather and they had 2 children: Vivian and Oliver. Oliver was the oldest, my grandfather. My great-grandfather was a Methodist minister. I’m not quite sure how they met, although it must have been an interesting story.
When Oliver was very young, Golda abandoned her family. She just packed up and left with a man on a motorcycle. I can’t imagine what that was like… for my grandfather and his sister… for my great-grandfather… or for Goldie. What would possess a woman to abandon her family like that? I understand she came back a couple of years later but didn’t stay. My grandfather saw her and asked his dad who she was, and his father replied, “that’s your mother.”
Though I don’t understand her or know her, I do know that her blood still runs in me. She is my great-grandmother. In some ways I still feel her soul. Maybe that sounds odd. But that’s the reason for the name of this blog: Soul of the Gypsy.