Eudora 'Granny' Addams. Grey haired now. Never did put up with a lot from anyone. Mixer-of-potions, plotter-of-plots. Frequently held back from her more antisocial schemes by her daughter. Quite the catch in her day. If you're wise, you won't let yourself get taken in by the seeming daffiness. Underneath that kooky exterior, her mind is as sharp as it ever was, and you dismiss her at your peril.
Morticia Addams. The matriarch now. Wife, mother, daughter. She learned at her mother's knee how to live in this world. How to make the world over into the way you want it to be. How to live by your own rules, never someone else's. How to take pride in your family & where you come from, no matter who they are or what they have done.
She stands in the middle between the generations. Looking back at her mother, symbol of the past, link to the long line of proud Addamses that have wandered this Earth. Looking forward towards her daughter, symbol of the future, link to the long line of proud Addamses to come.
Wednesday Addams. Child of her mother. Avid student of what it means to be an Addams woman. Tests her brother constantly for signs of weakness, practicing for the day she will take a husband. Or a lover. Addams women care not for the societal norms of the outside world, so it matters little whether they are caught in the web of matrimony. Some choose it; some don't. It is by their choice and their will which is which.
All of them are far more than the sum of their wombs' production, but they are all fiercely proud of what they have done and will do towards the physical furthering of the Addams line. Already, there are moments (although not many) when Wednesday asks who she should marry. But then, before an answer comes, she is back with Pugsley, putting him to another test of survival, and the moment passes.
They all carry that reaper's sickle in their hands. One of the unspoken tasks of the Addams women is to ensure that the men of that line are worthy of them, of being an Addams, of fathering the next generation of Addamses. When they come from outside, as they do from time to time to strengthen the bloodline, they marry into the line, and it is their family name that is lost, not the women's.
One of the tricks to being a true Addams woman is the ability to select a strong man that wants a strong woman in his life. Being married to an Addams woman is not an easy thing, but it is a glorious thing, and the lucky few who can say that they are partnered with an Addams woman feel fortunate indeed.
Another is to have mastered the skills of running an Addams household. To have become the unquestioned mistress of the skills & talents which such a household requires, and to know the history/herstory of the family in all its many branches.
Part seductress, part sorceress, part scholar, part woman. All of this together makes up an Addams woman, and these three Addams women, through three different generations, have what it takes.
So watch for them. They are unmistakable. And that is a fine thing indeed.
Morticia flowed down the stairs one morning, calling out as she came. “Mama, Wednesday, come here, please!”
Mama emerged from the kitchen, soup ladle in hand. “What do you want? The oxbrain soup is reaching a critical point!”
“I won't be a moment,” Morticia soothed. “Wednesday!”
The sound of running feet followed by an anguished scream came to her ears. “Ah, here she comes!”
Wednesday came rushing down the stairs. “Yes, Mother?”
“What were you doing upstairs?” Morticia asked, smoothing her daughter's hair.
“Oh, just torturing Pugsley again,” she replied offhandedly.
“Good for you, dear. Keep up the good work.”
“The soup, Morticia?” Granny complained.
“Oh, yes. The soup. Mustn't allow that to overcook.” She flowed over to the table where a large piece of parchment lay. She picked it up and began to read.
To all Addams women:
We are collecting a series of tales to add to the family album.
Please send us your favorite story of what it means to be an Addamses.
Yours in Wyrdness,
“Isn't that wonderful?”
The resulting silence rang profoundly throughout the room.
“Wednesday? Mama? Aren't you thrilled?”
Granny turned away in disgust. “Why should we be? You've ruined my soup for nothing!” She began to stalk huffily back to the kitchen.
Morticia turned to her daughter. “Wednesday? Surely you can see the honor we've been given?”
But Wednesday had already turned away, begun walking back up the stairs. “Sorry, Mother. And even if I did, what stories would I have? I'm too young to have anything to say.”
“On the contrary, Wednesday, you have a lot that you could say.”
She halted her upward march, one foot hesitating in the air. “I do?”
“Yes, Wednesday. You are part of this proud heritage too. Come sit with me and we can write something out for you.”
Wednesday considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I guess Pugsley can wait for a while.” A tormented moan came from upstairs. “In fact, I'm sure of it.” She skipped back down the stairs and came to her mothers skirts. “So, what can we write about?”
“Well, let's think about that.” Morticia pulled the hangman's noose that served as their bellpull.
Lurch answered at once. He moved surprisingly quickly for one so large. “You rang?”
“Yes, Lurch. Parchment and plenty of quills. Wednesday & I have stories to write.”
“Very well.” He vanished in search of the requested items.
In the meantime, Morticia & Wednesday made their way to the dusty horsehair sofa and sat. Shortly, the box on the endtable popped up and Thing emerged, a rolled-up bundle of parchment in his hand.
“Thank you, Thing,” Morticia said. “But where are the quills?”
Thing disappeared, and in a moment popped back out brandishing the plumes like a proud cockade. “Thank you, Thing. Now just bring us some ink and we'll be all set. The dragon's blood, I think. That will set the tone nicely.”
She spread out the paper on the long table in front of her. “So. What makes you proud to be an Adams, Wednesday?”
And so the afternoon was spent pleasantly, Wednesday talking and Morticia taking notes. Even Granny eventually came out of her kitchen, at hearing the fun the two were having. And tho' she grumbled about her spoiled soup, she also added some amazing tales of her own.
In all the authorial rush, no one remembered Pugsley until much later, when Gomez came in and inquired after his missing son. Sore, but elated, the freed Pugley insisted on adding his own perspective on what it meant to be living with Addams women, which led to Gomez joining in, of course, and eventually the whole household chiming in.
The resulting package that got sent to Bardola Adams was huge, not merely in size, tho' the parchment alone weighed eleven pounds, but also in history and herstory. Addamstory.
And so another generation or several added their thoughts to the great ongoing chronicle that was Addamses history.
And it was good.