Archive for June, 2015

Mission Accomplished

June 16, 2015

“I’m off to write today’s entry,” I told Lala as I passed her this morning.  “I’m just not sure what I’m going to write yet.”

“Make it something happy!” she called after me as I headed toward my office.

And after she said that, my son followed me to the office and wanted to spin in my chair, which caused a laughing commotion which attracted the puppy who decided all that noise must mean it was playtime.

It’s The Kind Of Day Where That’s A Serious Risk For Me

June 15, 2015

The danger isn’t in taking five, the danger is intending to take five, then taking fifty . . .

And Now Another Lighter Note

June 12, 2015

The other day Lala facetiously (and foolishly) asked me how one could possibly find a ghost on demand at that particular time of the morning, so I mimed putting a gun to her head, then I made a trigger-pulling motion accompanied by a “bang” sound.

Both she and L’s Mother were horrified by this, but hey!

She asked . . . I answered.

All’s Well That Ends Well Though

June 11, 2015

Sorry for the vagueness yesterday, but I had taken my son’s dog to the vet for a minor procedure, and was waiting all day for news that all had turned out well.

And while, as the odds heavily, heavily favored, all did turn out well, I found myself with ample opportunity to contemplate that I was the one who had taken my son’s dog to the vet, and if something had gone wrong, then I would have been the one to do my best to explain that to him.  Faced with that, even the smallest chance of something going amiss can seem daunting, but the procedure needed to be done, so it was done, and I was keeping my contemplations to myself.

Hence the vagueness.

Just Not Today

June 10, 2015

When waiting for news starts to get to be too much for me, I figure the best way to tempt the Universe to stop playing the waiting game is for me to focus my attention elsewhere, thereby giving the Universe the opportunity to inconveniently interrupt me.

This works more often than you might think.

Facing The Truth

June 9, 2015

And now for a lighter note:

George: Your mother cut my face out of the picture.
Gracie:  Oh, George, you’re being sensitive.
George: I am not! Look at my face! What happened to it?
Gracie:  I don’t know. It looks like you fell on it.

Burns and Allen

Just A Couple More Things Regarding My Grandmother

June 8, 2015

Since last week I ended on a dark cloud note, I thought I’d mention a couple of the silver linings as well:

1.  The lessons I learned from grandmother have been invaluable in helping me keep perspective when I write.  In the good times they keep me humble, and in the bad times they inspire me by reminding what is really important.  I wouldn’t be who I am without her inspiration.

2.  As my mother pointed out, even if it was only here, my grandmother has at long last, finally been published.

My Thoughts On Some Of My Grandmother’s Memories (Part Five)

June 5, 2015

The truly terrible thing is that nobody ever forced that little girl who used to pretend she was typing on a typewriter to tear up her stories.  That was something she did to herself out of a fear easily understood by anyone who has ever tried to share themselves via something they’ve created.

It can be hard to do that, but the effects of not doing it, particularly if that’s what you want to do more than anything else in the world, can be horrible.  You can’t spend your entire life denying who you are and what you want to be and come out anywhere near happy, healthy or whole.

My grandmother taught me that.

The hard way.

My Thoughts On Some Of My Grandmother’s Memories (Part Four)

June 4, 2015

Not long after my grandmother moved to a much needed care facility and . . . well, got worse, both mentally and physically, but at least she didn’t have to worry about getting snake bit any longer.  Some people talk about getting the feeling after their loved ones “pass on,” that their spirits linger around for a bit after to keep an eye on things for a while.  Suffice it to say that when my grandmother died, Mom and I agreed that Grandma probably didn’t even look back . . . and neither of us could blame her.

For some, death is a freedom, and Grandma’s freedom was a long time in coming.

My Thoughts On Some Of My Grandmother’s Memories (Part Three)

June 3, 2015

Understanding her came later . . . much later, as in “well after the last time I saw her alive” later.

The last time I saw her alive I had stopped by her house on my way across country, and she looked . . . “bad” doesn’t even do it justice, but as bad as she looked, the state of the grass around the house was worse.  It was waist-high if it was an inch, and given my grandmother’s fear of snakes, there was no way she would have let it grow that high if she was at all capable of getting it cut.  So in the blistering early summer heat I forced a protesting push mower through all that hay until I had cleared the front yard and she could walk safely to the mailbox again.

We talked a little bit afterwards, her shading her eyes against the non-existent glare of a darkened room, but I was so exhausted and strung out from breathing pollen dust and smoke from that mower that I literally remember next to nothing about what we talked about.  At some point she apologized for not having baked a pie for me, I told her it was alright, and then it was time for me to hit the road again.  I hugged her goodbye (quite possibly for the first time in my life without resenting it), and that was that.