I can remember it like it was yesterday.
The boys that thought she and I should meet.
That took me in the crowd and sat me down beside her.
I have an impression of a large convention hall, filled with kids on this Good Friday church convention.
Those two boys changed my life by introducing me to her, and she changed my life too.
Good Friday.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Black Sunday at Big Lots
I could write an entire blog about my experience this morning standing in line at a Big Lots waiting for a no-brand-name tablet that was going on sale. And I wouldn't write one bad word about Big Lots - but plenty about people in general, people in line, and humanity.
And most people were perfectly nice. But the ugly ones, they were way too ugly for an $80 no-name tablet.
Which I didn't get.
But by the time MyFella, Jamie & I had finished breakfast, we decided that what I really want is a Kindle anyway.
MyFella, "No, that's not enough power for you. You want to be able to run a spaceship."
Me, "No, no, that'll be my new laptop. The Kindle is just to look up things on imdb while I'm watching t.v. And imagine how cool I'll look reading books on the couch with my legs pulled up under me, and my new Kindle in my hands."
So the Kindle is coming, and I'm kind of excited. And no weird people at Big Lots.*
*which remains one of my all time favorite stores. it's the other customers I don't like.
And most people were perfectly nice. But the ugly ones, they were way too ugly for an $80 no-name tablet.
Which I didn't get.
But by the time MyFella, Jamie & I had finished breakfast, we decided that what I really want is a Kindle anyway.
MyFella, "No, that's not enough power for you. You want to be able to run a spaceship."
Me, "No, no, that'll be my new laptop. The Kindle is just to look up things on imdb while I'm watching t.v. And imagine how cool I'll look reading books on the couch with my legs pulled up under me, and my new Kindle in my hands."
So the Kindle is coming, and I'm kind of excited. And no weird people at Big Lots.*
*which remains one of my all time favorite stores. it's the other customers I don't like.
You have no idea how much I love you.
A 7 year old kid told me that the other night. Just out of the blue. I had decided to drive to my parent's house in my hometown on Valentine's Day after work. The boss let me off just a bit early, and my nephews were staying the night with their grandparents.
And at the dining room table, trying to help him with his homework, the youngest one said, "You have no idea how much I love you."
What a funny thing for a child to say. But I tell you what, it can't possibly be more than I love him.
And at the dining room table, trying to help him with his homework, the youngest one said, "You have no idea how much I love you."
What a funny thing for a child to say. But I tell you what, it can't possibly be more than I love him.
"I drive your truck."
The song came out months later. And the truck is long gone. But I suppose since his is the most recent death in my life, the song would naturally remind me of him.
The white truck, the one in which he taught me to drive. The late model Ford with 4 in the floor, and my scrawny arms too weak to pull it. My grandmother laughing at the site of her descendent jumping over the bumps in the well tilled field.
And time passes, and keeps passing. My brother calls. And within a few hours, I'm taking my mother on a road trip. We've arranged to exchange her like a package, he gets her to point B, I take her on to point A.
He didn't recognize me. I honestly had the impression he didn't recognize anyone in the room. But his personality, his jovial spirit, shone through and he talked to people like he was genuinely glad to see them. He was up occasionally when we arrived. He couldn't walk far, but he walked.
I knew they had married before she was out of high school, he having obtained my grandfather's permission. He would always speak highly of my grandparents, in much the same way that people always speak highly of my uncle. And they would live out their lives together. But I hadn't considered the reality - they grew up in the same small town. They had walked to school together 30 something years before I was even born. There was never a time in their lives when they did not know each other.
He passed away on Monday before Thanksgiving. My grief somewhat abated by the knowledge that, as an adult, I made conscious decisions to see them, to visit them, to drive to their house and spend the weekend with them.
He may not have recognized me the weekend he died. But while he lived, he knew that I loved him.
The white truck, the one in which he taught me to drive. The late model Ford with 4 in the floor, and my scrawny arms too weak to pull it. My grandmother laughing at the site of her descendent jumping over the bumps in the well tilled field.
And time passes, and keeps passing. My brother calls. And within a few hours, I'm taking my mother on a road trip. We've arranged to exchange her like a package, he gets her to point B, I take her on to point A.
He didn't recognize me. I honestly had the impression he didn't recognize anyone in the room. But his personality, his jovial spirit, shone through and he talked to people like he was genuinely glad to see them. He was up occasionally when we arrived. He couldn't walk far, but he walked.
I knew they had married before she was out of high school, he having obtained my grandfather's permission. He would always speak highly of my grandparents, in much the same way that people always speak highly of my uncle. And they would live out their lives together. But I hadn't considered the reality - they grew up in the same small town. They had walked to school together 30 something years before I was even born. There was never a time in their lives when they did not know each other.
He passed away on Monday before Thanksgiving. My grief somewhat abated by the knowledge that, as an adult, I made conscious decisions to see them, to visit them, to drive to their house and spend the weekend with them.
He may not have recognized me the weekend he died. But while he lived, he knew that I loved him.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Friday, January 4, 2013
Breakfast
I know it may seem silly. I'm well into my. . ahem. . 40's, a grown man whose been living on my own for plenty long enough.
But some days, for whatever reason, I go to my home town and stay the night with my parents. And I just love waking up in my parents house and knowing that my Mom will fix me breakfast.
It's not much, I don't eat a lot of breakfast. So it's not the food. It's the presence, the act, the morning in their home and knowing that my Mom cared enough to get up and make me something to eat.
But some days, for whatever reason, I go to my home town and stay the night with my parents. And I just love waking up in my parents house and knowing that my Mom will fix me breakfast.
It's not much, I don't eat a lot of breakfast. So it's not the food. It's the presence, the act, the morning in their home and knowing that my Mom cared enough to get up and make me something to eat.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Springsteen
I suppose it's not uncommon to have an emotional reaction to a song on the radio.
Thanks to the country station's constant playing of Eric Church's "Springsteen" I find myself regularly reminded of my girlfriend in the 7th grade. Actually, I think we met and were friends in the 7th grade, but maybe dated, or whatever average 9th graders did for dating in 1983.
What I remember most is she dumped me for a guy named John. And I think I'm still mad about it. And honestly, if you had been dumped for John, you'd have been mad too.
"When you think about me, do you think about seventeen?"
"But if I whispered your name, I bet there'd still be a spark."
Isn't it funny how a memory can sound like a melody?
Thanks to the country station's constant playing of Eric Church's "Springsteen" I find myself regularly reminded of my girlfriend in the 7th grade. Actually, I think we met and were friends in the 7th grade, but maybe dated, or whatever average 9th graders did for dating in 1983.
What I remember most is she dumped me for a guy named John. And I think I'm still mad about it. And honestly, if you had been dumped for John, you'd have been mad too.
"When you think about me, do you think about seventeen?"
"But if I whispered your name, I bet there'd still be a spark."
Isn't it funny how a memory can sound like a melody?
Refried Bean & Bacon Taco
So there we were, all the way in Corpus, when I sent her a text. I knew she had grown up in Corpus, and knew her grandparents still live there. So the text was sort of a "nah-nah, here I am, and you're not" message.
The voice mail a bit later was, "Oh my gosh, I need you to go to my grandmother's house and get a box of stuff for me. She already shipped me one box but it cost too much. It's on the bad side of town so I don't know if you'll go. But I want you to take her to breakfast tomorrow." Pause "Do you wish you hadn't told me you were there?"
Very typical her.
A friend since roughly 1994, I had met her not long after she had moved with her parents to our area from Corpus. It would be fair to say we dated for a while. While I don't remember the exact time line, and probably do not want to, it would be fair to say that it ended, in part, because I knew I couldn't commit and she was liking me in a way that was going to hurt her.* But I digress from the story ~
I consulted with MyFella and our vacation hosts, and we changed our plans for the next morning to kick-off with breakfast with a lady in her 80's we had never met, who lives in the bad part of town, who speaks only broken English. One person in our party speaks only broken Spanish. It seemed like it should work out fine.
The next morning had us on the road at the right time to cross town, and she called, "Grandmother's so excited, she's been up since 4." It was quarter to 9. The home was cute, and Grandmother was proud to tell us that her husband had built it for her. It is filled with pictures and frames of children and grandchildren and beyond, and has a lovely feeling of being lived in and loved in. It was also spotless. (A trait my living quarters do not share.)
Breakfast was a fun affair at a diner type locally owned restaurant. The fun part? Mexican! Like, authentic, really people from Mexico~Mexican. Like, the waitress spoke English with a super strong accent. How fun is that!
She had texted for me to have her father's favorite for breakfast, a taco, as in the title. Then her mother texted me to try Menudo Soup.
I looked at Grandmother and said, "Menudo soup?" She said, "Good. Stomach." uh. No, I won't be trying stomach soup. I'll stick with the refried bean and bacon taco.
Tortillas were handmade and tasted like nothing I'd ever bought in a Midsouth grocery store.
We tried our very best to carry on a conversation with Grandmother, the 5 of us in a lively, noisy restaurant. At one point she called and I gave the phone to Grandmother. I would later find out that Grandmother told her she was having a good time with all of us and she did not have time to talk to her.
What a delight that lady is!
And what a fun, unexpected surprise on our vacation.
So, to sum it up, we drove 14 hours one way to have breakfast with my exgirlfriend's grandmother, and bring back a box of baby clothes.
Well. I do like an adventure.
* I suppose her marriage to a hard working man with beautiful arms has been some consolation after our breakup.
The voice mail a bit later was, "Oh my gosh, I need you to go to my grandmother's house and get a box of stuff for me. She already shipped me one box but it cost too much. It's on the bad side of town so I don't know if you'll go. But I want you to take her to breakfast tomorrow." Pause "Do you wish you hadn't told me you were there?"
Very typical her.
A friend since roughly 1994, I had met her not long after she had moved with her parents to our area from Corpus. It would be fair to say we dated for a while. While I don't remember the exact time line, and probably do not want to, it would be fair to say that it ended, in part, because I knew I couldn't commit and she was liking me in a way that was going to hurt her.* But I digress from the story ~
I consulted with MyFella and our vacation hosts, and we changed our plans for the next morning to kick-off with breakfast with a lady in her 80's we had never met, who lives in the bad part of town, who speaks only broken English. One person in our party speaks only broken Spanish. It seemed like it should work out fine.
The next morning had us on the road at the right time to cross town, and she called, "Grandmother's so excited, she's been up since 4." It was quarter to 9. The home was cute, and Grandmother was proud to tell us that her husband had built it for her. It is filled with pictures and frames of children and grandchildren and beyond, and has a lovely feeling of being lived in and loved in. It was also spotless. (A trait my living quarters do not share.)
Breakfast was a fun affair at a diner type locally owned restaurant. The fun part? Mexican! Like, authentic, really people from Mexico~Mexican. Like, the waitress spoke English with a super strong accent. How fun is that!
She had texted for me to have her father's favorite for breakfast, a taco, as in the title. Then her mother texted me to try Menudo Soup.
I looked at Grandmother and said, "Menudo soup?" She said, "Good. Stomach." uh. No, I won't be trying stomach soup. I'll stick with the refried bean and bacon taco.
Tortillas were handmade and tasted like nothing I'd ever bought in a Midsouth grocery store.
We tried our very best to carry on a conversation with Grandmother, the 5 of us in a lively, noisy restaurant. At one point she called and I gave the phone to Grandmother. I would later find out that Grandmother told her she was having a good time with all of us and she did not have time to talk to her.
What a delight that lady is!
And what a fun, unexpected surprise on our vacation.
So, to sum it up, we drove 14 hours one way to have breakfast with my exgirlfriend's grandmother, and bring back a box of baby clothes.
Well. I do like an adventure.
* I suppose her marriage to a hard working man with beautiful arms has been some consolation after our breakup.
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