The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘grandparents’

Let’s Hear it for the Birds

Recently my fiancé (I am still more often than not calling her my girlfriend – whoops) and I spent the weekend with her grandparents. The idea was for us to relax, possibly go fishing, and just have quality time with them.

Despite less than ideal weather (which I learned impacts your likelihood of catching anything), the fishing happened and it was enjoyable. I learned a good bit from my fiancé’s grandpa and even got a rod and reel as a gift from her grandparents. (The last time I had gone fishing may very well have been for bugs.)

To me the most interesting moment of the trip was a very mundane thing that led to a funny realization.

On Saturday we were moving and shaking pretty much all day – fishing trip, then I went for a jog, then ran some errands with my fiancé’s grandpa, dinner, then downtime (phew). I had been looking forward to sitting on the deck, looking at the ocean, sipping coffee and reading. Sunday morning brought this lovely scene to reality. After a bit my fiancé’s grandparents came outside too. They began to talk about birds in the birdhouses outside of their house. Apparently some neighbors watch them so much that they recognize when they have come back (after they fly away to wherever during the cold season). Both grandparents told bird stories – the first about watching a bird fly up, up, up, tuck its wings and dive bomb down then spread out its wings and swoop safely along. Then a story about an angry mama bird circling the birdhouse chirping away at a baby bird too afraid to take that first leap to learn to fly … Eventually the mama bird came down, knocking the bird out of its house, forcing instincts to kick in and allow the bird to learn to fly.

My God, I thought, they watch birds for fun. That is a new level of boring.

This is when I had my moment of clarity. (By the water, too, how classically symbolic).

Sitting there, happy to sip coffee and not move, I realized how if me from 15 years ago was to see this … He would be shocked. I can’t tell you how shocked I would be. ME, one of those people who just likes to sit around and sip coffee (coffee!? blech!) and not move. Don’t I know there’s a BEACH right there? Don’t I know I could be doing something FUN? I looked at the birds and wondered, how many years til you guys are interesting?

I think there are three things that will help me continue to transition to becoming someone my 10 year old self would dread – enjoying life (especially the little things), finding humor in those little things, and having someone around who has to listen to my ramblings (I’m looking at you, fiancé).

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Weekly Wacko

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Habit Unobserved

“The men helped my father into the coach first, and then my mother, a reversal of their usual and ritually observed manners, which seemed to me final and devastating.”

This is a quote from Tinkers by Paul Harding. It inspired this little ditty. I’m just picturing an elderly couple getting into a car (an anonymous elderly couple, most certainly no one I’m related to …).

Habit Unobserved

She helped him into the car.

They were heading to have brunch with two of their children, and their children’s spouses, and one or two of their grandkids if they had the time. It would be a nice meal. The food was always good there, and it was good to see family and be able to catch up (not that they caught up, because they generally told the same stories).

It was just that she helped him into the car.

She looked at him and he smiled at her. Or did he? She may have just pictured it. The smile she saw wasn’t the same smile that he gave now. The smile she saw was the smile she’d started seeing many years ago. The smile that was him. The smile that was so much more than a smile because it was his charm, his wit, his personality. That smile had grown to be her, too. It was no wonder she saw that. But, no, if she stopped and thought about it – but, no, let’s not do that.

Of course she helped him into the car. That’s what you do. You take care of the people you love. Over the years you don’t even notice some changes because they come gradually and then you stop, you look, and oh, you’re the one helping him into the car now. Well, a little joke about this will be funny. Who’s the gentleman now, hm? You both laugh. The next time you make that joke it’s still not that funny, but you laugh. And the joke will be made a number of times but it’s part of a new ritual. A ritual that you’d rather just look over, so you stop the joke.

It’s going well. This is nice. You just move along fine and, oh, like a stumble you ignore that little mistake, and want it so badly to be a stumble but you know that – no, you can think about it later, be polite you’ve got plans.

And then you go home and make more plans.

Things are busy and it’s really not that bad, and, well, you’re doing everything you can do. And part of that is helping him into the car, and that’s all it is, nothing else.

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Short Short Stories

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A Little Story About Jogging

Today I woke up and I had the goal of going on a jog.

Actually wait, let me tell you a little something first. I just bought new sneakers and they are oh so pretty. They were a birthday gift from myself to myself – which makes me worry about how boring I have become.

Starting a story with an aside. What have I done? This makes me think of my grandparents. They’ll be talking about breakfast (old people latch onto boring topics), and then one of them will mention delicious cantaloupe, and then,

“Oh … yes … that cantaloupe was good. Wilbur, where did we get that cantaloupe?” The grandma asks.

“Hm?” The grandpa asks.

“The cantaloupe!” The grandma yells/whines.

“It’s good. You remember that really good cantaloupe we had?” The grandpa asks.

Quick note. Sorry, old people, for teasing you on the memory – I’ll have no memory when I’m old so justice will be served. Hell, God may even smite me down now. Where am I!??! BUT, seriously, old people, WHY do you remember the most worthless parts of stories? And again, I already know I’m doomed to this fate. “Oh I remember the day I met your grandmother …” I’ll say sweetly to my grandchildren, “it was cloudy.” And that’d be the whole story.

Back the to conversation.

“Wilbur!” The grandmother then says angrily, she seems to think her husband being old with the limited memory is a façade. Every day he wakes up and giggles, and whispers to the mirror, “I am such a prankster!”

“Hm?” The grandpa asks.

“Where did we get that cantaloupe?” The grandma asks.

“Mm. From Tom and his wife.” The grandpa says, without care.

“No! … It wasn’t them. It was Tom’s old neighbor …  who drove that Cadillac.” The grandma says.

Now, here we go onto a four minute car talk. Like a family tree, but of cars. “It was before we had the Buick … but after the (insert old people car here) …”

Following this we’d get back to the fabled cantaloupe, the story would conclude with no progress, with the final thing said being,

“Well, anyway, it was good cantaloupe.” The grandma would say this in an annoyed tone. She now somewhat hates the cantaloupe.

Anyhow – the run didn’t happen. I was too lazy.

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Short Short Stories

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