Somehow, the memories I have of my grandfather right now are not my own.
He passed away September 19, the end of the summer, following my grandmother, who died at the beginning of the summer. The funeral was a few days later.
While my family spoke of their memories of him, I found that I only remembered those things because they said them. Oh! I thought when my dad read about Mighty Casey at the bat. I can hear him saying “No joy in Mudville” now.
I’d forgotten that! I pondered when my brother stood to say that Grandfather lost all hope for his team when they fell behind by a run in the fifth inning. “That’ll do it,” he’d say.
Continue reading “Memories of My Grandfather”
It was a bustling morning at the Art Gallery. Several people stopped in for the Photography Show. Children exclaimed over painted scenes of bridges they had traversed in the park. One woman purchased a magnet, and when the oversized Casio calculator displayed “1” three times when checking what 10% off $6 would be, I finally decided it was broken and used paper (for those who say this is easy math–this is true; but when I am faced with a cash register and a paying customer, my mind forgets everything I learned in fifth grade, and mental gymnastics to properly operate the cash register ensue).
In the relative quiet of the afternoon (the “oldies” radio station still plays), I am writing. They say bloggers aren’t supposed to pull attention toward how long it’s been since they last wrote something, but I’m going to break that rule for today.
Continue reading “A Master Artist”
One of my fondest memories of my father is from when I was 13 years old. We were standing outside the barn door after working together on a fencing project. I stood at his left-hand side, and he looked down and said, “That’ll do, pig.”
I grinned as I looked up through my massive owl-eyed glasses that took up half of my face.
Perhaps the addition of “pig” at the end of that sentiment sounds strange, but our family had recently adopted several phrases from the cult classic Babe: The Gallant Pig. We had seen the movie for the first time recently (I read the book later) and loved it, despite its agricultural inaccuracies (taking sows away in the manner the movie depicts in the beginning makes no animal care or economic sense to a farmer).
So the phrase “Well done, pig,” was some of the highest praise I could receive. Continue reading “My Parents Know More Than I Thought”