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T13: Is it really Thursday? Vol. 13
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| Thirteen Things I’m thinking about1…. It’s 4:58 p.m. and I just realized it was Thursday.
2. I’m listening to Sideways: A Novel 3. The phone hasn’t rung at work all day long. 4. Well, that’s not exactly true. My grandma called, my sister-in-law called, and my husband called. They don’t count unless they are buying something. 5. It’s payday!!!!! 6. My husband is now the Head Chef at our house. I’ve had almost an entire month of really good meals, and tonight I think he’s making chicken. He’s the best! 7. TGTIF. That stands for Thank God Tomorrow Is Friday! 8. I’m thoroughly confused by Lost. What in the heck is going on? 9. Why can’t it be 80 degrees outside like it was on Monday? It’s back down to 50. 10. My sister-in-law has returned from two weeks in France. I hope she brought me a bottle of wine. 11. I should really go for a run tonight. 12. Or do yoga. 13. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was Thursday……. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! |
right now on my computer. Who knew you could download an audiobook from the library?Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Closer than they appear
I’m reposting this as a tribute to my Grandfather, who passed away March 29, 2003. It’s been four years now, and it seems like it was only yesterday.
Closer Than They Appear
My taxi pulled up to Tampa General Hospital. It was a large stucco building, and in the dark night it had a pink glow, most likely from the incandescent lights nestled into the grass and shrubs around it. It appeared to be deserted, except for my mom, who was waiting for me outside at the corner.
We held each other’s hand as she guided me upstairs to my grandpa’s room in ICU. I entered the doorway and there he was, the most kind and generous man I’ve ever known. The man who always jumped to help me; always offering to carry my bags; and even if there was nothing to carry at all, he’d still offer. Now his body lay still on the hospital bed. My grandma, a widow after 55 years of marriage, was sitting in a chair next to him, tears streaming down her petite face. The hospital chaplain was standing at the foot of his bed, and as I was introduced, he said to my mom and grandma, “Here is your angel, she’s come to take you home.”
Home was Milwaukee, Wisconsin for all of us. I had flown to Tampa for the weekend to spend time with my grandpa, who had been in the hospital for the past 13 days. He didn’t know I was coming, and it was going to be a surprise. As it turned out the surprise was on me — he died about 30 minutes before my plane landed.
The next morning we packed his car with my grandparents’ belongings. I remember the last time I was packing his trunk. It was the Monday before Christmas, and I was stocking it full of all the things a 20 month old needs in order to spend the day with her great grandparents. Diaper bag, extra clothes, stroller, portable crib, toys…. Not this time.
This time I was packing his hat collection. I never realized he had even a fraction of the hats he did. He always wore one, but if it was different than the hat he wore yesterday, I never noticed. You could always find one of them in the back window of his car, currently 1998 Oldsmobile Delta 88. We chose a white straw hat, symbolically placing it in the back window, and my grandma said it was “so that people thought we were traveling with a man.”
And that’s how my road trip from Tampa to Milwaukee began, with my grandma and my mom as my companions, the three of us were taking Grandpa’s car home for the last time. Others had vied for the chance to drive the car home yet through a twist of fate it was the three of us who had received this task, this mission, and this honor. It was as if Grandpa had it all planned out from somewhere on the other side, three generations of women would drive the car home, like a rite of passage.
There were no maps, no compasses, and no written directions. This was a trip my grandparents had made every year for 15 years as they came home to Milwaukee from their winter in Florida. We were going the route he preferred, enjoyed, and recommended. Instead of driving north to Georgia and winding our way into the toes of the Appalachian Mountains in Tennessee, my mom headed the car northwest on I-65 toward Alabama.
I watched out the window, as downtown Tampa passed me by. The street corners were empty, the palm trees stood tall and proud, their palms swaying gently with the gulf breeze. I’m not sure why we left so soon; yes, we had a funeral to go to, however it couldn’t start without us there to plan it.
We have always been close, yet I can’t recall a time prior when the three of us have been alone together for any extended period of time. Together we create a secret sorority of which only one member of each generation can join. We’ll wait years for the next member, she will be my daughter’s firstborn girl, and she’ll be named after me. I’m named after my grandma, as my mom is named after hers, and that name has been carried down to my daughter. We wear our names with pride, and this is a bond we have with each other, running deep into our blood, reaching back seven generations. As my mom drove, our first meeting was called to order.
Grandma began to point out different places she and Grandpa had been to, what they saw the last time they were there. Thinking about it now, I was listening without really listening, all at the same time.
The interior of the car was beige, and very clean, you could count on that, his car was always clean. I was seated in the backseat, and took note of the large white plastic bag filled with snacks like potato chips, pretzels, chocolate chip cookies, mini Hershey bars, and of course hard candy. We had enough snacks to host a small party, which is common for my family. They’ll have a party with so many snacks that no one is hungry for dinner, just more snacks. I wondered to myself why on earth did we need all these snacks? I found comfort in the small bag of hard candy because it was my grandpa’s love of candy that never let him leave home without it.
Soon it was my turn to drive. It was the first time I’d ever driven Grandpa’s car. I made the proper adjustments: the seat, driver’s side mirror, rear view mirror, lights on, passenger side mirror — wait a minute, how do we adjust the passenger side mirror? My grandma, who was seated in the passenger seat, rolled down her window to fiddle with it. This mirror was stubborn; it wouldn’t budge, not even a little bit. Not wanting to break it, she gave up, and I pulled the car out of the rest area, onto the freeway.
It had turned hazy and was drizzling outside, not enough rain to keep your wipers on, yet too much rain to turn them off. I tuned the radio to something Top 40, which I thought everyone could enjoy. Soon my grandma changed the station, eventually shutting it off. Respect kept me from turning it back on, and I thought to myself, this was going to be a long ride. It was pure luck my first driving rotation lasted for only 15 minutes. I was too nervous, and they gave me the rest of the day off.
Somewhere near Tallahassee we stopped for lunch at a bar and grill type of place. My grandma held up a wallet and announced: “lunch is on Grandpa.” I felt sadness in my heart as my eyes fixed on the wallet, Grandpa’s wallet. I didn’t know she had it. As kids we always went through his coin purse, however I had never even touched his wallet. It was dark brown leather and had a gently worn look to it. He would never have carried a tattered wallet, oh no, he had style and class. He was always pulled together as if each day was ‘picture day’ — his shined shoes matched his belt, which coordinated with his shirt that was neatly tucked into his freshly pressed pants.
Grandma opened his wallet and took out his driver’s license, as we looked through the pictures. Moments later, all of us we were teary-eyed. He was really gone.
In the billfold there were two sets of bills. Folded in half, and then half again were a few twenties, “His birthday money,” my grandma explained. It was deliberately separated from the unfolded cash that was his spending money. Grandpa’s birthday was January 18th, three months earlier, yet he still had birthday money.
“What was he saving it for?” I wondered.
“Oh, this and that,” my grandma told me.
As we climbed back into Grandpa’s car, someone pulled out the instruction manual from the glove compartment, and handed it to me to look up how to adjust the passenger side mirror. I read aloud, “Passenger side mirror adjusts by having your passenger roll down the window and manually adjust the mirror.” This was exactly what we’d been doing; however it’s not as easy as it sounds. The mirror was still stuck in the position perfect for my 5’10” grandfather. It wasn’t close to where we needed it since at 5’6” I was by far the tallest of the trio.
We stopped for the night at a hotel in Alabama. It had been a long time since I’d shared a bedroom with my mom and my grandma, how could I forget that they both snore? Why didn’t I notice this last night? I was sharing a room with two foghorns! I tossed, turned, and prayed to my grandpa that he’d quiet them for just 10 minutes so I could fall asleep. I tried every trick I could think of to rouse them from their slumber just a little bit so they’d stop snoring. Nothing worked. In fact they were now synchronized snorers, snoring away in perfect harmony. I finally fell asleep some time around 1:15 a.m.
The morning came quickly. We were up and ready to get back on the road by 7:00 a.m. We tried to adjust the side mirror again, no luck.
I’d brought along a book to read, The Diary of a Mad Bride, by Laura Wolf, I paged my way to the end, chuckling to myself in the backseat as I flipped the pages. Again, it was my turn to drive, which is when Mom picked up the book and started to read. At first quietly to herself, then out loud to us. It was a great way to pass the time, especially since the radio still hadn’t come back on.
It was the story of a bride who was planning her wedding, along with her mom and grandmother. I find it ironic this was the book I had chosen to bring along with me. Here were the three of us on our way home to plan one of the saddest events of our lives, while the characters in the book were busy planning one of the happiest events of theirs. It gave us an escape from reality, something to take our minds off of our mourning. Planning a wedding was something the three of us could relate to: receiving the engagement ring, setting the date, saying “I do,” and all the stress, snafu’s as well all the joy that comes with it.
That night we checked into a hotel in a small town in Illinois. As we went to bed, I told them not to be alarmed if they woke up in the middle of the night and I wasn’t there. It meant I couldn’t sleep because they were snoring, and I had gotten my own room. In record time, the two of them drifted off to sleep like two angels, make that two very loud snoring angels. You’d think I was sharing a room with a couple of truck drivers. I slid out into the hallway and padded my way down to the front desk where I gladly paid the hotel clerk $40 for my own room. I wrote a quick a note, leaving it on my bed for my mom and grandma, then grabbed my pillow and my cell phone, crossed the hallway to my new room and crawled into bed, where I got a great night’s sleep.
As I entered my mom and grandma’s room the next morning, I was immediately met by my grandma who said, “Grandpa just told me I needed to give this to you,” shoving two twenties into my hand. At first I was confused because I couldn’t understand what she was talking about, both of my grandfathers are dead. However, when I realized she was trying to pay for my hotel room I gave the money back, telling her I had already paid for it.
“He told me to give it to you,” she said, adding, “It’s his birthday money.”
His birthday money, how could I resist his birthday money? Something he held on to with great purpose, with the intent to spend it wisely, and on something with meaning? It had fascinated me for two days now. I acquiesced, folded it in half, then half again, placing it in a separate part of my wallet, just as my grandpa had done in his.
I seriously considered keeping it in my wallet for the rest of my life. Although, I have since spent the money on memories, such as treating my husband and daughter to ice cream on a Sunday afternoon.
When I first noticed the money I was intrigued he still had it. When I was given the money I became sentimental because it was as if I was given an extra piece of him, maybe the extra goodbye I missed on my way to Tampa. After I spent it I noticed my lesson. He really did save it for something special – someone special – me. He almost never got to use his birthday money.
We began the final leg of our trip with our ritual of unsuccessfully attempting to adjust the passenger’s side mirror. I honestly didn’t know why we bothered anymore.
Emotions were peaking this day. The closer we were to being home the more edgy we became, however there was something about being in the car which kept us all centered, as if we were in the warm embrace of him. We continued reading the book to each other, not only because it was entertaining, but it also kept our minds, and our mouths occupied.
As we crossed into Beloit, Wisconsin I began to notice things outside the car again. The sun was shining; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a gorgeous day.
I was the first to be dropped off, and while it was great to be home, it was hard to leave the comfort of his car and the company of my mom and grandma. As unexpected as it was, momentarily suspending my life for those three days to be with the two women whom I love the most, was something I’d do again in a heartbeat. We shared an experience of a lifetime.
I’m still perplexed by the passenger side mirror. I’d like to believe it was stuck in the position Grandpa needed it so he’d have a clear view into the car from Heaven.
Like most passenger side mirrors, at the bottom of this one it says: ‘Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear’, we couldn’t see him, but he was there. We really did travel with a man, my grandfather, and after all of us were tucked away, safe and sound, his car was parked in the familiar spot under the trees for the night, he collected his hat from the back window and went home.
Editorial note: I wrote this in June, 2003, after the passing my grandfather, for an essay competition. I thought it only fitting that I enter it in my Blog. This essay brought back to life my love for writing, as well as put into words a journey of a lifetime.
Summer?
It was 80 degrees outside yesterday. 80! I actually turned on the central air at home, which I still cannot believe I did on the 26th of March. MARCH! Isn’t that crazy? I tried to suffer through it, and my husband would have been more than happy to continue suffering through it, but here’s the thing: I have a zone of comfort that varies by a few degrees and an inside-the-house temperature of 80 degrees is about 6 or 7 degrees above the upper limits of that zone. So I cranked up the central air, and then went for a bike ride.
It was my very first bike ride of the year — actually my first bike ride since we moved into our new house. While I love biking, I love structure even more. My normal bike route is about 10 miles away, so I’ll have to come up with something else in the future. Last night I just rode around my subdivision and three neighboring subdivisions as well as the industrial park across the street. I logged in 8.5 miles, which was pretty good for my first time out. My legs are a little sore, running uses different muscles than biking does.
Zoe’s 6th birthday is coming up on April 7th. I have to get on the ball and plan a birthday party for her. The problem is that the 8th is Easter Sunday, the 6th is Good Friday, and I think the 7th is Holy Saturday. The 6th is also the first day of Spring Break, and I have no idea how many people would be able to come to a party that weekend, or the following weekend…… time to put my thinking cap on and plan a party though. She’s VERY excited! Would it be in poor taste to have a party on that Saturday?
Wonder
Prologue
Almost a year ago I ran this post. We’ve since sold the house and moved into another.
The Silent Screen
One day Hubby found himself locked out of the house, so he cut two small holes in the screen window in our dining room, slid the screen up, and crawled in. He took the screen off and put it in the basement so that bugs couldn’t get in through the holes. Somehow it became my responsibility to take the screen to be repaired. Don’t ask me how, but it was, and since I’m all about procrastination — the screen sat in the basement for quite some time.
One day he hands it to me as I’m walking out the door to go to the Y. I was in a hurry, so I didn’t even look closely at the screen. I just grabbed it, and dropped it off hardware store.
The next week he picked it up. As he walked into the dining room with it, I eyed up the screen, and then the window, back to the screen again, and then back to the window.
Uh oh, he had the wrong screen.
Our dining room windows are tall and narrow, like 42”x 20″, and the screen he had was more square, probably 30″ x 30″.
Me: That’s not the right screen.
Hubby: Sure it is.
Me: It’s not going to fit.
Hubby: Yes it will, just watch, you don’t do it right.
So I sat and watched as he tried to jam this square screen into a rectangular window.
Me: it doesn’t have the clippy things to slide the screen up and down in the window.
Hubby: Hmmmm maybe this isn’t the right screen.
We went down to the basement, and sure enough, leaning against the cement wall was the dining room screen, holes and all.
Do you want the know what the most hilarious part of this story is? When we brought back the screen from the hardware store the second time, it was also the wrong size to fit the window. Thinking we were going out of our minds, we accepted defeat and put it in the basement, next to the other new screen.
Months later the hardware store called to ask, when will you be picking up your screen window? What? It’s still there?
Of course it was. We had someone else’s screen. We still can’t figure out what window that first one belongs to.
Epilogue
We moved out of the house last May. Leaving behind the mysterious screen, carefully leaning it up against the wall in the basement. I often wonder if they’ve tried to figure out what window it belongs to.
T13: The book edition, Vol. 12
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Thirteen Things books I’d like to read 1….Dirty Laundry: A Sofie Metropolis Novel (Sofie Metropolis) 2. The Alexandria Link: A Novel 3. Size 12 Is Not Fat: A Heather Wells Mystery 5.Shopaholic & Baby (Shopaholic) 7.Alphabet Weekends: Love on the Road from A to Z 9. High Profile 12. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7) 13. Foul Play: A Sofie Metropolis Novel (Sofie Metropolis Novels) please click on the green Mister Linky to add your link if you are participating in the Thursday Thirteen |
Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
STOLEN
You may or may not know this, but in 2005 I wrote a short novel. It hasn’t been published, but I did share it with my readers at the time I was writing it. I have all intentions of proofreading it and sending it off to someone who might be able to do something with it …. but I’ve been extremely busy.
It wasn’t until after I completed my novel that I informed the readers that I had based it on an art heist …. one of the largest art heists ever. It occured in 1990 during the wee hours of the morning at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston.
To this day, art heists in general fascinate me, as well as perplex me. Why would someone steal art? It’s not like you can display a stolen Picasso above your fireplace and it won’t be noticed.
Last summer I stumbled upon an interview with the Rebecca Dreyfus, who was promoting her new documentary film, STOLEN. Ironically enough, HER film is about MY art heist. I’ve been dying to see her film for months now, but it had a limited city release and Chicago was the closest it came to Milwaukee. I couldn’t make it.
I’m very excited to announce that STOLEN is being shown on Independent Lens on PBS starting March 20th. THAT’S TOMORROW!!!
I’ll be watching it in the front row of my home theater. Okay, so I’ll be in my pj’s on my family room sofa, but whatever.
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