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Sunday, December 25, 2005

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 18:44:54 GMT

Years ago, I spent a summer week with my father's father. It was a relatively quiet week--my grandpa was never known to be much of a talker. We watched TV together. We ate meals together. We visited my grandmother's grave together. We sat and read together. What we didn't do was talk together. It wasn't a silence full of akward, we-have-nothing-to-talk-about moments. It was a silence shared between two people who didn't like to talk.

In a way, my grandfather and I were kindred spirits. He was quiet, he often preferred solitude, and he was stubborn as a mule--stubborn enough to quit smoking cold-turkey without a look back. He watched television and read all day, and until his health began to determine his level of freedom, he always seemed happy. If I had to pick one person in my family that I take after, he'd be the one.

I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to see my grandfather lucid before he went--I missed my chance last weekend. However, my guess would be that he wouldn't care either way. I'm happy that he got his wish not to draw it out any longer. I'm happy that I got to see him before he went.

For fear of being overly wordy--something I'm sure he wouldn't tolerate--I'll stop eulogizing my grandfather now. May he rest in peace.

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Wed, 29 Dec 2004 17:12:15 GMT

My Grandma Was a Superhero.

The last time I saw my Grandma before she got sick three years ago, I hugged her goodbye. I used to hug my Grandma all the time. When she was ill with a case of Shingles in 1999, I would go over to her house every day for a few minutes, just to hug her. She said that she was glad that I would come, and that I was the only person who would hug her while she was ailing. When my grandma got sick the last time, I didn't hug her anymore. I was afraid that I would hurt her. One of my greatest regrets in the world is that I didn't hug her every time I visited, and moreso that I didn't make an effort to hug her every day.

My Grandma was patient. You know that she, like the rest of my family, had heard every word of my Grandpa's stories before, time and time again. But she was always listening to, and oftentimes correcting these stories. She never seemed to tire of our immature antics as children, and oftentimes she seemed invigorated by them. She was always willing to play a board game with me, and somehow look past the constant bickering between my brother, sister, and I when we stayed over. When I was little, I couldn't wait to stay over at Grandma's house: to peruse the old comic books; to spend the day playing board games and card games; and to just generally spend time with my grandparents. And of course, if you were staying over at Grandma's, you always wanted to accompany her to the market. You knew that she'd buy you a candy bar or something good, and it was always fun to "be helpful" on her shopping trip.

My Grandma was funny. It was a dry humor, and one that was never expressed often (or often enough). It was amazing that she could make you smile by rolling her eyes at a particularly inane comment, or by making just a little quip here or there. My sister was telling me the other day about how my Grandma won a Miss Piggy impersonation contest. There's a lot to be said about a woman who has the subtle and unsubtle senses of humor down to an artform.

My Grandma was smart. She had shelf after shelf filled with books and novels, and she was always in the middle of one, always had her nose buried inside of one. And she loved puzzles. Whether they were jigsaw puzzles or word puzzles, she seemed to be having the time of her life solving them. She was the spark that ignited my ongoing fascination with crossword puzzles. She and I would oftentimes work on them together, and when I was a teenager, it was not rare for her to call me in hopes that we could conspire to solve a particularly tricky clue.

My Grandma believed in me. She was the one who encouraged me to sing in the Children's Choir at church, back when I had an excellent, girlish singing voice. I was mortified at the possibility of performing in front of the entire church, but it was with my Grandma's help that I was able to conquer my fear. She had faith in me; she believed in me to a fault, I guess. When I was nine, I was a lying little slimeball. I was copying a poem down from a magazine I was reading, and she asked me if I had written it. I, of course, said yes to her, because there wasn't anything in the world I wanted more than her admiration. What a little weiner I was. I broke her trust. But even after the truth came out, she still believed in me, and never stopped.

My Grandma was a great cook. A holiday just wasn't a holiday without her culinary fingerprint on the proceedings. Christmas wasn't complete without her ham dinner, and New Years without her pork and sauerkraut. My Grandma's quiche, which was made as a special treat on New Years Eve, is one of my favorite foods of all time. I'd love eating lunch at her house, always a sandwich (cut in half down the center), potato chips, and a pickle, on those same little rectangular plates. She was always cognizant of our health as children while we ate. She used to make me drink milk with my meals, and she was the only one who could entice me to force that filthy stuff down my throat. Every dinner was a special dinner, and every dinner with her was a sit-down-with-the-family affair. If this family were a house made of toothpicks, she would be the glue.

My Grandma was a superhero. I can't believe how much she did for me and for my parents and for my family, and I can't believe how much she went unrewarded. One time, I was home alone and I managed to slice my finger with a sharp knife while seperating some frozen burger patties. I called my Grandma and Grandpa, and they came over and made sure that my already-blue finger did not fall off. Then to make me feel better, she took me out to eat and we talked. Back in elementary school, I had a habit of faking sick to escape, and most of the time I would go to her house, watch The Wizard of Oz, and just spend the day with her. She would always watch us when my parents had plans, or when they were out of the area. Always to the rescue. And it wasn't just her family. She would give rides to homebound friends, and she was just generally friendly to the point of busting her hump for everybody. My Grandma was always there in a pinch. She would trudge through miles of swamp for anyone, and she never expected anything in return. I've never known another person in the entire world as selfless, beautiful, and saintlike as my Grandma. I miss her, and I will miss her forever.

Wednesday, October 22, 2003

Wed, 22 Oct 2003 14:09:38 GMT

elliott smith, 1969-2003
Singer/Songwriter Elliott Smith Found Dead, An Apparent Suicide
Elliott Smith Dead at 34

I think these lyrics are relatively appropriate. Fond Farewell by Elliott Smith.

The litebrite's now black and white
Cause you took apart a picture that wasn't right
Pitch burning on a shining sheet
The only maker that you'd want to meet
The dying man in a living room
Trying to get to the door
God knows what for
This is not my life

It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend

He said, "Really I just wanna dance"
Good and evil matched perfect it's a great romance
I can deal with some physic pain
If it'll slow down my higher brain
Page full of disappearing ink
Vomiting in the kitchen sink
Disconnecting from the missing link
This is not my life

It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend

I see you're leaving me and taking up with the enemy
The cold comfort of the in between
A little less than a human being
A little less than a happy high
A little less than a suicide
The only things that you really tried
This is not my life

It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend

This is Just a Fond Farewell to a Friend

Elliott, I never got a chance to meet you. I never got a chance to know you personally, as many of your fans did. I never got a chance to devote a website to you. I never got a chance to see you play your music live. However, through your art, you have moved me. There are no words that can express how much your music has meant to me. Through your poetry, I feel as though I have known you personally for many years–like you were one of my best friends. I’ve never known another artist I could relate to as well as I could relate to you. Simple yet elegant songs of sadness and depression, love and heartbreak. Everything that has happened to me in my life I can relate to your songs.

Well, Elliott, I hope you don't mind that I steal your words to honor your memory. "I’m never going to know you now, but I’m going to love you anyhow." Never will a day go by that I will not remember your contribution to the modern music scene; never will a day go by that I will not sing a song you've written; and never will a day go by that I won't remember the way you changed my life. Rest in peace, Elliott. I’ll see you in heaven.

Nothing else today.