Saturday, May 26, 2007
Memorial Day weekend.
hmmmm.... good show tonight.
and now. I want to write.
I have a hexagonal box of chocolate on my dresser-top. It is baking chocolate, and the writing on it is Spanish. The name on it is "Abuelita," and it is Nestle Mexican baking chocolate. I bought it for my Grandma Mary, my abuelita who is shorter than I am. There is a picture, presumably of a grandmother, on it. She does not look Mexican– she has white hair, glasses, and a cup of chocolate poised in front of her lips.
I bought it for my Grandma, but I haven't seen her since the funeral, in March. My dad and mom go down to Burien to see her about once a week. They always go on weekdays, when I am in school. And so the chocolate waits on my dresser-top.
My dad and I were in Wallingford today, and we ran some errands on the way back. I was driving. I like driving my dad better than driving my mom. My mom makes me nervous, because she gasps at least once per trip and makes me feel like a crappy driver. My dad is pretty calm, and he just tells me what to do in a straight tone. Well, we were driving home, and first we stopped at Seattle Fabrics to get some zipper lubricant for the Miata.
The family joke is that our Miata was the product of my dad's midlife crisis. My mom was totally in on it though. Anyway, the zipper has been sticking, which is no good now that the sun is mostly out. I was driving the van, though. The Miata has a stick shift, and I can't drive sticks. Yet.
We were on Aurora northbound, after getting the lubricant, and my dad suggusted that we stop by the cemetery to see Grandpa's plaque, which Evergreen-Washelli had just put up. So we went and saw it. It is a nice plaque, bronze, with an small engraving of trees on one side. Both Grandpa and Grandma's names are on there, side by side. Below his name, he has a beginning and an end year to his life. She has a beginning year, and a space for an end year. I commented, looking at the years of their lives, "Holy Cow, Grandma is seven years older than Grandpa!" My dad laughed.
My parents want to be cremated, and Dad said to me as we left. "You can just keep me in a box." I suggested a cigar tin. We drove down Aurora again, and I asked him if it was weird that his dad was dead. He thought a moment and said yes, it was. Especially looking at picture of Grandpa when he was young. Contrasting when he was good-looking, strong, vibrant, and young and when he was old, frail, gaunt, and falling-apart.
I thought some things to myself about youth and mortality then.
We got home in a while, after making one more stop at Home Depot. Then I went to Rockhaus and had a good time. And now I am home again, looking at the box of chocolate on my dresser. I will give it to her as soon as I can.
and now. I want to write.
I have a hexagonal box of chocolate on my dresser-top. It is baking chocolate, and the writing on it is Spanish. The name on it is "Abuelita," and it is Nestle Mexican baking chocolate. I bought it for my Grandma Mary, my abuelita who is shorter than I am. There is a picture, presumably of a grandmother, on it. She does not look Mexican– she has white hair, glasses, and a cup of chocolate poised in front of her lips.
I bought it for my Grandma, but I haven't seen her since the funeral, in March. My dad and mom go down to Burien to see her about once a week. They always go on weekdays, when I am in school. And so the chocolate waits on my dresser-top.
My dad and I were in Wallingford today, and we ran some errands on the way back. I was driving. I like driving my dad better than driving my mom. My mom makes me nervous, because she gasps at least once per trip and makes me feel like a crappy driver. My dad is pretty calm, and he just tells me what to do in a straight tone. Well, we were driving home, and first we stopped at Seattle Fabrics to get some zipper lubricant for the Miata.
The family joke is that our Miata was the product of my dad's midlife crisis. My mom was totally in on it though. Anyway, the zipper has been sticking, which is no good now that the sun is mostly out. I was driving the van, though. The Miata has a stick shift, and I can't drive sticks. Yet.
We were on Aurora northbound, after getting the lubricant, and my dad suggusted that we stop by the cemetery to see Grandpa's plaque, which Evergreen-Washelli had just put up. So we went and saw it. It is a nice plaque, bronze, with an small engraving of trees on one side. Both Grandpa and Grandma's names are on there, side by side. Below his name, he has a beginning and an end year to his life. She has a beginning year, and a space for an end year. I commented, looking at the years of their lives, "Holy Cow, Grandma is seven years older than Grandpa!" My dad laughed.
My parents want to be cremated, and Dad said to me as we left. "You can just keep me in a box." I suggested a cigar tin. We drove down Aurora again, and I asked him if it was weird that his dad was dead. He thought a moment and said yes, it was. Especially looking at picture of Grandpa when he was young. Contrasting when he was good-looking, strong, vibrant, and young and when he was old, frail, gaunt, and falling-apart.
I thought some things to myself about youth and mortality then.
We got home in a while, after making one more stop at Home Depot. Then I went to Rockhaus and had a good time. And now I am home again, looking at the box of chocolate on my dresser. I will give it to her as soon as I can.
