Tuesday, May 04, 2004
My house is on the market, and it's so neat and clean I feel like I'm living in a museum. In fact, I find myself going in and out the back door, as if I'm the servant. I can't wait to get rid of the thing -- and its corresponding mortgage payment. People ask if I'm sad to leave a place where I've spent so much time and money fixing things up, and heck no. I've got Construction HQ and, most important, Mabel! Yay Mabel. (Galusha, too.)
In all this activity comes the passing of my grandpa John, who died last week at 95. I stopped at his and Grandma IM's house on the way up for the funeral, and we all keenly felt the absence in his big chair and the spark of his being. I miss him already.
After all, I credit him with my developer-adventurer genes, because he loved travel, made stuff happen, and thrived on new projects. We're lucky we had him as long as we did. He was supposed to live forever! And, as Jules pointed out, he nearly did.
Here's the memory that poured out as I packed to drive north:
When I think of Grandpa John, I immediately think of two things: his room-filling laugh and the fact that he was at peace with himself, what he was doing, and what he had done.
The last time I visited, over Thanksgiving, I brought along my tango partner and we knocked, then entered the house. Quick as a wink, I saw Grandpa John jump to push the stop button on his tape player to greet us and give the afternoon to conversation.
He had the usual glint in his eye, and I asked what he was reading on his tape player. He grinned that sweet smile, and the glint in his eye grew brighter.
“Harry Potter,” he said.
Later my tango partner and I danced for him and Grandma IM, and Grandpa John watched, eyes agog, I like to think not because we are good but because tango is exactly Grandpa John’s kind of thing – that perfect combination of art, science, passion, engineering, and collaboration. All that and you don’t even need an environmental impact statement.
When our two-song performance was over, he paused and said, “Will you dance another one?” And we did.
Afterward he held and marveled at my tango shoes – and, again, as pieces of art and science he could appreciate them – the suede perfectly trimmed, the heel positioned just so.
It was one of so many times where he showed support, curiosity, and enthusiasm for whatever I was doing. Whether it was going to China, buying my house, or getting my ears fixed, Grandpa John was there with a keen interest, good questions, and gestures of love.
On that last visit, while Grandma IM and I fixed lunch in the kitchen, Grandpa John turned his attention to my tango partner and our upcoming trip to Argentina.
“You know, it can get a little scary down there in Buenos Aires. Be sure to take care of yourselves. Take care of her.”
So even though Grandpa John is not here, he’s always looking after us. And when I see him now, I think of him rid of his failing mortal coil, I think of him deep into his favorite creations of art and science – whether it’s fine woodwork, a perfect steamboat, or a satisfying Manhattan – and, most of all, I think again of his laugh and I imagine him, dancing.
In all this activity comes the passing of my grandpa John, who died last week at 95. I stopped at his and Grandma IM's house on the way up for the funeral, and we all keenly felt the absence in his big chair and the spark of his being. I miss him already.
After all, I credit him with my developer-adventurer genes, because he loved travel, made stuff happen, and thrived on new projects. We're lucky we had him as long as we did. He was supposed to live forever! And, as Jules pointed out, he nearly did.
Here's the memory that poured out as I packed to drive north:
When I think of Grandpa John, I immediately think of two things: his room-filling laugh and the fact that he was at peace with himself, what he was doing, and what he had done.
The last time I visited, over Thanksgiving, I brought along my tango partner and we knocked, then entered the house. Quick as a wink, I saw Grandpa John jump to push the stop button on his tape player to greet us and give the afternoon to conversation.
He had the usual glint in his eye, and I asked what he was reading on his tape player. He grinned that sweet smile, and the glint in his eye grew brighter.
“Harry Potter,” he said.
Later my tango partner and I danced for him and Grandma IM, and Grandpa John watched, eyes agog, I like to think not because we are good but because tango is exactly Grandpa John’s kind of thing – that perfect combination of art, science, passion, engineering, and collaboration. All that and you don’t even need an environmental impact statement.
When our two-song performance was over, he paused and said, “Will you dance another one?” And we did.
Afterward he held and marveled at my tango shoes – and, again, as pieces of art and science he could appreciate them – the suede perfectly trimmed, the heel positioned just so.
It was one of so many times where he showed support, curiosity, and enthusiasm for whatever I was doing. Whether it was going to China, buying my house, or getting my ears fixed, Grandpa John was there with a keen interest, good questions, and gestures of love.
On that last visit, while Grandma IM and I fixed lunch in the kitchen, Grandpa John turned his attention to my tango partner and our upcoming trip to Argentina.
“You know, it can get a little scary down there in Buenos Aires. Be sure to take care of yourselves. Take care of her.”
So even though Grandpa John is not here, he’s always looking after us. And when I see him now, I think of him rid of his failing mortal coil, I think of him deep into his favorite creations of art and science – whether it’s fine woodwork, a perfect steamboat, or a satisfying Manhattan – and, most of all, I think again of his laugh and I imagine him, dancing.
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