I haven't died. I haven't given up on this blog. I've just had an extended travel experience that I will soon share... but for now I need to focus on sleeping, eating, and teaching my mom how to [quietly] play Catch-a-Mouse on my iPhone while I work.
Don't leave me lonely, though! Tell me how you've been the last few days in the comments. Or you can interact with me on Twitter (big thanks to those of you who kept me company on that train ride... wow).
Hope your days have been merry and bright! I'll be back soon!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
A Good Man
A good man died.
He showed up in my life when he showed up for my grandfather’s memorial service in 2005. Despite years of hardship and illness, he came to say goodbye to his best friend… and to make sure I knew my grandpa.
He told me stories; stories that were familiar but not how I’d heard them.
Once, my grandpa told me a story about a man in the concentration camps, who saw his friend selected for the gas chambers.
“He was a good employee and a good friend, so of course the man had to save him,” Grandpa said. “So he took a corpse from the barracks – someone who had died during the night – and put it in the gas chamber. Then he grabbed his friend and took him away. The Nazis counted the bodies. They didn’t care who was actually in there.”
“Your grandpa, he was a good employer and a good friend,” came the new version of the story. “So of course he had to save the man. He was smart, your grandfather. He knew the Nazis would only count bodies.”
Story after story transformed in each new telling. My grandpa was the hero in all of his own stories. His best friend wanted me to know.
He sent me a card when I graduated from college, telling me confidently that his best friend would be proud of me.
He came to my grandmother’s memorial service, and praised me for working on my master’s degree. “You are very smart, like you grandfather. Him,” -- here he gestured toward my then 12-year-old brother -- “He’s a ladies’ man. Also like your grandfather.”
The last time I saw him was this past March at my cousin’s wedding. It was hard for him to speak, and he tired easily. His wife confided that he came mainly to see his best friend’s grandchildren.
We sat down, and he told me more stories. One was about how my grandfather stole his name, but he forgave him. He told me that if I chose to pursue my PhD in New York, I was welcome to stay with him and his wife.
“I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble!”
He gazed at me for a moment before speaking. “How could I not do something good for my best friend’s granddaughter if I had to the power to do it? What would I say to him? You aren’t trouble. You are Jack’s granddaughter.”
He was a good man who wanted to comfort a grieving grandchild. He was a good friend who wanted stories and a legacy to continue.
You might not notice the difference, but I do. The world is poorer without this man in it.
He showed up in my life when he showed up for my grandfather’s memorial service in 2005. Despite years of hardship and illness, he came to say goodbye to his best friend… and to make sure I knew my grandpa.
He told me stories; stories that were familiar but not how I’d heard them.
Once, my grandpa told me a story about a man in the concentration camps, who saw his friend selected for the gas chambers.
“He was a good employee and a good friend, so of course the man had to save him,” Grandpa said. “So he took a corpse from the barracks – someone who had died during the night – and put it in the gas chamber. Then he grabbed his friend and took him away. The Nazis counted the bodies. They didn’t care who was actually in there.”
“Your grandpa, he was a good employer and a good friend,” came the new version of the story. “So of course he had to save the man. He was smart, your grandfather. He knew the Nazis would only count bodies.”
Story after story transformed in each new telling. My grandpa was the hero in all of his own stories. His best friend wanted me to know.
He sent me a card when I graduated from college, telling me confidently that his best friend would be proud of me.
He came to my grandmother’s memorial service, and praised me for working on my master’s degree. “You are very smart, like you grandfather. Him,” -- here he gestured toward my then 12-year-old brother -- “He’s a ladies’ man. Also like your grandfather.”
The last time I saw him was this past March at my cousin’s wedding. It was hard for him to speak, and he tired easily. His wife confided that he came mainly to see his best friend’s grandchildren.
We sat down, and he told me more stories. One was about how my grandfather stole his name, but he forgave him. He told me that if I chose to pursue my PhD in New York, I was welcome to stay with him and his wife.
“I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble!”
He gazed at me for a moment before speaking. “How could I not do something good for my best friend’s granddaughter if I had to the power to do it? What would I say to him? You aren’t trouble. You are Jack’s granddaughter.”
He was a good man who wanted to comfort a grieving grandchild. He was a good friend who wanted stories and a legacy to continue.
You might not notice the difference, but I do. The world is poorer without this man in it.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Goodbyes Can Be Good
In a few short hours, I won't own most of my stuff anymore.
A fraction of my belongings got shipped west. I nearly broke my back carrying one box of books, so I was really glad when the Post Office gentleman offered me a cart for the remaining three.
But most of my things are get adopted by new homes, because sending it cross-country doesn't make sense.
So I said goodbye to the couch. It's held me on cold days when I curled up to read, when I threw myself down to cry, or when I laid there for hours staring at the ceiling, struck down with swine flu.
I bid my bed adieu. The place where I dreamed, studied, and talked on the phone hours into the night... we're going separate ways.
My dressers full of clothes and secret stashes of gifts and chocolate. My desk and swivelly green chair that never got the use they should've (studying... in college?). My tables and bookshelves and coffee mugs... it's time to part.
But as I shed these old things, things I like or love or have attached to memories, I'm shedding weight that could keep me from the things I want more.
I have to say goodbye, because my life is being made new.
A fraction of my belongings got shipped west. I nearly broke my back carrying one box of books, so I was really glad when the Post Office gentleman offered me a cart for the remaining three.
But most of my things are get adopted by new homes, because sending it cross-country doesn't make sense.
So I said goodbye to the couch. It's held me on cold days when I curled up to read, when I threw myself down to cry, or when I laid there for hours staring at the ceiling, struck down with swine flu.
I bid my bed adieu. The place where I dreamed, studied, and talked on the phone hours into the night... we're going separate ways.
My dressers full of clothes and secret stashes of gifts and chocolate. My desk and swivelly green chair that never got the use they should've (studying... in college?). My tables and bookshelves and coffee mugs... it's time to part.
But as I shed these old things, things I like or love or have attached to memories, I'm shedding weight that could keep me from the things I want more.
I have to say goodbye, because my life is being made new.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Confession Session
Today's a fun day, friends! Not only is the sun shining and my coffee getting downed, but I'm also guest blogging over at Confessions of a Twenty Something Year Old.
Yay!
Cheryl's one of my favorite bloggers, and runs a weekly series about bad dates. If you pop over there right now, you can read about one of my mine.
Uh... yay?
So go read my guest post, but be sure to check out Cheryl's writing if you haven't yet discovered her. Fantasticness personified.
One more plug: if you'd been following me on Twitter, you would've heard about this last night. Who wants me in 140 character increments?
Happy Hump Day, friends!
Yay!
Cheryl's one of my favorite bloggers, and runs a weekly series about bad dates. If you pop over there right now, you can read about one of my mine.
Uh... yay?
So go read my guest post, but be sure to check out Cheryl's writing if you haven't yet discovered her. Fantasticness personified.
One more plug: if you'd been following me on Twitter, you would've heard about this last night. Who wants me in 140 character increments?
Happy Hump Day, friends!
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Questions I Never Heard
I don't always hear things correctly. When I respond to something entirely different than what was actually said, I realize by the looks I get how inappropriate I've been.
I also come across as someone with whom people can be open, honest, and say strange things. So in honor of yesterday's random conviction that I would be arrested and last night's looooong dream about cleaning my microwave (yeah, I'm on a wave of weird right now), I'm giving you a taste of questions I've asked or thought I heard.
Enjoy.
===
"So you said there's a dead foot in your car?"
That's what I thought he said. He actually asked if I could fit a bookshelf in my car. It isn't the same.
"It's going to shit. In a handbasket. Who even WANTS shit in a handbasket?"
It's a valid question.
"You want to be me? You want my job? Then you're going to be constantly hounded to wear a slutty nurse costume."
Yeah, I had a job (err, boss) like that.
"What eunuchs are you planning to do?" "Um, I don't do eunuchs."
I'm surprised people don't confuse "eunuchs" and "units" more often. I can't be the only one. My professor seemed to think I was, however.
===
PLEASE tell me I'm not the only one who occasionally makes these mistakes!
I also come across as someone with whom people can be open, honest, and say strange things. So in honor of yesterday's random conviction that I would be arrested and last night's looooong dream about cleaning my microwave (yeah, I'm on a wave of weird right now), I'm giving you a taste of questions I've asked or thought I heard.
Enjoy.
===
"So you said there's a dead foot in your car?"
That's what I thought he said. He actually asked if I could fit a bookshelf in my car. It isn't the same.
"It's going to shit. In a handbasket. Who even WANTS shit in a handbasket?"
It's a valid question.
"You want to be me? You want my job? Then you're going to be constantly hounded to wear a slutty nurse costume."
Yeah, I had a job (err, boss) like that.
"What eunuchs are you planning to do?" "Um, I don't do eunuchs."
I'm surprised people don't confuse "eunuchs" and "units" more often. I can't be the only one. My professor seemed to think I was, however.
===
PLEASE tell me I'm not the only one who occasionally makes these mistakes!
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