Just things

It is quiet here in the house. S. has a friend over. They're swimming in the pool. I'm attempting enchiladas from a new-to-me recipe.

We keep the lights off and the blinds drawn against the withering heat. I don't like the heat. It is not my gig. I've discovered that I am a temperate person. Middle of the road. You can take a person out of their environment, but they'll always want what they grew up with, I guess.

Post vacation. Quiet. Winding down only to wind back up again soon.

Popsicles. Sleeping in. Not putting on make-up.

Something feels wrong. Not sure what it is. There are a million little things. But no one big thing. Just an off-settling feeling.

It is normal. I feel it pretty much ever summer. I think it has to do with not being pre-occupied each and every minute.

I miss my gramps. I do all the time. I feel like if he were still here that things would seem better. Ok. A large part of my safety and security in life went when he went. There are a million questions I've thought to ask him only now that it is too late. What was the name of the schools he went to? Who was his favorite teacher? Did you ever visit the beach in Seattle as a little kid? What was your favorite thing for dinner?

I'm a person who is interested in other people's stories. I like to know.

But I can't ask those questions now. I just have to be content not to know. And just remember what I can.

I hear his laugh in my head all the time. And I think about him every single day. What would he think about this or that? What was his opinion on such and such? When is he planning on going hunting? Why does he like Yellowstone so much?

I think, with the amount of time he was in my life, I have a pretty good idea what he would think about this or that. His opinion on such and such. Some questions are not about to be answered any more, but I could guess.

He was a different person to me than he was to his own children. He was raising his children and working (sometimes) 3 jobs to support them. He was probably cranky and tired.

He was a product of his age. Prejudiced. Sometimes un-politically correct. A strange mix of Conservative-New Deal-Greatest Generation-Democrat. A working man. Blue collar.

But later. When I knew him. He wasn't always so tired. He wasn't as cranky. He wasn't responsible for me or my siblings. He could just enjoy us. I think he did. He was pretty tickled with his grandkids. I always felt loved, accepted, wanted, safe when I was with him.

I think about the state of our family right now. It isn't the best. There are a lot of things not right. Things unsettled. I often wonder what he would think about that, too. How he'd deal with that.

I think this is one of those times I know what he'd do/say/think.

The world was not new to him at 80. He'd been around. Seen a lot. And I think he'd say something like this:

Be kind. Work Hard. Mind your own business. Things will be ok. There is nothing new in this world as far as the human condition is concerned - truly. It's been done/said/thought. Just don't worry so much. Don't cause a stir. If you end up on the wrong side of something, work to make it right. If you end up on the wrong side of someone, either fix it, or take your lumps. Don't make a stink. Err on the side of caution. Don't be a know-it-all. Ask questions. Don't be afraid to ask for help or for directions. Save your money. Always buy the best shoes you can afford. Do some fun things. Don't live outside your means. Be content with who you are.

Pretty good advice. Good thing I can still hear his voice in my head.

Gosh darn, I miss that guy.