Goodbye Grandma Margaret
About an hour ago, I learned that my dad's mom had finally passed away. She was 96. While I'm saddened by her going, I find a small sense of relief that she's in a better place now where she doesn't need to scold and argue with nurses.
As I told LoLo, grandma was full of "spunk." I find comfort in knowing that miraculously good genes are passed along in this life.
I didn't spend a lot of time with grandma as we always seemed to be living in different places. However, I have some great memories. I still recall when my dad had recently put up a basketball hoop over our carport. I was too small and weak to even get the ball to hit the rim. I incessantly threw the damn thing as hard as I could, only to have it get caught by gravity at the halfway point and plummet back at my head. One day, while I was out frustrating myself, I remember her coming down the driveway, this tall, curly blonde-haired, wrinkly faced woman. She said, "here, let me show you how to do it..." With that, she threw down a perfect, old school double handed chest shot from twenty feet out.
"Wow, grandma, that was good!" I said to her knees while standing as I tall as I could at the age of four. I would've used the word "amazing" but it wasn't in my vocabulary yet. Otherwise, I'm sure I would've upgraded her from from good to amazing. And amazing she was. Before I was born, my grandfather died unexpectedly. I don't think it slowed her down, but merely sped her up. After he died, she told me that she took up traveling, painting and smoking.
She was an incessant talker and it was nigh-impossible to ever get a word in edgewise. I know I inherited some of this, often to my chagrin. On the other hand, despite not being able to hold a candle to her vocal velocity, I find it to be a gift in that I'd rather talk a bit too much at times then be a total bore. I believe the world has enough total bores and some of us are here to even out the playing field a tad.
Every phone conversation with her was an exercise in calisthenics as she had such a loud, raspy voice that it required holding the phone at arm's length while she talked before moving it quickly to my mouth for affirmative injections to let her know I was listening or in her case, couldn't help but listen...in...."yes"....out.....in again..."uh, huh"...out fast....in...."yes, grandma"....out.....in...."wow"....
She was likely a large part of my innate sense of adventure in that she often traveled to places like Mexico, sending trinkets back to me and my sister which we marveled at as we desperately tried to find where they came from on our small, beat-up globe. I dreamed of someday going to all the places she went but oddly, I don't even recall all the places she went, my brain being too small to absorb much more than the fact that I gotten a gift from far away.
I loved visiting her and choking down the one thing that I detest food-wise: cookies filled with candied fruit. I always required large glasses of milk to keep from gagging on the sickly sweet, artificially colored gobs that overpowered the specks of cookie dough which cemented them together. One day, I spent two hours listening to her talk without taking a breath while I somehow put away four of those cookies and eight glasses of milk. I would drink to put a small pool of milk on my tongue then I would gingerly bite off the smallest bit of cookie I could so to float it off of my taste buds. Then I would then take a larger gulp of milk to quickly flush it down before gagging should the floating confection touch any part of my mouth. I finished the next two hours of conversation six inches at a time from her doorstep to my car while saying goodbye and thank you. These are the kinds of memories that you cannot create on your own.
She was an incredible artist despite not picking up a brush until she was 56. That leaves me about 18 years until I test out the theory that artists are born, not made. She painted everything after starting out copying postcards that were sent to her from friends in the days when email was not even a consideration let alone an actual way of life.
I think I already know for a fact that I inherited her insane amount of healthy stamina. She never seemed to be ill aside from the normal things which affect people in their nineties. Even at 95, she failed to really show any major health problems despite her best efforts to down a pack a day for forty some odd years. I think that her stamina was probably just a by-product of her positive attitude and constant good cheer. I guess I know where I got some of that too, come to think of it.
I figure that right about now, she's reunited with grandpa, dad and mom and is possibly even throwing down some mad, old-school dunks with the help of some wings. I picture her readjusting her halo after each tomahawk jam without taking a breath despite a constant jabber of trash-talk in a game of two-on-two. After the game, I can just see her whipping a batch of semi-toxically-sweet candied fruit cookies and doling them out with gallons of milk to other angels and old beloved friends she has missed.
With that, I will bid you goodbye, dear grandma Margaret. If you think of it, paint me a sunset some evening. I'm sure I'll know it when I see it. In the meantime, don't talk God's ear off because I still need it quite often down here. Especially since I won't be able to call you so easily.
Most of all, thank you for the "spunk" you so graciously passed along.
From my mouth to your knees, I love you and will miss you but know you're closer now than ever...
Scott
Making Sense
Bit by bit, things continue to move forward and come together. I've finally gotten my book proposal to the final stages and am simply awaiting edits from a friend before sending it off to an agent in New York City.
In the meantime, my dog treat boxes are getting final artwork edits as I've added a "tab" closure to the top of the box that requires some additional template work. The boxes should go to print on Friday after I give final approval on a hard copy. They'll be done in five to seven business days after that and then it's just another five business days to get the first thousand boxes filled with freshly baked treats laden with beer.
I've already got a first order and additionally have three local stores ready for them when they are done. A friend in Seattle is going to take them to stores up there and another friend in Manhattan is excited about selling for me back east. Lastly, I'll be shipping some to England to sell in stores near Britain as well. In a matter of weeks, AxL's face will be internationally distributed.
I marvel that AxL the dog, a homeless, starving mutt can change one man's life so much through his simple patience, love and loyalty to me. I feel I've done the same for a dog who was at death's door before I found him. I've always said that the one good thing I've done in my lifetime is rescue him. However, he's also rescued me so I guess that makes it a double-good thing.
I've learned that life doesn't always make sense at every moment, but if you simply continue working on being better, you can get to the point to where it starts to make sense. I've learned to never give up and I've learned that anything, absolutely anything is possible if you simply keep your heart open and keep trying. Success is not giving up in your darkest of hours. I have not given up and trust me, I've seen my darkest hours.
Because I'm still going, I'm finally feeling that for once, I am a success and not a failure. I look forward to the days ahead knowing that from rock-bottom, things can only go up. Success and love cannot enter a closed heart and therefore, I remain open. I smile knowing that there is much ahead for this little boy inside of me working on being the man I hope to be, the man my dog thinks I am. And maybe, just maybe...by going in that direction as I am now, I'm already there.