No Blood, No Foul

For the ones who know me well, this will come as no surprise:

I'm not the most graceful person in the world.

My feet trip over the lines in a parking lot,  I've been known to fall up stairs, and if there is a way to stub my toe or burn my finger I'll find it. 

Knowing this, last nights events come as no shock. 

It all started at the grocery store as I was loading up my purchases in the back of my vehicle.  Without any regard for the surrounding hazards, it wasn't long before my hitch plowed right into my knee.  Of all the times I've made it useful while pulling lawnmowers, four wheelers and boats, this is how it repays me - by leaving a half dollar size bruise and a cut on my poor little right knee.

Thankfully my patella remains in tact (as far as I can tell, anyway), but I am seriously contemplating painting that sucker fluorescent orange and attaching one of those bicycle flags. 

Perhaps I'll go all out and give it a bell with stringers, too. 

Friday Night List

- 4 hour drive

- History Books

- Caffeine

- Best Friends

- Dr. Seuss

- Laughter

- Japanese Diner

- iPod shuffle

- More caffeine

- Cheap gas

- Cruise Control


Combined, they make a late, great start to a perfect weekend.

JLH

I've purposely put off this post for a while now. Perhaps I didn't want to talk about it, or maybe it just hasn't sunk in.

But, here goes.

Our beloved Pop-Pop passed away last month, 7 weeks shy of his 93rd birthday. A heck of a guy, with a great big heart. The funny thing is that I never really broke down and let it all out until last night. Sure, as I told people my eyes became glossy and a lump made nest in my throat, but I was fine. After all, I'm a tough bird.

Sadly, the funeral got to me as the grandchildren (myself included) covered his oak casket with the white pall- a staple in a Catholic funeral. It was stormy on the morning of the funeral, and as I was driving my grandmother to the church from the funeral home, her 4'11" frame, which has spent three quarters of a century compared to his 6'3", slouched over in my passenger seat as I heard the sobs. The three other passengers rode in silence as my wipers attempted to keep tempo to a song that wasn't playing.

Reaching the church, his casket was brought from the hearse as the rain poured from the heavens. Throughout the mass, I only heard the blasts of thunder during the priest's dramatic pauses. And that's when it dawned on me... I had to read. My fear wasn't the crowd (heck, I love a crowd) but it was my own mind. Could I make it through without crying? Will I mispronounce a Latin word? Will I trip on the way up due to shaking legs and lack of sleep?  Oh good grief, I'm gonna cry at the part where I have to say his name!

 

Well -in case you were wondering- I made it through the funeral without mishap, the rain soaked burial without tracking too much mud in my four wheel drive, and the bereavement dinner that was an almost-catastrophe because of an appearance that was made by an un-welcomed party.  

 

Looking back at it all, Pop was remembered as the wonderful man he was.  The one who loved his family, his country, his farm, and John Deere tractors.   He taught this woman how to drive a stick in a old GMC flatbed, how to make biscuits, and how to operate tractors.  I could never have asked for a better man to be my grandfather and my only hope is that I make him as proud of me as I am of him.