Counting the ways

I've had my grandparents on the brain for the past few weeks. The only bad thing about living in San Francisco is that I'm several thousand miles away from them. I'm truly blessed, in that all four of my grandparents are still alive and living independently. Naturally, there have been countless health scares, and each takes a battalion of pills each day, but I still feel pretty fortunate. I am the oldest grandchild on both sides of my family, meaning that I naturally receive an untold number of requests that I "settle down and start a family" (Hello, and welcome to 1948!), but as irritating as that may be, I know it simply means that they care. And, to be perfectly honest, I would love to have all four of them at my wedding, as unlikely as that may be (particularly as I am not even dating anyone seriously at the moment). The wonderful thing about the grandparent/grandchild relationship, I think, is that we can get away with saying things to one another that no one else in the world can say. For example, if anyone else in the world kept badgering me about a husband and babies, I'd probably rip their head off. But with my grandparents, I actually find it slightly adorable. On the other side of the coin, I am the only one in the world who can lecture my Granddad about his hearing aids, or give him crap for being grumpy. I often feel that I have a "get out of jail free" pass with them. I love that I am the only one allowed in the kitchen with Grandmom while she's making Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. The past two Thanksgivings I've actually felt a keen sense of sadness thinking of someone else taking over my tasks.

Memo was a porcelain artist when I was growing up. She always smelled like slip, paint, and turpentine. Although she hasn't painted in years, I will always associate those smells with her. Papayo will always smell like freshly cut grass to me. When I was a kid, he used to let me ride on the riding lawn mower with him. The one stipulation was that the blade had to be turned off before I climbed aboard, meaning that I got my ride after the grass was completely cut. Their yard is genuinely huge. As a kid, it seemed endless. Trees were covered in wisteria vines, and whole sections were overgrown. They had vast flower gardens, which they planted specifically to look like they'd just occurred in nature. Their yard is full of large, gray boulders. When my mom was growing up, Papayo pulled some of the smaller, flatter rocks together and made a "secret staircase" down from the brick patio into one of the side gardens. When I was about 15, I made it a special project to clean out that section, which had been completely overgrown. Memo and I planted daffodils after it was clear, and they still bloom every spring. Daffodils will always represent Memo and Papayo's house. There was also one special boulder, dubbed by a three-year-old me as "The Big Rock." I spent hours playing on that rock, living in my imagination. Looking at it now, it's still sizable, but not as epically humongous as in my childhood eyes. Every time I go to their house, however, I make it a point to go out and sit on The Big Rock, and ponder life a little bit.

Granddad used to make up songs for me. "Rockie rockie, row row," is definitely the most memorable, and the most frequently recurring. If and when I do have a family of my own, this will be a song that I'll sing with them. When I was 2nd grade and didn't know my multiplication tables, Granddad made it his mission in life to make sure I learned them. He'd mail me index cards each week and call at the end of the week to quiz me. He owned a service station for a long time, but became an elementary school teacher later in life. I envy his former students. My imagination, my silliness comes directly from Granddad, as though it had been transfused through an IV. Grandmom always smells like baby powder to me. She is one of the most sensitive people I know. She cries whenever we leave, and she is embarrassed by it every single time. She is super easily stressed out. A few years ago, we invited my best friend, Nick, to Thanksgiving with us. When we told her he'd be coming, she panicked that we wouldn't have enough food! Now, granted, my family is large. Usually there are around 25 of us at Thanksgiving. We always have a huge amount of food, including turkey, ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, green bean casserole, pink jello salad, rolls, and four kinds of pie. But that year Grandmom convinced herself that there simply wouldn't be enough. So she supplemented by doubling the amounts of each side dish, meaning that she literally made 20 pounds of mashed potatoes. It was insanity, and so wonderful and quirky that it still makes me smile.

Having had them with me for my entire life, I know a lot of my personality comes from each of them. They are all so special to me, and I miss them every day. I know, without question, that they are not reading the blog (for reasons which I will share someday, as they are hilarious), but I wanted to write them this "love letter" anyway. So, to four of the most important people in my universe, thank you for everything you are and have been and will be.