Friday, April 24, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
The Green, Green Grapes of Home
One of my co-workers was kind enough to buy a bag of green seedless grapes for me from the "garden market" at work today, and it reminded me of this story.
When I was born, I was the first grandchild to my mother’s parents. As with many other such eldest, it became my unwitting task to name the grandparents. Would they become Grandma and Grandpa? Nana and Pappa? My grandmother pushed for "Gamsie," so it’s for the best that she didn’t prevail.
Language skills started early for me, which should come as no surprise to those who know me. Language dexterity, however, was slower to develop. One area in which I had a great deal of difficulty was the correct pronunciation of "gr" at the beginning of a word. I became convinced that "gr" sounded exactly like "b."
Thus, my grandparents became Bemama and Bepop. And evermore shall be.
I have many stories to tell about Bemama, who, at 87, is still going strong. Today's, however, is about Bepop.
Bepop was 10 days shy of 50 when I was born, and a prouder grandfather you’d be hard pressed to find. Bemama was learning photography when I was small, so naturally I became her favorite subject, and Bepop very often shared the frame. She took many wonderful pictures, but one in particular stands out in my memory:
In this shot, Bepop is settled into his recliner, with me tucked in next to him. I was about 4 years old. In Bepop’s lap is a bowl of grapes. Grapes were among his favorite snacks, second only to bananas; diagnosed with diabetes shortly before I was born, he turned to fruit to satisfy his sweet tooth. He would eat nearly any kind of grape, but when he was sharing with me, they were always seedless, and almost always green.
I, of course, didn’t call them grapes. I called them beeps.
In this picture, my attention is riveted on the bowl of "beeps," and Bepop’s concentration is focused on the single tiny fruit in his hand. He’s holding his pocketknife (now one of my treasured keepsakes), carefully removing the peel. Back then, I didn’t like the peels.
"Bepop," I’d say, "Peel me a beep." He never could resist.
~~~
Bepop died in 1997. He was 78 years old.
Every time I eat green grapes, it's in his memory.
When I was born, I was the first grandchild to my mother’s parents. As with many other such eldest, it became my unwitting task to name the grandparents. Would they become Grandma and Grandpa? Nana and Pappa? My grandmother pushed for "Gamsie," so it’s for the best that she didn’t prevail.
Language skills started early for me, which should come as no surprise to those who know me. Language dexterity, however, was slower to develop. One area in which I had a great deal of difficulty was the correct pronunciation of "gr" at the beginning of a word. I became convinced that "gr" sounded exactly like "b."
Thus, my grandparents became Bemama and Bepop. And evermore shall be.
I have many stories to tell about Bemama, who, at 87, is still going strong. Today's, however, is about Bepop.
Bepop was 10 days shy of 50 when I was born, and a prouder grandfather you’d be hard pressed to find. Bemama was learning photography when I was small, so naturally I became her favorite subject, and Bepop very often shared the frame. She took many wonderful pictures, but one in particular stands out in my memory:
In this shot, Bepop is settled into his recliner, with me tucked in next to him. I was about 4 years old. In Bepop’s lap is a bowl of grapes. Grapes were among his favorite snacks, second only to bananas; diagnosed with diabetes shortly before I was born, he turned to fruit to satisfy his sweet tooth. He would eat nearly any kind of grape, but when he was sharing with me, they were always seedless, and almost always green.
I, of course, didn’t call them grapes. I called them beeps.
In this picture, my attention is riveted on the bowl of "beeps," and Bepop’s concentration is focused on the single tiny fruit in his hand. He’s holding his pocketknife (now one of my treasured keepsakes), carefully removing the peel. Back then, I didn’t like the peels.
"Bepop," I’d say, "Peel me a beep." He never could resist.
~~~
Bepop died in 1997. He was 78 years old.
Every time I eat green grapes, it's in his memory.
Friday, April 17, 2009
What's Going On
So, what's been going on with me:
School. I'm pulling an A in my first graduate-level class, so go me. Of course, now I'm several weeks behind on assignments, but only the midterm, final, and final paper have firm deadlines, so I'll get caught up soon.
Work. Still like my job, even when it annoys.
Family. Helping my parents plan and pack for their move in June. Also had a death in the family that hit us all really hard.
Friends. I finally gave in and signed up for Facebook, and I've reconnected with a whole bunch of old friends there. I'll be seeing one former college roommate in June and am making arrangements to see others.
So how are things with you?
School. I'm pulling an A in my first graduate-level class, so go me. Of course, now I'm several weeks behind on assignments, but only the midterm, final, and final paper have firm deadlines, so I'll get caught up soon.
Work. Still like my job, even when it annoys.
Family. Helping my parents plan and pack for their move in June. Also had a death in the family that hit us all really hard.
Friends. I finally gave in and signed up for Facebook, and I've reconnected with a whole bunch of old friends there. I'll be seeing one former college roommate in June and am making arrangements to see others.
So how are things with you?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Walken in a Winter Wonderland
PSA: If you aren't reading Christopher Walken's Twitter, you should be.
[insert helpless laughter here]
On edit: Apparently the account is a fraud -- it's not actually Walken -- but it's still hilarious.
[insert helpless laughter here]
On edit: Apparently the account is a fraud -- it's not actually Walken -- but it's still hilarious.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Movin' Out
Once again I've fallen down on the updating job. Ah well, better late than never, right?
I spent the weekend with Mom and Dad, getting the first big stack of boxes packed. Takeaway lesson: Mom has a lot of dolls and doll-related stuff, and a LOT of packing remains to be done.
In happy news, they may have found a place to live. Details to follow once it's a done deal.
E and I watched the premiere of Castle last night and loved it. Not perfect, but lots of fun. Plus, an hour a week of Nathan Fillion? Where's the bad in that?
I spent the weekend with Mom and Dad, getting the first big stack of boxes packed. Takeaway lesson: Mom has a lot of dolls and doll-related stuff, and a LOT of packing remains to be done.
In happy news, they may have found a place to live. Details to follow once it's a done deal.
E and I watched the premiere of Castle last night and loved it. Not perfect, but lots of fun. Plus, an hour a week of Nathan Fillion? Where's the bad in that?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Everything's Coming Up
Mussels and I had a lingering breakup Sunday evening. It was the second time, and they don't get a third try. No, I don't think anything was wrong with the mussels themselves.
It's now Thursday, and my chest muscles are still sore. Ouch.
It's now Thursday, and my chest muscles are still sore. Ouch.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Movin' On Up
Photograph from the 2008 Chicago Air & Water Show by kudzuplanetDad is retiring from the ministry in June, which means he and Mom will be moving. Oh joy, oh rapture: more packing/unpacking. My family has become as nomads, each of us moving every couple of years. My sister and I moved to a new apartment in August; my grandmother followed suit in December. Once again, all of us will have moved within a year. (And that's not even counting my office's move back in June.) Thankfully, these will likely be the last moves for my parents and grandmother, unless they get to the point that they need more assistance.
This week also marks my parents' birthdays (today and Thursday), plus Valentine's Day, which this year is balanced out for us singles by Friday the 13th the day before. Maybe I'll host a wake Friday night, or at least dress all in black.
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