how's about cookin somethin up with me?
I'm used to my single bed.
The bed here is too big.
(the fryin' pan's too wide...)
I saw my grandfather today, which is drive sixty miles to the south-side of Atlanta in Griffin, GA. He has a new wife, as I've mentioned, though my grandmother's paintings and china still decorate their home.
I talked mainly to her since my Papa becomes frustrated with himself since his hearing is so frail. I sat near him and touched his hand often and smiled at him, while telling his wife how much I love my grandad.
I told her about all my memories with him, so if he asked what we talked about, she would be able to give him my love by retelling the old stories I know he's not forgotten.
After an hour and a half, and a ham sandwich I was happy to have seen Papa not drinking, and to see him smiling, and to see him with *someone* there he can call "baby".
She took our picture, and I hugged her and told her "thankyou".
I told Papa I loved him. Because I do. Just like I did when I was a toddler, sitting on his knee, listening to the Braves' game on the radio, drinking his Miller Lite, and talking shit with the neighbors.
I thanked her because she's the one who will make the phone call when he passes, and it will be only moments after the fact, and it will be in her arms, so he won't be alone.
I thanked her and before I eased my mother's Bonneville to the country road I was in tears. So I drove around a little.
Just a few miles away from Papa's house is the barn where my sister boarded her horse when she was eleven (I was six). Then I passed where the Luella Barbeque used to be before turning down the gravel road to the house I lived in as a child. The house I lived in when I had an authentic country accent.
I almost missed the ole house, though, becuase they built a middle-school in the field beside it - where Muriah and I used to ride the horse (Blue, was his name) bare-back - and they built tiny cardboard houses across the street. I flew past a tiny stand of trees I used to reverently refer to as "The Jungle" so quickly I almost missed it.
I drove past Weems Road, where our babysitter, Margaret Weems, lived.
I remembered thinking Locust Grove, GA was the most beautiful place on earth, in the second grade.
When I'd stopped crying I flicked my cigarette butt, sipped my Cheerwine (southern soda), and headed back up through Atlanta to my Mama's house.
It's okay if I don't see Papa again. I'm fine with him doing whatever he feels is best.
I took Nathanael shopping for clothes and damn... I feel sorry for you men. I really don't know how you find good-looking clothes. I solute those of you who dress well.
Tomorrow I will see Tylere. I can'twait for him to be here! He's driving up from Florida and will be stopping by on his way to Tennessee.
How funny will it be if Kasey decides to get off his ass and call tomorrow, and I defer the call because Tylere is here! I will, too.
Okay, so Kasey? He's interfering with my good-time by stressing me out right now. And I'm mad at him for that. Or something. I don't know. But this isn't over; I know that.
And now a note to my guestbook-signer: Dear friend, I have never been on television, and thank you for liking this thing, but how's about a name?
And tonight I don't expect to sleep any better. I think my problem is that I'm being too lazy and not wearing myself out sufficiently durring the day so I'm not falling asleep as quickly as I'm used to, but once I fall asleep the inertia keeps me hammered to the sheets until Mama drags my ass out and pours coffee down my throat.
But hey, why am I dogging myself for being lazy?!
I'm on vacation: next month I start graduate school!
