The Steampunk World
I arrived home yesterday to find a package from grammaw. Lo and behold, boiled peanuts and pork rinds! They're both from the flea market near her house in Cullman AL, where they deep-fat-fry the pigskin right in front of you and boil the peanuts in a big ol' 50-gallon drum. Peanuts have to be boiled right out of the ground, which is why you can't find 'em anywhere they're not grown. I usually only get to eat them once a year. Pork rinds can be packaged, but these are so much tastier because four days ago they were "high on the hog". I love my grammaw. She knows just how to make me happy.
Well, when I called to thank her, my grandpa was pretty tore up. He lost his brother Wilford this weekend, and his other brother Bert was expected to die anytime. I haven't heard if he passed away last night or not. My family is a long-lived family, not due to good genes but rather to stubborness. I knew four of my great-grandparents, and they're the only immediate relatives that have died in my lifetime. One of 'em was told he had six months to live, so he gave away all his posessions to his sons, and lived five more years. My aunt Barbara once broke her back in her 40's (a grain auger fell on her) and was told she'd never walk again, she told the doctor "fuck you" and was walking in six months. Just last month my other grandpa was told he needed two inches of his colon removed immediately, but he left the doctor's office and went and dug a 175-foot trench for a water line. He's 85! So while my grandpa was sad and worried, we're talking about people in their nineties who have outlived all the doctor's expectations, so it wasn't so much tragic as it was just a sad part of life. Still, it hurt me to hear my grandpa, who I envision as the embodiment of strength, so hurt and helpless. He's an old southern gentleman, not the kind of man you say "I love you" to. I did anyway.
Wilford had been in a coma for the last couple of weeks. Pawpaw visited him last week, and then Saturday night sat at home waiting for the phone call. When the phone rang around midnight, they knew it was bad news. Well, whattaya know, it was Wilford! He'd just called to say goodbye. Heh. Stubborn ol' coot wouldn't leave withouts saying goodbye. He died a few hours later.
Well, when I called to thank her, my grandpa was pretty tore up. He lost his brother Wilford this weekend, and his other brother Bert was expected to die anytime. I haven't heard if he passed away last night or not. My family is a long-lived family, not due to good genes but rather to stubborness. I knew four of my great-grandparents, and they're the only immediate relatives that have died in my lifetime. One of 'em was told he had six months to live, so he gave away all his posessions to his sons, and lived five more years. My aunt Barbara once broke her back in her 40's (a grain auger fell on her) and was told she'd never walk again, she told the doctor "fuck you" and was walking in six months. Just last month my other grandpa was told he needed two inches of his colon removed immediately, but he left the doctor's office and went and dug a 175-foot trench for a water line. He's 85! So while my grandpa was sad and worried, we're talking about people in their nineties who have outlived all the doctor's expectations, so it wasn't so much tragic as it was just a sad part of life. Still, it hurt me to hear my grandpa, who I envision as the embodiment of strength, so hurt and helpless. He's an old southern gentleman, not the kind of man you say "I love you" to. I did anyway.
Wilford had been in a coma for the last couple of weeks. Pawpaw visited him last week, and then Saturday night sat at home waiting for the phone call. When the phone rang around midnight, they knew it was bad news. Well, whattaya know, it was Wilford! He'd just called to say goodbye. Heh. Stubborn ol' coot wouldn't leave withouts saying goodbye. He died a few hours later.
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