| Mood:- |
radiant |
| Music:- |
Garbage - Dog New Tricks |
Mmm, I love cookies.
So, yesterday. I went to Rochester to visit my grandmother, who lives in a little green house. When we arrived, we were greeted by her smiling white face and flashing glasses. And we went into the little air-conditioned house, exchanging pleasantries. We decided to go to The Lamplighter, this amazing upscale restaurant nearby, after recent news was shared in the cool dim livingroom. So, we went, everyone there knew her ("Hello, Loretta! Who did you bring with you?"). I ordered haddock with a crabmeat soup... oh. My. Goodness. It was SO good. Delicious doesn't come close. It was really gourmet. They served my chocolate milk in this glass that could have been used for a sundae! It was... wow. It was awesome. As we ate, my mother and grandmother talked about the family; the latter asked how my grades were, and so on and so on. Somehow they eventually reached the subject of my deceased grandfather, and my grandmother turns to me and awakens me from a soup stupor: "You never knew him, did you?" I shook my head. The next ten minutes were spent listening to both of them telling me how smart he was, how clever, how witty, how much he would have loved me and how much I would have loved him. I sit there, taking it all in, listening to the reminiscences and stories, and my grandmother finally ends with, "He was such a gentleman; really, a gentle man." I don't know why this affected me so much, but it did. They made him sound like the nicest man, nearly angelic. I could imagine him laughing, reading, proposing riddles, walking through that little green house. And even though I was never able to meet him, I became teary-eyed.
Later, we played Scrabble at my grandmother's for a few hours, and she became extremely frustrated because she couldn't win. And she is good at Scrabble. It was actually quite comical the way she acted. Afterwards, we had egg salad sandwiches, and while eating we realized it was raining buckets, so we figured we'd stay until it let up a bit. We watched the news on TV. The downpour subsided slightly. We took the chance. On our way out the door, my grandmother ran upstairs and appeared momentarily with a small brown envelope. She handed it to me and both my mother and I hugged her goodbye ("I love you! I'll give you a buzz when we get home!").
I fell asleep in the car. When we reached Buffalo, it was still pouring. I dragged myself upstairs, threw off my boots and wet clothes and collapsed on my bed. My sleep was filled with strange dreams about a mysterious person that I knew but did not know, and in the middle of the night these dreams stirred me out of slumber and suddenly I heard the fan, I heard the windchimes, and I realized where I was. The envelope was thrown carelessly on my floor, and staring at it made me curious, so I opened it. It was a picture of my grandfather. I recalled my grandmother saying something about giving me a photograph but I had lost it between phrases and savory fish inside that dark restaurant. So I looked at it, and looked, and I just liked holding it in front of me, because I didn't really know him and yet I could see his face, as if he still existed. As if just by holding his photograph and looking at that half-grin and those happy eyes, I could make him real again; I could bring him back to life. Soon fatigue nagged at me once more, and I fell back asleep, and back into dreams where faces were familiar but places and behaviors weren't.
I rose late. Ate some Teddy Grahams, lounged around; I wanted to go outside, but it was much too hot. This apartment is just too hot. My mom was home subsequently, raving about some new cafe. She forced me to sample a caramel-flavored coffee-ish substance. Jerome left for the studio, my mom fell asleep, I took a shower. She bought me a shiny new straightener while she was out, after I had scrubbed myself squeaky and she had rested adequately. Jerome just returned with the portrait he is working on, of a young girl with black hair and blue eyes and pale skin, holding an acoustic guitar in her naked arms. It is me. He is a fantastic artist.
In about nine minutes, we're leaving to go see Howl's Moving Castle, an anime film about a wizard. I don't know much about the plot (and I'd rather not) but from what I hear it's splendid. I can't wait. I must gather my snackages. |
